


And You Make A Mosaic

by amoment



Category: Monsterkind (Webcomic)
Genre: Emotion Without Plot, M/M, Multi, NOT about love triangles, complete lack of any external factors to drive the plot, despite being a love letter to slow burns there’s lots of kissing & sex, everyone ought to be kissing basically everyone else, oh and depression and related issues are discussed of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-03 21:29:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 619,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amoment/pseuds/amoment
Summary: Want to read way too many words all about Kip having feelings about things and people? This is for you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i hope there’s no major formatting issues or unforgivable typos but this is so long its hard to go back and edit/check everything. but hey...i promise there’s kissing

It’s a small relief that Kip is alone when he realizes he wants to kiss Wallace.

It's a dream he has—one of the only dreams to ever wake him up that wasn't a nightmare. It was very calm and uneventful, actually, with no sense of discomfort or danger. Kip had dreamt that he and Wallace were in the latter's apartment, where they simply talked, but kept moving closer, kept trading warm laughs and affectionate words. Kip put his hand on Wallace's shoulder, and Wallace smiled sweetly. Kip smiled back at him, glanced at his lips, and leaned in. 

And woke up.

Kip now stares up at the ceiling, slowly processing the fact that just minutes before, he'd unambiguously intended to kiss Wallace. He even has to acknowledge his disappointment that the dream was cut short before he could do so.

He finds himself replaying the brief fragments of the dream in his mind. The feeling of it was entirely pleasant. He had felt completely safe, and contented, and affectionately fond of Wallace. He'd wanted to kiss him and sensed that Wallace wanted the same. He'd been leaning in to do it. He would've done it, if he hadn't woken up in the next moment. And it would've felt nice.

He can't even bring himself to be truly uncomfortable about it now that he's awake and processing things rationally. It was just a dream, after all. And his relationship with Wallace has changed so much since its less-than-pleasant onset. In that early period, Kip barely got the chance to think about Wallace's personality in a context outside of the larger question of Wallace's motives and capability to endanger monsters. Kip's own feelings about him were irrelevant—a hindrance, even. At the height of Kip's suspicion, even what made Wallace seem harmless would only set Kip more on edge around the human. Wallace was too nice. He was too naïve. Too eager. Too clueless.

But when Wallace was finally proven to be just as earnest and well-meaning as he'd always appeared, things were different. Kip could allow him a basic level of intimacy that had before been impossible. Removing the heavy, ever-present cloud of suspicion meant that their entire relationship was now a fundamentally different creature—at least on Kip's end. But Wallace seemed much more comfortable around him as well. Unless Kip has simply been projecting.

But they're friends now. Kip can have feelings about him without weighing them against how likely Wallace is to hurt him or his loved ones. And he can easily admit he likes Wallace. They all do. 

Kip looks at the clock by his bed. He has five more hours before he has to get up to help Cuddy open the store. He sighs, closing his eyes and dragging a hand down his face.

He rolls over and pulls the covers up around himself, hoping for a quick return to uninterrupted sleep.

—

He's a bit quieter than usual at work, somewhat stuck inside his head. The dream finds its way into his thoughts even when he's preoccupied with his job, and he has to take a second to reenter his mental flow. He's already moved past stressing about it, but it's still something unexpected and, he has to admit, somewhat intriguing.

Kate's shift overlaps with his so they can work the busier lunch hours together, with Cuddy helping up front as needed. The added company draws Kip a bit further out of his reveries; he tends to be much chattier with Kate than he is at other times, and they have a style of trading quickfire jokes and jabs even during the most fast-paced workflow—unlike with most of his other friends, when Kate teases him, Kip teases back. More than once their affectionately playful exchanges got them mistaken for girlfriend and boyfriend, to their mutual amusement.

But even now, as Kate insults his tablewashing abilities and he responds by throwing crumpled straw wrappers on the patch of floor she's trying to sweep, Kip knows he's still being noticeably quieter, and hopes Kate doesn't try too hard to coax his thoughts out of him. 

She and all his friends can tell the difference between an everyday sort of withdrawn mood and when things are more serious, and won't mess with him over the latter—but the former is fair game, and he knows it. He doesn't want to endure the level of teasing he'd get if she found out he was thinking about—about at least having a crush on Wallace. Not to mention that it likely wouldn't be kept secret from Molly and Roy, who have long dropped most of their teasing over the matter, but would surely return to it with a greater enthusiasm than ever before.

Unfortunately for him, he's too distracted to come up with a good cover story for what's got him "so out of it today" as Kate points out, and can only stubbornly if unconvincingly insist that it's nothing, nothing, nothing.

—

By the time he gets home for the day, momentarily alone, he's gotten to a place where he can calmly accept a few facts, along with the additional fact that he's probably known them all along.

First, that only days after he first met Wallace, he was already having moments where he felt drawn to Wallace in a way that struck him as intimate and warm. They may have been brief, far between, and soon overwritten by feelings of fear and suspicion, but in retrospect it's as clear as ever that he felt an undeniable attraction to the human almost as far back as their relationship went.

Second, that Wallace isn't what Kip would call good-looking—at least, not by any usual standards—but that his face has a real appeal to it once you reach a certain degree of familiarity with his features, especially the way those features look when Wallace smiles.

Third, that his friendship with Wallace feels as real to him as any of his others, and he wants it to be as deep as it can grow, and he wants it to last as long as possible.

And lastly, that he'd be fine with kissing Wallace for real. 

—

He and Wallace see each other nearly every day, and they always trade smiles and a wave if all they're doing is passing by, and more often at least spend a minute or two chatting with each other. But they also visit and work together, sometimes by themselves, sometimes with Molly and Roy, sometimes Kate, sometimes Ben. Wallace is so eager to be friendly with everyone that Kip finds it easy to have him as an addition to any group: if anything, Kip tends too reclusive, and Wallace tends too outgoing, and he balances Kip out and makes him feel more at ease.

He certainly feels more comfortable than he used to be when he and Wallace were alone together. They talk freely now, Kip's demeanor isn't chilled by wariness and frustration, Wallace's isn't dampened by nervousness. 

Kip had even let Wallace follow him into his room once. He wasn't exactly uncomfortable as Wallace looked around, but he was self-conscious. His room was still objectively boring, with a lot of empty space and plain surfaces and an unimpressive collection of belongings. He only had maybe a shelf and a half of books, everything he wore fit inside his dresser and closet—he didn't even have a chair. Kip stood awkwardly off to the side, watching Wallace in his peripheral vision. But Wallace seemed to find it all as fascinating and admirable as he found just about everything he encountered. He commented kindly on Kip's string of lights—one of the few things in the room that was purely decorative—and remarked on how organized everything was and how calm the colors were. He smiled at Kip with a lingering look that made Kip blush. And then Kip saw Wallace turn back towards the door and stop as he saw the small fern Kip nurtured and, right next to it, the little framed portrait. Kip blushed harder and walked to the door to lead Wallace away before he could comment on it, but Wallace didn't say a thing.

After all their time together, Kip still has never discussed his family with Wallace beyond the most basic information when necessary, and has certainly never explained exactly what happened to them. The subject has been tentatively touched multiple times before, but Kip's never been willing or able to go into any details, though he doesn't know if anyone else has already provided information to Wallace. Before now, everyone who knows Kip has known what happened to him, and Kip's never had to explain it to anyone. But Wallace doesn't know. He knows something happened, and Kip’s family was killed, and maybe that's enough—and maybe it's not.

Wallace's ignorance has always been one of the most consistent things to make Kip question allowing himself to grow attached to Wallace. Granted, it's not Wallace's fault that until just this last year he lived in the extremely insulated, propaganda and misinformation-saturated world of District A, with only occasional ventures into the officially-desegregated but unofficially-very-segregated District B, where he never even knowingly saw a monster. But that doesn't change the reality of that history's effect on Wallace. 

After all, it's not the fault of any humans in District B that their situation has involved them being taught to hate monsters—but still, even on the straightforward route to Eno's office, Kip is given a wide berth even in crowded stations, he has to wait for attendants to pull on gloves before handing him his pass in an effort to be "sanitary" that's used for him about half the time but almost never exercised for other humans, he weathers dirty looks and muttered comments so frequently he's all but stopped remembering them as individual occurrences. People recoil from him when they suddenly realize there's a monster in their proximity. They speak impatiently with him just for daring to be present or address them. He's been corralled off the sidewalk. When he and Eno go out for a meal together, they have to walk several blocks just to reach any of the areas with comfortably monster-friendly establishments—although monsters are technically allowed everywhere, many places find ways to subtly or not-so-subtly divert monsters away from the human clientele. Having Eno with him helps a bit, but Kip's head-to-toe blue coloring alone is a glaring giveaway, and places don't want human business kept away when passersby can tell at a glance that there's a monster inside. Eno keeps careful note of what places treat monsters well, which ones have monsters on their staff, he firmly stands up for Kip when needbe, but even so, they've had a few sour experiences. 

Wallace may not have that active hatred or disdain for monsters, but he's no more untouched by the prejudice inherent to District A than anyone else there is. His desire to help everyone, monsters included, is admirable, but when his approach to helping monsters is no different than his approach for humans from A and B, he falls far short of being truly helpful at all. Monsters know well that the District A attitude for what's "best" for them involves keeping them away from humans while letting humans benefit from the suffering and misfortune of monsters. To work within that system is to guarantee monsters that you can't truly offer them any kind of wellbeing. Kip suspects that even if Wallace had been able to continue working for his original company, they would’ve eventually hit an impasse.

And Kip know his own personal experiences are only a fraction of what it means to be a monster—he knows the personal experiences of his friends, he knows the stories and rumors that spread underground, everything monsters teach each other about what it really takes to get by, all the stories that humans don't tell or even hear. Every monster knows these things. And a human who's only ever learned what A has to tell them has no clue about any of it.

Earlier, Kip's highest hopes for Wallace were that he could be a sympathetic ambassador to A who could divert small but much-needed benefits to monsters who were barely managing to hold their lives together. Wallace's naïve outlook might've been patronizing or arrogant at worst, but he would be kept in check by his own aversion to conflict, his sensitivity to noticeably hurting anyone. 

What had really bothered Kip during that period was much smaller things. For a long time Wallace was still very unused to being around monsters, and things about them could startle him, or make him visibly uneasy in close quarters with monsters he was unfamiliar with. This not only embarrassed Kip, but even angered him. He knew humans largely looked and worked the same, and weren't used to the incredible variety of forms and functions amongst themselves that monsters were, how monsters were all accustomed to the same processes working differently for everyone across the board, how open your expectations had to be, how many assumptions needed to be checked. But to actually see Wallace flinch, or stare, or hesitate, or stammer with nervousness—most of the time he could just roll his eyes at Wallace's complete ignorance, but sometimes he found that it genuinely stung.

He was comforted on the matter when it became evident that Wallace had at least become aware of his own ignorance, and truly wanted to replace it with what monsters had to teach him about what their reality was actually like. He really wanted to help after all, and that redeemed him in Kip's eyes much more than Wallace's amiable personality ever could on its own. Despite his earnest intentions, Wallace still was decades behind on learning about life outside of District A. But he'd set himself on a different course than the one he'd been on in District A, and that's what feels most significant. 

—

Molly texts Kip that she's going by Roy's work after she finishes some errands and they'll be back to the apartment together in an hour or so. Kip does a bit of cleaning in the meantime, washing some dishes, dusting off the furniture, running their little electric sweeper over the rugs. 

He's resting on the couch, laptop beside him, head back and eyes closed, when he hears Molly and Roy's vibrant conversation as they approach and open the door.

"Hi, Kip!" Roy chirps as they enter, a few plastic shopping bags in their arms.

Kip rubs his eyes and shrugs off his sleepiness, sitting upright.

"Hey," he greets them in a slightly gravelly voice. He watches them carry the bags into their small kitchen and set them  
down on the counter.

"We decided to make dinner tonight," Molly explains from the next room. "All homemade. We brought some ingredients from the store."

"What are you making?" Kip asks. "Do you want me to help?"

"Not at all," Molly answers. "We need some room too mess things up a little, and you're too perfect at cooking for that."

"Hmm." Kip hugs his knees to his chest.

"Plus, we didn't one hundred percent figure out what we're making yet," Roy adds, ducking down slightly as he steps back through the doorway into their living room. "So we need some time for that, too. Oh! And we ran into Wallace outside, and invited him to eat with us even though he looked busy, and he said he'd be back in about a half hour or so and he'll just come up here when he's ready! Isn't that great?"

"Oh," Kip says, glancing down at the floor. "Yeah—that's...yeah."

"What's that about, huh?" Roy asks. Kip looks up to see Roy grinning at him.

"What's what about?" Molly walks out of the kitchen, too.

"Kip's blushing," Roy tells her. 

"What?!" Kip slams his hands down to the cushions and glares at them, indignant. He can definitely feel himself blushing now that he's been accused of it.

"Well, well," Molly puts a hand on her hip and gives him a smirk, and Roy giggles. 

"Leave me alone," Kip grumbles, leaning back into the couch and looking away. 

"Aw, lighten up," Molly laughs. "We're just messing with you."

"I know," he huffs, folding his arms. 

He stays on the couch while the other two move around the apartment, chatting back and forth and bustling about in the kitchen. He works on a new post for his blog, editing a few points and working out the structure, making a list of possible relevant resources and articles to link to.

He's fairly engrossed in the process when there's a light knock on the door and Roy issues a "Come in!" from the kitchen. Kip stiffens a little, staring at the keyboard of his laptop, before looking up at the opening door and seeing Wallace for the first time in person since The Dream. 

Wallace enters their apartment with a smile, glancing around and settling his gaze on the only other person visible to him at the moment. Kip blushes and gives him a usual casual greeting: a genuine smile and a lifted hand.

"Hey, Wallace!" Molly steps into their living room, dusting her hands off with a towel. Kip sees her quickly glance between the two of them as she walks over to wrap an arm around Wallace's torso in a hug. "How's your day been?"

"Good," Wallace says as he bends into the squeeze. "Nothing very exciting, but nothing bad either. What about you guys?"

Roy emerges to welcome Wallace as well and he and Molly easily carry the conversation. Kip lets himself be silent as he listens to the others—even at his most outgoing he tends to be less talkative than they are anyways, and for him to even be on the quiet side by his own standards still isn't anything too unusual. He crosses his legs up on the couch and types on his laptop a bit, working on some simple editing while the talk flows around him.

Wallace ends up sitting down in the middle of the couch, and Kip glances over at him a few times when Wallace is looking away. The Dream has definitely given him a new kind of self-consciousness around Wallace. He's not sure if it's an awkwardness that will quickly fade within a week or two, or if it's a previously undiscovered facet of his perception of Wallace that can now grow into something more solid since he's been made consciously aware of it.

Eventually Molly and Roy migrate back into the kitchen, though they're still talking with Wallace. Kip hears them occasionally debating between themselves how to execute some culinary maneuver; he resists the impulse to intervene. He stares intently at the words on the screen whenever there's any indication things are going off-trajectory in the other room.

"How about you, Kip?"

Wallace's question cuts through one such period of determined redirection of focus. Kip starts and looks over to see Wallace looking back at him, giving a slight smile.

"I—huh?" Kip stumbles, embarrassed to find he’s completely lost track of the conversation.

"Sorry, just—how've you been? I haven't seen you guys for a couple of days."

"Oh..." Kip closes his laptop and sets it on the floor, sliding it under the couch with his heel. "It's okay, I've been—" He stops himself from saying "good," because that's not completely true, but things haven't been that bad either—just a usual period of doing decently while hitting a few bad spots interspersed here and there.

"I've been fine," he finishes quickly. After a beat it occurs to him that he can give a longer answer. "I've been at work since Sunday, and mostly just hanging around here otherwise."

"Has it been really busy at the café?" Wallace asks.

"Um, not in any way out of the ordinary, at least not when I've been there," Kip answers. "I haven't worked in the evenings for a while though, so I don't know about that."

There's a pause. 

"You should go there more often," Kip tells him. "You know any of us would give you something free whenever you stop by, right?"

"Really?" Wallace looks genuinely caught off-guard by the information.

"Yeah," Kip says with a smile.

"That's true," Molly chimes in from what sounds like a struggle with a saucepan and whisk. "And Cuddy would too, so don't think that's an issue. It's a good place to hang out, and you can even get one of the little tables to yourself for work or stuff like that, so you don't have to be holed up by yourself for hours doing paperwork, or whatever you have to do."

Wallace laughs and rubs the back of his head. 

"Thanks, you guys," he says. "It CAN get a little...dull when I'm doing work in my apartment for a while. And it’s always good to see any of you.”

Kip blinks and gives a small smile.

The self-consciousness Kip felt slowly melts away and is all but gone by the time Roy and Molly finish cooking about half an hour later. He's relieved to find that the new context he has for Wallace doesn't make it much less comfortable to be around the man. He knows he shouldn't be surprised—Wallace's natural friendliness is a stubborn trait, and they've been on good terms for long enough and through so much anyhow that there's no reason that twenty minutes of quiet awkwardness from Kip should dim that warmth between them. Wallace was trying to be nice to him even back when Kip wasn't sure he wanted anything to do with the human, so he really doesn't need to worry about a touch of nervous shyness doing any damage.

They all bunch around the little table in the kitchen to eat and the crowdedness makes them all even more prone to laughter than usual and any traces of Kip feeling out of place are pushed out by the proximity and cheerfulness of his friends. His presence doesn't lessen any of it. He has no real doubts that they like being around him just as he likes being around them, but it nonetheless helps him to be periodically reminded with examples of that. 

Kip puts a bit of effort into making sure he joins in the conversation throughout the evening instead of letting himself hide in his shell too much. He talks with Wallace, and Wallace talks with him, and it's easy and casual and nice. Kip keeps looking over at Wallace when Wallace's attention is elsewhere, when he's stepping out of the room, when he's talking to the others. Molly catches his eye after this a couple of times, and Kip instinctively averts his gaze and feels his face heat up.

He's more consciously observant of Wallace than he's been in a long time—since back when he was monitoring Wallace as though lives literally depended on it, which he was then sure they did. But that was unpleasant to say the least, and now his attention is driven by a softness, a fondness. He's not head-over-heels or anything so urgently intense, but he loved Wallace already and now wants to kiss him, and Wallace's presence and personality are so warm, and Kip is so drawn to warmth.

—

Even at the worst, coldest part of their relationship, when Kip lost sleep at night, shaken and horrified by the thought that if everything went wrong and he was in a scenario with no options and was forced to act, he might have to kill Wallace—Kip still occasionally experienced the appeal of being around Wallace.

He had been scared of Wallace ever since he first saw him. He knew that Wallace, as an individual, was far from threatening, but everything he represented was frightening enough to make one sick. An unknown human implanting itself in their home—Kip's home. A human from District A. A human who asked monsters to share their personal lives and utmost vulnerabilities with him. A human who might be acting for the shadowy side of that district, the one all monsters knew of and feared. A human who might be here to hurt them. To kill them. Who might be here for Kip specifically. For his friends, his family—the new family that had rushed in to fill the void left by the one that had been taken from him overnight.

When Kip thinks about something happening to the people he loves, he locks up. His heart and thoughts plunge into this terror that is consuming and comfortless. He gets physically shaky, his breaths contract, he feels completely helpless. He knows he can't go through that a second time. He's not ready to lose anyone. He's not ready to have anyone taken away. And he knows that his desperation to prevent that from happening is the strongest thing about him.

But even with all of that directed at Wallace, with Wallace continuously on trial in Kip's mind for endangering potentially every monster he had access to, including his own loved ones and all their loved ones in turn, even with all that—there were still moments even then that Kip warmed to Wallace. It didn't exactly concern or surprise him. He knew that even if Wallace's intentions were the worst that they could be, his personality could really be as nice as it seemed—Wallace could still be likeable on that most superficial level. On the shallowest surface of their interactions, things could be fine; Wallace could be planning to destroy him but still treat him with friendly kindness in the meantime.

And now, relieved of the crushing burden of that suspicion, Kip can feel the full force of Wallace's appeal. He's not just limited to appreciating only the pleasantness of Wallace's interpersonal skills. He can love Wallace. He can love him for his heart. He can love him for everything.

—

Kip lies in bed, absently playing with the hem of a blanket, staring at the juncture of the ceiling and the wall. 

There's one big complication with allowing himself to fully entertain his feelings for Wallace. 

He's in love with Pascal.

—

He and Kate go out to eat after work one day at a little restaurant a few blocks down. The weather warns of an impending rainstorm, but they choose an outdoor table regardless. Kip stares up at the splashes of dark grey in the overcast sky as he waits for Kate to bring her bowl of noodles out to the patio as well. There's a warm, heavy breeze moving through the streets every few minutes.

"Took you a minute," Kip says when Kate shows up, holding her food with one hand and shoving her phone into her pocket with the other.

"Yeah, I was sending a text," she explains as she takes the chair opposite him. "I needed to go to the store after this and I decided to look around a few places for fun, too, and I invited Ben to come along with me if he's free."

"Oh."

Kate picks and stirs at the noodles with her fork and glances at Kip.

"You can come along too if you want," she says. "I figure it'll be wandering around and stuff. It's just nice to get out and break up the routine sometimes. Especially with Ben—it's like he gets stuck and needs an excuse to be around people, you know. I try to drag him out here sometimes.”

"Yeah," Kip agrees. "I—should maybe head home after this, though."

Kate scoffs at him and he takes a bite of his sandwich to force a pause into the conversation.

"Ben's a really fun guy, Kip, if you just get to know him better—“

"I already know him better!" Kip argues. "God I’ve known him for ages, it's nothing like that, it’s more like...that I..."

He sighs and looks down at the tabletop, feeling a push of guilt. He thinks of how long it's been since he visited Ben on his own, not just alongside someone else who suggested it, or running into the man by chance. Despite the fact that Kip knows as well as anyone else in the world what Ben's going through, and has been going through it right along with him, despite the fact that they live in the same building, despite the fact Kip himself gets painfully lonely, yearns for company to help pull him from one of his worse days.

"It's not that I don't like him—I've always liked him. It—it's something..." He sighs. "I can come. I'll come with you guys." 

"Jeez, Kip, you don't have to. You're just being weird about it. You keep being weird about things and not saying why."

"Sorry," he sighs again. "It’s kind of weird. It's just... I'll come."

"Okay, then." Kate leans back in her chair and looks at the clouds. 

Kip picks at his food as he tries not to let his anxiety grow roots.

"How's saving up for the camera?" he asks eventually, something he hasn't brought up for a month or so.

"It's still going okay," Kate says. "Kind of slow, but...I really want that camera," she laughs.

"Yeah. You're fucking great with the one you have already but you've gotten so good, your pictures with a really high-quality camera would just be amazing."

"Aw," she waves his compliments off with faux-embarrassment. "Yeah, ugh, I'd love to have all those features to work with, I think about it all the time..."

Kip smiles.

—

Ben does meet up with them about an hour later. He looks tired, and Kip sometimes sees his expression take on a deeper weariness when he seems to momentarily slip into his own thoughts. Kip gives him small smiles, but mostly retreats from the other two with a show of being engrossed in the wares of whatever shop they're currently in. Kate is better with Ben than he is, he reasons, and so for that alone it would be more helpful to Ben for him to stay out of the way. Kip can tease Kate, but he can't join in to affectionately tease someone else with her the way that Molly and Roy combine forces to tease him.

Ben is gentle and patient though, and Kip dwells, not for the first time, on the fact that he could really use such a quiet energy as a source of comfort. And then he chides himself for being selfish enough to wonder how he could benefit from Ben when he's clearly never able to give anything back to the man. Kip even feels guilty for merely thinking about his own recent struggles with his emotions in Ben's presence—it feels disrespectful, somehow arrogant.

Kip does manage to do something for Ben by putting a lot of energy into appearing lighthearted and at ease, contrary to the awkwardness and guilt and confusion he feels around Ben. He tries to walk the line between giving Ben plenty of space yet not seeming to avoid him, and while he says almost nothing directly to Ben, he looks up at the pair when they talk to each other, sometimes adding a brief, general statement of agreement.

He keeps giving friendly smiles whenever he looks at Ben, keeps trying to come across as cheerful and comfortable. But Ben keeps moving away from him, looking as though every reminder of Kip's presence tires him a bit more. 

Kip has always been noticing Ben's expressions undergo these tiny changes when their eyes meet. A slight dampening, an additional degree of coolness. It's no different now, and it's no different that Kip feels an equally subtle twinge of hurt each time. 

—

Kip perks up a bit when they go into a little store that's mostly centered around indoor gardening and he finds himself genuinely engaged. He always considers slightly ambitious projects like a little herb garden for the kitchen, something to look and smell nice and maybe even encourage him to cook more—but in actuality he's never had anything more than the little potted fern which Roy had given him. But now there's a large collection of seed packets and displays of colorful flowers to inspire him. 

The sudden release of torrential rain draws his attention to the front windows, where sheets of rain slap against the glass and the darkened atmosphere bleeds into the interior of the store.

"I guess we're stranded in here for a minute," Kate says from the other side of the room. 

"I brought an umbrella," Ben says flatly, "so maybe you two are stuck, but I'll be fine."

"Ha, now we just know we can take it from you with our strength in numbers, and leave you here to fend for yourself," Kate retorts, and Ben gives a short laugh under his breath. 

Kip soaks in the cozy white noise of the rainfall and wanders over to the trays of live plants, drawn to the blooming flowers. He leans in, inspecting them carefully, their intimate detail, their delicate streaks and speckles of pigmentation.

He wonders if Wallace likes plants, if he considers them a simple comfort like Kip does. He hasn't ever seen any plants in Wallace's apartment. He wonders if Wallace would take to the idea of growing any—he always seems to find so much gratification in feeling like he's supported someone, and that might even extend to flora.

He remembers how Pascal has, ironically, a green thumb—how their shared home back in D was brightened up with unobtrusive plants flourishing in every room. He remembers how Pascal surprised him one day by changing up their shared bedroom when Kip was out at work. Kip had come home, tired and sore and feeling guilty about having been in a bad place the night before and having worried and exhausted his friends. He had intended to apologize to Pascal for avoiding him and all other company, for discovering in the morning that Pascal had slept on the couch just to give him space. He had found the apartment empty and trudged into his and Pascal's bedroom to change out of his workclothes, and was momentarily stunned when he opened the door and found himself in transformed surroundings—there was a new set of heavy, cozy-looking striped blankets on the bed, new and beautifully-colored curtains, a large, patterned, circular rug on the floor, a string of fairy lights hanging around the perimeter of the room, and most impressively, a small lilac bush tucked in the corner by the window. Kip had stayed in the room even after he had gotten changed, awed by how different it felt.

Pascal had returned home less than half an hour later, apologizing that Kip came home to solitude and explaining that he had gone out to buy some new flavors of tea for them all and that he had done everything in the room while everyone else was away and hoped that Kip liked it. Kip had pulled him into a tight hug that didn't end for a couple of minutes. 

He had kissed Pascal slow and long and marveled at him, he had asked him how much work he had done, especially to carry a plant all the way into the apartment, surely being heavy and awkward, surely taking up time and money. Pascal blushed and smiled but insisted it had all been manageable and that he wanted the bedroom to be a nicer place for Kip, especially whenever he needed it as a shelter to retreat into. He had taken Kip into the room to show him how to turn the lights off and on, and their warm surrounding glow melted Kip, and his continued amazement at his boyfriend's love and understanding and consideration melted him even more, and he had pulled the pillows off the bed to cushion Pascal's head and hips as he laid him out on the rug and kissed him and kissed him and finally fucked him there in the middle of the room, the scent of lilacs and sex mixed into every heavy breath.

"They're nice."

The quiet statement comes from right beside Kip, startling him out of his reverie. He flinches and snaps his head in that direction to see Ben looking over the plants as well, only a few feet away.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to sneak up on you," Ben says, glancing over at Kip out of the corner of his eye. 

"That's—it's okay," Kip stammers, running a hand uselessly through his hair and trying to settle himself. "I—yeah. They're nice."

"Mm." 

Kip is all but overcome with self-consciousness. 

"I was thinking of getting some kind of flowers," he finally ventures.

"Yeah?" Ben gently brushes his fingers along the petals of a daisy. 

"Uh-huh. I have one plant already, but I might like having another..."

"Maybe." Ben's voice is low. "It might help give that place some more life."

Kip looks over to see Ben give him a slight smile, and Kip's heart thumps a few times. Ben moves away and the rain picks up and Kip turns back to the flowers but stares at their leaves. 

—

Kip puts the little pot of forget-me-nots on the shelf beside the fern, beside the portrait. Their name and their blue color don't go unnoticed by him, but they're sweet little flowers that fit in well with the rest of the space.

He spritzes some water onto the fern and unscrews the cap to pour a bit of water into the soil, then gives the flowers some water too. He carefully rotates the pot, scooting it a bit closer to the picture, then turns his attention to the photo itself.

The rain had calmed down but remained steady and had evolved into a thunderstorm, with occasional distant rumbles, such as the one that sounds before Kip picks up the frame and stares at the faces of his family, soaking in every detail.

His heart gets a little heavy. He climbs onto his bed and leans against the wall at the head, drawing his knees up and resting the back of the frame on his lap. The room is dim; he turns on the string of lights around his corkboard and curls around the picture.

He stays like that for a little while, silent, feeling an onset of dulled heartache. 

"I love you," he breathes, tracing his nail along their forms. "I miss you, so much."

—

At this point in his life, Kip is good at calmly picking apart his emotions—when he's able to confront them in the first place instead of trying to deny or at least avoid them completely.

This most recent revelation might be almost overwhelming complex, but it's still kind of pleasant, and he finds it fairly easy to think about. 

So it doesn't take long before he's lying awake again and coming to the conclusion that his new realizations about his love for Wallace haven't lessened what he's known for years about his love for Pascal.

He's in love with Pascal, he's been in love with Pascal for over half a decade, and Pascal is in love with him. That hadn't changed when Kip was dropped headfirst into an ocean of shock and grief and comfortless pain, having lost everything, absolutely everything—having nothing more than himself, a self that had been stripped of his family, his home, his safety, his possessions, his identity—with every moment and thought simply a torture of being forcibly dragged through a consciousness that seemed a billion continuous instants of agony.

Pascal had rushed to be with him that very night, but Kip had no capacity to process how long it had been between waking up after the fire and seeing Pascal, or how Pascal had gotten to him. He only knew that Pascal was there now, and he reached out immediately, wordlessly, and Pascal came to him and Kip clung to his boyfriend, huddled against his chest, swathed in his arms. In the shock of the immediate aftermath, the fire was constantly vivid and horribly close in his mind's eye, and he could neither bear to think of his family nor stop doing so for even a moment. He pushed himself against Pascal, his whole body trembling violently from his core out, gripping the fabric of Pascal’s shirt. He was intermittently wailing with grief, inhales grating at his throat as piercing sobs, sometimes choking on his horror and quieting somewhat, feeling raw and wholly exposed to a pain he felt would kill him right there.

About half an hour had passed in the same way before Kip had the conscious thought that Pascal had come over from District D immediately, had been holding him tight as he trembled and wept and keened loudly. 

He cried out Pascal's name, the only coherent word he would say for a couple of hours, and Pascal squeezed him tighter and whispered urgent reassurances to him that he couldn't understand because he couldn't understand anything because nothing felt real anymore and Kip couldn't understand anything that was happening because his family was gone, just gone, they had died, had been killed and they had burned in a fire and Kip couldn't bear to think of it, he couldn't take it, he couldn't take it but he couldn't tear his mind away from remembering the unstoppable wall of bright, roaring flames and the consuming, intolerable heat and he couldn’t stop imagining their last moments alive which must have been pure, incomprehensible pain and terror and Kip can't take it, he can't bear it, he remembers the utter helplessness of seeing his home burn, knowing his family had to be trapped in it if they weren't beside him, knowing they were dying or going to die and he couldn't help them and they were going to burn with all the rest of it, yet fully expecting them to escape because they had to. He remembers his panic, so intense he can't describe it, only comparable to the panic he felt afterwards when he woke up while the ruins of the building were still smoldering and he slowly started to realize what had happened. Kip had nothing but his shock and pure agony and useless but unending tears because this couldn't happen, it had to stop, they had to go back and do this again because it was wrong, they couldn't be gone but they were and they were dead, killed, gone and it felt like every part of Kip and every part of his life had been consumed by the fire too and nothing felt real and Kip was crying without end, without exhausting his tears or himself, unable to do anything more.

But Pascal wasn't gone, and Kip was shoving his tearsoaked face against Pascal's neck, sobbing and pulling Pascal's shirt down his chest, giving hoarse, quiet screams that he’d thought only happened in nightmares.

And Pascal had stayed with him through it, and stayed with him for days, and was with him when he and Molly and Roy went to District D, and when he finally took them all into his home. 

And when Kip emerged from the first awful phase of his grief and trauma, Pascal was there. And Pascal loved him, and Kip loved Pascal, and their relationship was different, because Kip was different, and Pascal was different, and everything was different and always would be.

They had never stopped loving each other. 

Not when Kip started to notice that Molly and Roy still weren't truly comfortable in D, having left too much behind because they refused to leave Kip's side. When, as much as it pained him, he'd grown to accept that he couldn't be comfortable in District D either, if Molly and Roy weren't—he knew he couldn't convince them to go back to C without him. They wouldn't leave him. 

And he knew that deep down he thought he personally should move back to C as well. He knows that he always wanted to help people the same way that his brother was, and he had always said so, until his family was killed and Kip ended up in D, away from the people he'd always thought he'd grow up learning how to help, now trying to keep his head as far down as possible. He knew that he always felt like he'd abandoned everyone his brother had been trying to help even while he resented the expectation that he could take his brother's place—could replace him—even worse, that Kip could simply be considered the same person as Kent, just younger. He knew if he was incapable of feeling fear, he'd still be in C. He knew he felt like he'd broken his promise to himself, the one he'd made over and over, to someday help people like Kent did.

And he knew that the reason he was more comfortable staying in D wasn't because he was truly more at home, but because he was so afraid. He'd gradually, gradually convinced himself he could bring himself to move back to C, until he had the confidence to quietly mention the idea to Molly one evening, and her response was proportionally casual but still detectably positive.

And it didn't take long to realize what was tearing him up so badly about the seemingly reasonable concept of moving back. When he couldn't bring himself to mention the idea to Pascal, he first thought it was because he felt guilty about requiring Pascal to move away from the district he'd grown up in to follow Kip, but he soon knew it was a much bigger problem—he didn't want Pascal to go to C with them.

He wanted to stay in D himself, but he had to do this for Roy and Molly's sakes—they couldn't be truly content until they were back in C, and they couldn't be back in C unless Kip was there too. And he knew his own guilt about not living in C would only increase with time. But Pascal could stay. Pascal had to stay. Kip was still scared enough of C that he would truly be afraid of bringing a monster who wasn't used to that district there for the first time, and infinitely worse being attached to him, living with him—it was far too much. 

He figured it out one night simply by imagining finding out that Pascal had been killed. He'd already done that mental exercise to consider how he would react if Roy or Molly were hurt, and knew beyond a doubt he wouldn't be able to take it. He was always somewhat comforted by how much they looked after each other and how much stronger than him they were, but that couldn't fully extinguish his fears. He only knew that staying in D with the awareness that he was hurting the two would gradually but certainly destroy him, while moving back to C, if they were cautious, if they worked carefully, only had a chance of killing him—literally or figuratively. 

But Pascal was happy in District D and always had been—though neither of them enjoyed the distance between them when they first started dating. Pascal could stay. And if he came along and anything happened, Kip would know it was because of Pascal’s proximity to him, completely preventable, because Kip knows better than anyone how being close to someone who’s in danger can be fatal enough for you both. That didn't just involve grief that he couldn't weather, but guilt as well. He already knew that Molly and Roy would still be in C if not for him. He didn't want to know that Pascal could still be safe in D if it wasn't for him—that Pascal could be safe anywhere if it wasn't for him. He wouldn't be able to live with it.

The first time he sat down with both Molly and Roy to seriously discuss moving back to C, he put the nail in the coffin by saying aloud that he didn't intend for Pascal to come with them. He said it with a lifted head, a straight back, and folded hands, and if the other two had played along with his style of delivery he might have continued on with it convincingly enough. But their response of a simultaneous surprised "What?!" punched right through Kip's pretense of sturdiness, and he was immediately breathing harder and stammering, and couldn't answer their demands for elaboration with anything but a fumble for words and an embarrassingly fast crumble into silence.

Roy immediately moved his chair closer and pressed a hand over Kip's, giving soothing strokes of the thumb. But Molly launched right into calling out his feigned resolve.

"What are you talking about?" She raised her hands in disbelief. "You want him to come with us; you know he'll want to come with us!"

"I know," Kip had answered. "I don't want to go without him but I need him to stay here."

Molly had argued with him over it a little longer, eventually he just repeatedly answered with "I can't, I can't. I can't."

The conversation hadn't gone much further. Kip was still visibly uneasy by the time Pascal came home, and to tell him what was wrong he had to explain it all, that he wanted to let Molly and Roy return home, but he wanted Pascal to stay away from District C while he himself was there, and it had twisted his stomach to say it and Pascal listened with patience and Kip saw that he was trying to respond with steadiness and understanding but was confused and struggling with it and Kip hadn't planned on laying it all out so soon but he couldn't stand to make Pascal feel like he was trying to hide anything from him and he couldn't make Roy and Molly keep secrets from their friend for his sake either.

They had the hushed conversation sitting on their bed, facing each other, and Kip had told Pascal the truth, that he didn't want to be separated from Pascal but he couldn't feel okay or safe letting Pascal follow him into C. He made no efforts to hide the fact that it was his own fear that necessitated this. That if Kip was anyone else—anyone whose family hadn't been killed in a fire as both a punishment and a threat, anyone who hadn't only survived that by accident—it could be safe for Pascal. But he told Pascal that even half a decade later, he would surely have that same target on his back in the eyes of the forces that remained just as unknown and undetected and unopposed as they had been when they'd first decided the Kaizers had to die. He would be noticed by everyone as an almost public figure, his presence would draw attention, and if he was dating someone that would end up being common enough knowledge too. Someone being that close to him, that special—it wouldn’t be okay. Kip would be pushing away their safety the closer to Pascal he was. He couldn't bear doing that, no matter how happy Pascal made him—he would rather be killed directly but alone than risk having Pascal killed right along with him. He told Pascal that he wanted to try helping those people again, and that Pascal would be safer the greater the distance between them.

"Kip, I—" Pascal's voice was starting to shake, something Kip had hardly ever heard in their half decade together. His heart lurched horribly in his chest. "If you want to move back to C, you should. And...I'm not going to force you to let me move with you..."

Kip grabbed Pascal's arms and squeezed them.

"I want to stay here, Pascal, I want to stay here with you," he told him. "But I can't, I—I've been thinking about this and I know Molly and Roy want to move back and they're only here in the first place because of me, and I can't keep them here just because I'm more comfortable, and I...I think I can live in C again, I know we could...and I could be more involved in everything there. I know I should—should technically never have left but—"

"You needed to,” Pascal said insistently.

"But I think I could be there again," Kip persisted. "I have to be. If I don't go, I'll never do what I always said I would do and Molly and Roy, they're—they're just going to be stuck with me, and I'll be keeping them from what they want to do and—and I have to move back, Pascal."

There was a heavy pause.

"I want to go with you," Pascal said. There was almost a whimper in his voice.

Kip was too shaken up to speak for a moment. 

Pascal almost never said anything so direct; he gently suggested and offered and proposed but he hardly ever outright stated his own desires like that, but he seemed unable to bring himself to actually ask Kip to let him come along, and Kip thought that he might not be able to outright refuse if he did. But part of what made Pascal so amazing was that he never, ever did anything he knew would back Kip into a corner or pressure him or make him say something he didn't want to—even though there were so many ways to do so, accidentally or on purpose. Pascal always paid attention to all Kip's subtle signs and tells and gave Kip so much room and wouldn't ever make him feel like he was losing control or being limited. Not even then, when he looked at Kip and then down at the bed and he sniffed quietly and Kip flinched to see a tear spill down along the bridge of Pascal's nose.

"Pascal," he whispered, placing his hands on either side of his boyfriend's face and putting their foreheads together. "Pascal, I love you, I don't want to leave you," he couldn’t help saying, hating that he had to stop himself from saying the reasons he had to leave anyways. 

Pascal didn't speak. His broad shoulders were shaking, more tears sliding down his face.

"Pascal..." Kip's voice quavered and he kissed Pascal's hair and brushed away the tears as they fell and painted his face with slow caresses. Pascal's breath caught and shuddered with a quiet sob, and all at once Kip was crying too.

Over the next few days, he kept talking about it with Pascal, and separately with Molly and Roy. He didn't want to make it sound as though the pair was making him leave his boyfriend. But he knew he would rather lose Pascal, knowing he was alive, than lose him the way he'd lost his family. And if he let Pascal live with him in C while trying to help people as he intended, his own fear and uncertainty would consume any chance of their happiness. Even if nothing happened to Pascal, he couldn't bear to witness himself destroy everything good about their relationship.

Molly softened a bit from her initial reaction to the news that Kip wanted to move away from Pascal—she and Roy both seemed to be invigorated by the idea of moving back home, and Kip's distress over his own decision might have convinced her to go easier on him about the matter. Eventually she had to accept that Kip wasn't going to change his mind, that he couldn't, he wasn't ready for it—he had backed himself into a corner all on his own, and all they could do was be in that corner with him.

And Kip had broken his own heart. He had told Pascal they were looking for an apartment in C already, a mile or so from where they used to live, and he told Pascal he couldn't be safe if he lived with him. He told Pascal he loved him, and he wanted to stay with him forever if he could, but that he knew he was the one choosing to leave Pascal, and he didn't think they should hold each other in that limbo under such a separation—a separation Kip intended to be permanent—so Pascal didn't need to consider himself attached to Kip after that.

Pascal hadn't responded to that; he never had. An apartment was found, a date was set. Kip packed his somewhat sparse belongings from his and Pascal's bedroom by himself because if Pascal had been there to help he would've had to see Kip break down messily, curling up on their bed and burying his face in the pillow to stifle his harsh, loud sobs. They'd never stopped sharing that bed, lying so close they were always touching, fucking each other before falling asleep or after waking up, holding each other, kissing, spooning, cuddling. They knew they were making it harder on themselves but they couldn't bear to try making it any easier. The early morning hours of the official moving day was the only time Kip had ever cried during sex. They fucked repeatedly, their buildup was always long and gradual and intense, they came together in the last round. They couldn't stop kissing and holding each other, they didn't want to do anything to bring it to an end.

Their farewell was a heartbreak of its own. Kip couldn't stop saying "thank you" and "I'm sorry", he wanted to stop himself from saying anything but it was as possible as deciding to stop bleeding. They had held each other in a hug for a long time, Kip had put a letter into his arms and kissed him quickly but softly and told him please, please, to do whatever he needed to be happy. And he had finally forced himself away and walked over to Molly and Roy, and couldn't take his eyes off Pascal until they had driven too far away to see him anymore. Molly had passed him a packet of tissues, and he went through more than half of them at once, and used the rest in smaller lapses into tears over the course of the drive.

Kip had been the one to call Pascal when they had finished bringing all their boxes into their new apartment; his voice had a slight tremor to it, but he kept himself together, and so did Pascal. It was a second goodbye, more formal, more distanced in every way. But he knew he was still in love with Pascal, and Pascal was still in love with him.

About a week later, he got a letter from Pascal in a response to the one he'd left his boyfriend with. It was deeply personal and affectionate but restrained, assuring Kip he could move on with someone else just as Kip had kept assuring Pascal he could do the same—without either of them acknowledging that they actually would. A pressed lilac bloom had been slipped into the envelope. Kip brought the signature up to his lips, held it against his chest.

He tried to get over Pascal. Settling in to a new place was a good distraction, and Molly and Roy were clearly excited to finally be back, and that cheered Kip up a bit. The familiarity of the surroundings was both comforting and upsetting, inescapable reminders of what life had been like the last time he was in the area. But he stayed away from the places closest to his old home, and was soothed by the happiness of reunions with people he'd left behind.

Kip struggled with the move more than the others did, but he kept himself mostly upright and weathered his bad days. He could see Eno much more often, both as his therapist and as his friend.

With enough time, his unfamiliar new life became routine—even the painful parts of it. He had his friends to look after him when he needed some extra support. He still missed Pascal, and still knew he hadn't gotten over him, hadn't gotten over the boyfriend he'd wanted to keep all his life, the one who had been there for him when Kip was shredded apart and helpless, when he could've backed out of the relationship that was less than a year old and just left Kip and Kip wouldn't even have realized it for days or maybe weeks, who instead had chosen without hesitation to be with Kip, to do as much as he could for him. Kip loved him with everything he had. He hadn't managed to get over that at all.

But he had learned to ignore it—most of the time. He sometimes wondered if Pascal was managing to move on. But he tried not to let himself indulge in his own heartache. He had chosen this unhappiness, and it was a dead-end road to delve deeper into it.

And then things turned on their head when Roy came home and told him they now lived in the same building as a human. And then within a matter of days, Kip was by that human's side when his stomach dropped and his heart hit his throat and Pascal stepped into the room.

He had never stopped loving Pascal. Pascal had never stopped loving him.

—

Kip turns onto his side and trails his fingers along the floor.

"I had this dream, and I sort of haven't been able to stop thinking about it," he says. "It wasn't bad, or anything, and it's not even a big deal, I just...keep thinking about it like every day."

"Does it seem important to you?"

Kip pauses and looks up at the ceiling.

"I guess so," he answers. "It's been making me think about a lot of stuff and...and just, how I feel about things, so..."

He trails off with half a shrug.

There's a pause.

"Do you want to say what the dream was about?" Eno prompts. 

Kip gives a long sigh, rolling onto his back again and nervously tapping his feet together.

"...You know Wallace?" he says slowly.

"Uh-huh."

"I dreamt that, uh...that I kissed him."

"Oh," Eno says, his tone conveying perfect neutrality.

"Well...not exactly, because the first time I woke up in the middle right before the kiss happened, but...I've kind of had the same dream again a few times since then, I suppose because I've been thinking about it so much, and those had an actual kiss in them."

Kip feels a little more relief than embarrassment at discussing the dream.

"I was surprised by it, but it didn't really feel wrong, and—and I like the dream. It feels completely safe, and I'm so used to nightmares, and..."

"Do you want to kiss Wallace in reality?" Eno finishes his thought for him.

"I think so."

"Do you think that's why you keep thinking about it?"

"Yeah, I mean, that's part of it, but it just made me reevaluate all my feelings about Wallace, you know? I mean, I already love him, he's my friend, but then that's...it's been confusing because I've already been thinking about Pascal. And I...I'm still not sure how that's going to go, but I know that I love him still and...and that I at least have a crush on Wallace. And in my whole life I never really stopped to wonder if I could ever be in love with more than one person, but I'm having these feelings about both of them at once and it's just...it's so unexpected and I'm not sure what to do with it."

"Is it something you feel like you need to solve because you’ll need to act on it?"

"I don't have a clue, that's where I'm stuck," Kip says. "I really don't know. Part of me is just nervous to say anything, like we're in high school or something, but I still like being around Wallace and I can't stop thinking about...just trying to be closer, but I'm...I'm not sure if that's a bad idea, or if it's even fair..."

"How would it be unfair?" Eno asks after a pause.

Kip looks at the wall beside him. 

"It's like...I know that if I have to pick one person, it would be Pascal—if that's an option. So I don't know if there's even a point in my pursuing anything with Wallace at the same time that I'm thinking about how to move forward with Pascal. It feels like I would just be leading them on, both of them. And Wallace is..."

He blushes and glances over at Eno, who gives him a trace of a smile.

Kip drags himself further upright and sighs.

"Wallace is...so, so sweet and...so friendly, and he's like that to everyone, you know? Like, I wouldn't be surprised if by now he had about three dozen people in love with him or something. I feel like...I have more access to him than a lot of people do, people who might love him a lot better than me, and if I drag him in that's probably going to be keeping him from being with anyone else, which is unfair because I'm not even sure if this is anything more than a stupid crush just because I had a nice dream about him." The pace of his words picks up a bit at the end and he's left a little low on air.

Eno gives him a few moments.

"So you feel guilty about this?"

"Yes."

—

Kip starts preparing dinner while the other two are out. He likes to do it as a surprise—the effort he puts into cooking feels natural, but by Roy and Molly's standards it's an exertion, and they try to convince him that he doesn't need to do it so often. He'd picked up the skill in his teens and refined it while living with Pascal, and found it could be calming, as long as he had the energy for it. He does as much as he can without knowing when the other two will actually be home, and puts the prepped ingredients in the refrigerator to be cooked and assembled later.

Kip trudges over to the couch and climbs into the corner of it, drawing his legs up and resting his head on the cushion of the armrest. He consciously relaxes his body and begins to practice breathing exercises he'd learned for the sake of his anxiety, measuring the breaths, deepening and slowing them, lengthening his exhales. 

He lifts his head at the sound of movement in the apartment and almost has time to be alarmed before recognizing Roy's voice. He blinks his eyes open to see that Molly had just come into the apartment and that Roy is sitting in the armchair across from the couch. 

He raises himself up from his slumped position. He pushes his legs off the cushions and realizes that Roy had draped a blanket over him. He looks over at Roy and smiles but Roy is walking over to Molly to initiate their standard greeting hug.

"Hello," Molly singsongs, walking by on her way to her room. Kip murmurs a hello and rubs his face, pushes himself off the couch, goes into the kitchen, and starts pulling the food out of the fridge.

His head is swimming a bit as he moves through the kitchen, taking bowls and spoons from the cabinets and drawers and pouring ingredients into a pot.

He pulls his phone from his pocket while the food cooks and notices he'd gotten a text from Wallace. "Wallace Foster: hey kip! i was just wondering..." is all the preview reads, but his pulse quickens a bit at that alone. He opens the text.

"hey kip! i was just wondering if you were free tomorrow or the next day, i was reading through a lot of old stuff on your blog and had a lot of questions and didnt want to send you an essay for an email or anything...just a lot of stuff i didnt know about and would love to learn more about! you dont have to of course, but i would get you lunch or something so it might be more use of your time haha! if you dont want to sit around answering all my questions or youre busy thats fine!! thank you anyway...your posts are really great, its amazing!"

Kip rereads it a couple of times and then puts it back in his pocket, touching his fingers to his lip and biting it out of nervous habit. He tries to quell the slight case of butterflies in stomach and reminds himself that he's probably never even going to talk to Wallace about any of the thoughts he's been having, and this isn't a date, and as always, he just needs to rein himself in.

His focus is split between the cooking and occasionally mentally drafting potential replies to Wallace's text. 

Roy comes to the doorway of the kitchen, waiting for Kip to choose to acknowledge him.

"What's up," Kip says, giving the pot a stir before turning towards him.

"Just saying hi," Roy answers. "And saying thank you, too, for making us dinner, you didn't have to do that, it's so nice of you!"

"It's not a big deal for me, at all," Kip assures. "Don't worry."

There's a short pause, which, for Roy, is a very long time.

"Are you okay, Kip?" Roy asks quietly.

"Huh? Uh, yes—I mean...why?"

"I don't know, you've just been kind of, uh, quieter than usual for a while now, I guess."

"Oh, I guess I probably have, yeah." Kip turns back towards the stove. "I've been okay though, I promise, I'm just...thinking about a lot of stuff lately."

"Oh," Roy says. "Okay."

"You don't have to worry."

"Okay."

—

Kip unties his apron as he walks through the front entrance of their apartment building, dusting off the front of his pants and straightening his button-up shirt. He makes the short journey to Wallace's apartment door and knocks quietly before he has a chance to hesitate and end up piling a bit more anxiety onto himself.

He doesn't hear anything for a few moments, and then suddenly the door opens and Wallace is standing before him, smiling, wearing a grey sweater and holding a cup of what looks like coffee.

"Hey, thanks for coming over," he says cheerfully, immediately moving away from the door so Kip can walk inside. Kip murmurs an automatic reply of thanks and follows Wallace into the apartment that by now is almost as familiar to him as his own.

"Oh—" Kip pauses midstep and then continues his way into the room, caught off-guard by finding Ben in a chair with a cup of tea. There's brief eye contact, and Ben doesn't seem surprised to see Kip but he blushes slightly and glances away as Kip does the same.

"I met Ben and invited him over, too," Wallace explains. "I'll take you guys out for dinner after this, if you want. If this is still okay for you, Kip."

"It's fine," Kip says. His defenses are going up fast—not a shield, but still a shell. His shoulders go back, chin tilts up, arms straighten by his sides. He reminds himself that he’s technically here as the author of his blog. This version of him is a reporter, an activist, a resource in the community. He has a certain level of respectability and pride that can't be taken away, unlike the everyday Kip Kaizer who can secretly find himself slightly ashamed and made to feel somehow broadly inadequate around Ben.

Wallace leaves the room to make Kip his own cup of tea, and Kip settles on the couch, and looks at the notebook and pen sitting on the table, and at Wallace's coffee cup, and at Ben. 

Kip's forcing away any bitterness that he's not going to be alone with Wallace. He tells himself he's not in charge of what either person does; he has no right to feel entitled to anything. He reminds himself that Ben is lonely and self-isolates maybe even more often than Kip himself does, and that it's a good thing that Ben is spending time outside his own apartment, and that it's not surprising if Ben is never comfortable around him, since he can easily guess that he reminds Ben of the worst part of both their lives.

"It's good to see you, Ben," he says quietly, folding his work apron on the side of the couch. "How's your day going?"

"Pretty good," Ben says. "Wallace said you're here to...teach him about...this district?" He speaks somewhat haltingly as though it makes so little sense that it's difficult even to put into words. “I didn’t get the clearest picture of it. Sorry.”

"It's more like I'm just here to talk about my blog." Kip breathes a laugh.

Ben gives a short laugh in turn, and Kip suddenly regrets making fun of himself. He leans back into the couch and fixes his attention on the pictures on the walls.

Wallace reenters with the tea for Kip and shows him the notebook to reveal that he'd taken notes and written down his questions as he read through Kip's blog. He sits down and launches into a surprisingly thorough description of his thoughts and reactions to what he'd read, scattering in compliments for Kip's work, and Kip finds himself undeniably flattered.

When they get down to Wallace's questions, Kip's actually a bit impressed. It's clear Wallace put a lot of thought into all of them, and most of his questions manage to notice trends and point more towards the heart of the issues. Wallace brings out his laptop to open certain posts specific to his questions and writes quick notes as Kip provides him with more in-depth explanations and elaborations.

"Oh—this is referring to an incident about eight years ago. It’s common knowledge among monsters, which means I doubt hardly any news of it reached District A. It wasn't even well-documented in many of the larger newspapers here. Most of the printed news that really covered it comes from District D."

"Most newspapers come out of B and C though, right?"

"Yes, but there are smaller, somewhat more underground publications. They obviously don't have the resources of the larger establishments, but they don't have the censorship either, and they can focus on more local issues, and there's a fair number of long-running weekly papers. And there are some that will print single-page flyers, especially if there's, uh—urgent developments. It might seem more informal, but it's common and generally taken pretty seriously, by monsters especially. A lot of people here trust photocopies from D more than, say, official newspapers from B."

Wallace nods as he scribbles in the notebook, eyebrows drawn together, biting on his lower lip.

"Plus, it helps that a lot of times they're free, or still really cheap—even specially printed stuff like booklets are usually maybe 75 cents. People aren't really doing any of this for profit, obviously...operating costs are kept as low as possible and the prices are just enough to cover those costs—sometimes not even that. A lot of times there’s personal funding or donations. It's basically volunteer work: all the stuff like research and writing and editing everything is done with little or no pay."

"That's really impressive," Wallace remarks. "People must care a lot to do that."

"Yeah. It’s important stuff. There’s information that can be incredibly important to monsters, and a lot of times the only way we can get it is from each other. A decent amount is spread mostly through word-of-mouth. Unfortunately, this can make it difficult to verify or track down original sources...which means it can all easily be waved off as lies and rumors, but it's more than that, and anyone who knows anything knows it."

"Wow, I...I never would have even thought about this kind of stuff," Wallace murmurs, looking up from his notes.

"You wouldn't ever have to think about those things in A," Kip says. "But in these other districts, and for monsters in particular, there’s all these extra inherent difficulties and hurdles that we just try to adapt to as part of our everyday life.”

Wallace blushes a little but nods.

"That's kind of like what you do," he says.

"What—adapting?"

"Part of what your blog's about, you're basically a volunteer reporter," Wallace explains.

"Oh," Kip says. "Uh, yeah, I guess that's true, in a way. I feel like a lot of it is more of...kind of consolidating preexisting resources, though."

"Still..."

Kip shrugs and picks up his cup for a drink of tea.

"Are you..." Wallace's voice is suddenly tentative and softer. "Are you ever nervous about running your blog?"

Kip stiffens and clenches the side of the cup as he sits it back on the table. He glances over at Ben.

"Yes," he answers. "I have been, yeah. I’ve always had to think about the safety of the people who read my site, and of myself. I mean, some of the papers around here don't report accurately because they're trying to clean up the information, but some papers are just intimidated by the risk of printing things at all. They're less likely to distort the news, but will probably just omit coverage altogether. The so-called rumors I mentioned are generally what's most dangerous, though. I usually don't address them head-on because I can't verify them any more than anyone else can, but I'll admit that's partially an excuse. They do inform my writing, though. The reality behind what gets censored and swept under the rug is the context for everything I write about."

He looks up to see Wallace has stopped taking notes and is looking back at him.

"I'll admit that I think my blog might be of most use to people like you, who don’t always have prior knowledge to what's going on, or for some reason or another don't have access to other, more direct resources. There's advantages to it being online, as it can accessed easily, but of course that's a double-edged sword. I'm—I’m not fearless, and I‘ve had to be restrained because of that. Particularly before. Things are a lot different after what we did, but as big a problem as E was, there’s...never only one threat facing monsters. All of us always have to be careful. I have to practically encode things sometimes.”

He's understating it, and he knows it. His fear was always eating at him. He couldn’t stay silent, but couldn’t put himself or his family and friends at risk either, and what he does with his blog is far less brave than what other monsters do to keep others informed. Kip knows he's selfish—the more others know about what's really going on around them, the safer they can really be. But more than anything in the world, Kip’s wanted to maintain the safety of those close to him. He could never trade that off in service of his own agenda.

But Wallace doesn't push the matter any further, instead bringing it back around to his original question about a reference to an event in one of Kip's older posts about a new hospital in B. Kip explained that there had been, in B especially but in C and even occasionally D as well, a trackable history of monsters being outright denied the medical care that humans received. He explained that practicing medicine targeted to monsters was viewed by humans as a niche specialty, rather than something that should be considered as common and essential as the entire field of medical treatment for humans. He explained that monsters’ varying physiologies and structures often needed different treatments and techniques, and that assuming that everything that worked for humans would always translate over for every monster was an assumption that could do real damage. He explained that many monsters often avoided seeking care for fear of being treated badly or even further harmed. How monsters who did seek care would be prioritized beneath humans. How monsters died from ignorance or negligence or both. How less studies were done on issues related to monsters, the ones that existed weren't readily available, good medical information was harder to come by even for monsters who went into the field. How on occasion there were cases that suggested monsters had been deliberately mistreated, left to die, or directly killed—often with vague excuses that implied it was dangerous or monsters were simply untreatable, their needs unknowable, so complex and varied and different from humans that it wasn’t worth the time and energy to understand it. Not a good investment.

How his and Wallace’s exposure of E has made monsters more distrustful than ever of medical establishments, particularly since this is far from the only case of exploitative experimentation on monsters by humans. Certainly the most complex and the most widely-spanning in the scope of years, areas affected, and individual involved, but not the first.

Kip becomes a bit internally exhausted by spending so long discussing almost exclusively painful, stressful, frightening subjects—they might be a constant undercurrent in everyone's lives, including his, but directly addressing them takes a lot of energy and can be a significant mental toll. Even writing a single post on his blog can be too much for him on certain days, and even though he's prepared himself for it, discussing so much of what's on his blog is draining those reserves of stoicism. Particularly when the still-recent experiences of E are called to mind.

Ben sits quietly throughout all of it. Kip keeps glancing over at him every now and then, but avoids it after he accidentally meets his eyes for a fraction of a second and immediately blushes hard enough to feel it. 

Wallace finally turns the page of his notebook to see that he's gone through all his written questions, and checks the time.

"Oh, wow," he says, "it's been almost three hours."

"Oh," Kip says, surprised. "Sorry for—I went off on tangents a lot, I didn't realize that—"

"No, no!" Wallace cuts him off, raising a hand. "You were fantastic, thank you so much for going into so much detail! I REALLY appreciate this."

"You're welcome," Kip says, blushing again at the compliments. He can't restrain a small smile and a little burst of energy that translates into him shifting in his seat and clenching his toes. "I'm glad it was helpful."

"Very much," Wallace says. "...I know I'm still a beginner with all of this, but I used to feel like I was just looking at the tip of the iceberg, and now I'm finally starting to get a more complex grasp of things."

"There's a lot to get," Kip says. 

He looks over at Ben again. 

He wants to say something kind, or at least polite, to thank him for waiting patiently through all of Kip's monologuing, through all of the grim topics, to acknowledge that he's been here all along.

A simple "Thank you for being so patient, Ben" is echoing in Kip's mind. It's in his throat. It's pushing at him.

But he can't say it. He finds he can't say anything. He's suddenly feeling an accumulation of his small instances of discomfort around Ben. The stifling confusion, growing frustration, inescapable shame, and the sense that he must always be doing something wrong, despite that he knows he's just a reminder of their linked traumas. 

He keeps telling himself that it's all nothing, but all these nothings are adding up, and now all of them at once are keeping him from being able to even speak a simple phrase aloud to Ben.

It occurs to him that it even turns himself into his own reminder of what happened. Like he's infected with it, carrying a cloud everywhere and inflicting it upon everyone in proximity.

He has to wonder, then, if this discomfort is really just a temporary thing, or whether the only way to avoid it is to avoid Ben.

—

He doesn't have to initiate conversation when they go out to dinner; Wallace does it for all of them. His shell has gone up again.

—

Kip darts from the room but every movement creaks the floorboards and the house is so silent that his breathing alone seems loud enough to give him away. Every room leads to another and Kip tries to move from one to another as fast as he can through all the piles of boxes and deteriorating furniture. Heavy footsteps move around on the floor above him and no matter how hard he tries to distance himself from them, they manage to materialize right above him again. 

The rooms grow darker and more cluttered and dilapidated as he tries to escape. He stifles a gasp when he realizes that the footsteps are now on the same floor as him; he keeps bumping into things and creaking the floorboards and his fear is becoming smothering.

He can barely see anymore but it looks like some of the rooms have been burnt. The footsteps aren't closer, but they're constant and they're louder.

He knows it's going to catch him.

He starts seeing the silhouettes of what looks like bodies in the corners of rooms, limbs jutting out of a tangle of tree branches heaped along a wall.

He sees a dark shape move across the doorway he was headed towards, and he's too afraid to move until the footsteps shift into a faster pace behind and he starts to run out of panic. He crashes through the pitch dark room and hears things shifting and scrabbling around him and his terror envelopes him and he almost runs into a wall but feels along it until he comes to a doorway and there's no light from anywhere and he can't tell where he is in the next room and the footsteps are getting closer and Kip knows he can't outrun this and all he can do is hide, and he's climbing and falling along piles of something and the smell of ash is suffocating and the footsteps are too loud and too close and Kip buries himself down into what feels like heaps of wet grass and he gasps in shock to feel himself touching cold, lifeless flesh and the footsteps pounding towards him break into a run and erupt into the room and Kip works himself into such a panic that his surroundings fall away and he's twisting in on himself and crying out and finally wakes himself up.

It takes several seconds of fear to realize he had been dreaming, and that he's now awake. He gratefully relaxes into his mattress, breathing heavy, sweating. 

It takes another minute to realize that frost is creeping along his shoulder and chest. 

He puts on the tea kettle before he bothers saturating a handtowel with hot water and pressing it against the thin patch of ice. He turns it over after a while, wrings it out and soaks it again, and patiently repeats the process a few times until he's melted away all the crystals. 

He brews his tea methodically, and sits with it on the couch, centered around its heat. 

An opening door startles him into spilling a few drops into his lap and he closes his eyes and puts a hand to his chest to steady himself. He can already tell by sound alone that it's Molly's shorter stride moving towards him, and moments later she's standing beside the couch, resting her hand on its arm.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up," Kip murmurs. 

"Don't be," Molly says. "You didn't make me get up. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just the usual bad dream stuff. It's alright." 

Kip stares at his tea as Molly steps past him to sit beside him with a sigh.

"And have you been doing okay, in general?"

Kip sighs too.

"I..."

For a moment or two he seriously considers telling Molly about the several ways he's struggling with his relationships, and the way he's questioning his grasp of his own feelings, questioning the way he perceives others and himself and what he thinks he wants. But imagining explaining it still feels like it would just end up an embarrassment.

"I'm just trying to figure out some stuff," he mumbles. "But, I mean, I'm alright. Are you doing okay? Our schedules have been so different the past couple of weeks, I feel like I haven't been seeing you guys..."

He looks over at her and she gives a tired smile. 

"Things are okay," she says. "But it would be better if I wasn't worrying about you without knowing what's wrong."

Kip sighs again and shrugs.

"Just a lot of little things at once," he says. "And just times like..." He rubs the bridge of his nose. "Like, having those moments out of nowhere when you just wonder if you're ever going to be happy."

He closes his eyes and leans back.

Molly lays her hand on his knee. It's warm. After a few seconds he rests his own hand overtop hers.

When he settles back into bed, he leaves the string of lights on to blanket him in a protective glow.

—

Kip keeps taking his phone, opening Pascal's contact, and staring at the empty text message field for a minute or so before putting his phone back in his pocket.

It's not like he and Pascal haven't met and talked several times. But they still haven't started dating again. They still aren't exactly talking casually and regularly; they're both a bit nervous with each other. It's an awkward place, and he's not sure what to do now that he's harboring a crush for another guy as well. He won't reinitiate the intimacy of their relationship while concealing something so important from Pascal, but he doesn't know how to tell him, or if he even should. And in the meantime, it's getting really difficult not to reach out to Pascal and draw him in close.

There's no ambiguity about Pascal's love for him. As mild as Pascal seems on the surface, their relationship always dug in deeper to reveal that his love for Kip had not only a goodness and steadiness, but a surprisingly intense passion as well. They both had always been flustered by the other. And Pascal's committed support of Kip had been proven the day Kip lost his family. And, as he told Kip, he had moved to C with the intent of starting a new chapter in his life and make some changes, but also because he knew he couldn't be happy thinking that they might be together if only Pascal was in C as well. And he couldn’t stop thinking about Kip all but begging him to do whatever would make him happy.

Pascal's decision to move to C had dominated the discussion of their first meeting, when Kip had finally called Pascal and agreed to have lunch with him and talk. Kip had conceded that Pascal's move wasn't something that could be considered reversible—not only because Pascal wanted to be in C, but because he had invested his fairly modest savings into the move and into opening a store, something he had been wanting to try for a while and something that was easier to do in C than D. Kip knew Pascal probably couldn't afford to move away again anytime soon. 

Kip had actually started to get angry in that first meeting. It was so good to be meeting with Pascal like that again that it took about half an hour before his frustration could come to the surface, but he couldn't suppress the fact that part of his feelings about Pascal's return was, in fact, frustration. He had pleaded for Pascal to stay put, after all. And Pascal had done so at the time, but then done otherwise without even informing him.

When his slight irritability became noticeable to the both of them, he had to explain those thoughts to Pascal. He had to admit that he wasn't even sure if he could say he was initially glad Pascal had come to the district—the surprise had been so great, the worry was so pressing, he had been trying so hard to convince himself he believed everything was over between the two of them. He had believed so strongly in the importance of Pascal remaining safely in D that he had broken his own heart for it.

But then, he had to think, he'd known that he had broken Pascal's heart too. And he'd looked at Pascal, who was looking back at him with that expression he had, the one of restrained sadness that suggested his consciousness of Kip's pain and of his own, and for a fraction of a second Kip forgot that Pascal wasn't his boyfriend anymore. He was somewhat chastened and his temper abated by the reminder that Pascal had suffered from their breakup in exactly the same way he had—was still suffering in the same way.

"I'm sorry, Pascal," he said. "I mean, it's like I'm kind of mad at you, but not really, I'm—it's just that I'm—even now I'm still always so scared—of—"

"I know," Pascal said. "I know you are—"

"I'm just..." He put a hand to his forehead.

"I know."

And when he thought through it, he had to acknowledge that Pascal had basically done the same thing that he had done first. He'd made a sacrifice because he couldn't tolerate the alternative, even though he was hurting himself and even though he knew Pascal wouldn't be happy with the choice. And Pascal had sacrificed his place of safety in District D because, as he explained, he knew he couldn't bear to stay behind any longer, even though he knew Kip wouldn't be happy with his decision. He had apologized repeatedly but insisted that he just couldn't take the separation anymore, not while knowing there was a chance to be in Kip's life again, knowing he'd regret it all his life if he ignored that chance.

"Kip, if you still don't want to see me, I'll understand. I know I can't make you okay with it. I had to come here, but that was my choice, and I'm not expecting anything from you. I just want to be sure you know that I'm here for you, if you ever want—ever need anything."

But Kip knew Pascal hoped they could be together.

In their several meetings since, they'd talked a lot without ever directly addressing their dating status—which, after all, they'd never quite formally, verbally terminated. Every time he was face-to-face with Pascal, he found it a bit easier to accept that they lived in the same district as only objective fact, rather than any problem he needed to solve. It simply was what it was.

And every meeting has melted away at Kip's attempted neutrality, every moment spent with Pascal increases Kip's desire to be close to him again. Even a pause in the conversation could lead to Kip imagining himself and Pascal standing chest to chest, Kip's head on Pascal's shoulder, Pascal's soft arms around his back, imagining Pascal dropping warm, slow kisses across his face until he guides Pascal's mouth to his.

He's secure in Pascal's love for him; it's always been more than clear to him whenever he's in Pascal's presence. But if Kip's life has taught him anything, it's to take nothing—not even the most seemingly certain things—for granted.

He considers dropping his crush on Wallace entirely, refusing to entertain it in the least, in the hope that he can move forward with Pascal faster. But given that he wants to reignite his relationship with Pascal and loves him as deeply as ever, yet just a matter of months ago was resolved to let go of all his feelings for Pascal and assume they'd never be together again, he's not so sure anything is ever going to go according to plan.

—

He tells Eno about his confusion during his next appointment, and his feelings of helplessness when it comes to maintaining control of his own life, and his concern that he has no idea what he wants or what, if anything, will make him happy, and the weird guilt he has when around Ben and how it reminds him that he represents a concept to vastly more people than he does an ordinary person. It all comes from him in one tangled monologue, and he feels a little embarrassed at making Eno sit through it despite knowing that's not the kind of conversation this ever is.

"Okay, and...I don't know if I should save this one for later, but I—I've been having this new thing and it's kind of freaking me out or something."

Eno gives a small laugh.

"It sounds like you want to talk about it now."

"Mm..." Kip scratches his face and stretches his legs.

"Go ahead, Kip."

He realizes he's holding his breath and lets it out in a long sigh, nervously crossing and uncrossing his toes. He picks a spot on the ceiling and fixes his stare on it.

"I learned some stuff about how memory works," he begins. "And sorry if you already know a lot about it and I'm just repeating the obvious, but..."

He focuses on the spot on the ceiling and begins twisting the hem of his shirt around his fingers.

"Okay, so. It was about how, when people think about how a memory is made, we usually think that a memory is kind of like taking a picture of something that happened, and then we have this photo stored in our minds, and anytime we're remembering something we get to take out that photo again and look at it. But, um, apparently the actual process is nothing like that."

He closes his eyes for another quiet sigh and then locates his mark on the ceiling again.

"It's more like, you make a videotape, and that's your memory. Except already, the memory might not be accurate from the start. Like the stuff you actually got right could be way more vague than you think, and you could've got stuff completely wrong or added in stuff that never existed. And then when you access the memory again, you're not just rewatching that original copy. It's like you're making another copy of that videotape, and the next time you remember it, the memory is another copy of that copy of the first copy you made that probably had some mistakes in it in the first place. Like how the sound gets more and more fucked up and the colors fall apart and there's more static every time you keep making copies. But with memories, it's like the more times you pull one up, the more likely you are to misremember things and lose details and add things that are completely wrong and get further and further away from  
the thing that you're actually trying to remember. And it's super easy to make changes to the memory that feel real to you but aren't at all but now they've totally overwritten the original details and you can't ever go back to the most accurate copy you had, because it just doesn't exist anymore. You're not just altering the content of your memories, you're recreating and replacing them every time you think of them, and—and basically there's no way to keep a perfectly accurate memory. It's literally impossible."

He tries drawing out his exhales and relaxing his body against the cushions of the chair. 

"It's not like it's hard to figure out why that could be upsetting for anybody, really—but of course I immediately applied it to thinking about them, and..."

He abandons the spot on the ceiling he'd been staring at in favor of looking directly ahead of himself.

"It's only been fi—I mean, about six years...and before that, I was with them all my life, we were almost never apart, for eighteen years. My whole life. And I love them, I—I loved them, I...loved them then and I still love them and—and already sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting things about them. And I knew all these details, these—just these habits and mannerisms and tiny personal things that I knew because I lived with them and they were my family, and nobody knew them as well as I did. Nobody else knows all the things I did and—and I've always been scared of forgetting those details and having them just be completely lost forever."

He can't maintain his slow and even pace of breathing anymore. He spreads his fingers out along the sides of the chair and grips them tightly in an attempt to ground himself to the sensation.

"Sometimes it feels like it's even hard to remember their voices and even—"

He squeezes his eyes shut.

"Sometimes it even feels harder to remember their faces," he gets out. "And if I ever forget that, then what am I actually gonna remember? I'm going to forget them and—and if I forget them, then who would be remembering them any better?"

His knees always start shaking first. He holds on harder to the edges of the seat.

"I barely have any reminders of them. All the pictures of us in the house, everything we kept, it all burned, I lost everything I'd had in my phone, all those pictures and videos and—and every text we sent each other and even losing their phone numbers fucked me up. Even though—" He makes a sound that functions as a laugh even though he can't summon an actual one. "Even though their phones were melted into nothing I still wanted to have those contacts."

His cheeks feel warm. There's a tightness in the core of his ribcage that's trying to creep up towards his throat.

"I'm so glad you had that picture to give me, Eno," he says. "Everything I have of them is the stuff other people had—there's hardly anything and that picture of them is the best thing I have, I look at it every day—"

He has to take a moment to breathe.

"I know that I can't forget their faces because I have that picture to look at, but that doesn't mean I can't still lose the memory of seeing their faces from when they were alive, you know? And—and I know they're dead but sometimes I feel like they at least still exist because of everyone who has these memories of them. I still love them, and that makes it feel like they still exist a little as part of who I am, and it's like, my memories are what keeps them real. At least, that's what I thought, but apparently I'm changing the memories and losing what's actually real. I thought I had them stored away in my head and I was keeping them safe there and preserving them but I-I'm not, I'm losing them, I—"

His brimming tears finally overflow and spill from the corners of his eyes. 

"It's been six years and—and I could hardly go to sleep at the start because it felt like I was leaving them behind, like I was moving further away from them every single day. And I hated it. And I still feel that way, even now, I feel like I'm getting farther and farther from them and I'm losing what few traces of them I have left. Like, it's only in the past couple of years that it's even finally started to feel...less raw, kind of, like I'm finally getting more used to them being gone..."

He sniffs.

"But it still hurts. It still hurts and I'm not upset that I can manage to just get through my life better but I'm upset that it feels like I'm constantly moving away from them and—and it's like I'm losing them a little bit more every day, I miss them every day a-and...I've always been comforted by knowing that I still remember them, like I'm carrying part of them with me even though their real selves are getting further from me. But I'm..." His breath catches. "I'm not."

He reaches blindly over the edge of the chair into his bag and feels through it until he locates the pack of tissues he always brings to his appointments. He pulls out a couple of them and wipes at his nose and then clutches the tissues in his fist.

"Like I really thought that I could keep this tiny part of them safe in my memories," he says. "I thought that in a little way I was keeping them with me in the present and carrying them around by storing those memories but as time goes on those memories are getting less and less real and that means they're getting less real too and I'm losing them and I can't get them back, they can only get further from me and I'm—I—the more I think of those memories the more I'm messing them up. A-and—" He uses another tissue. "And, you know, when it...first happened, I-I couldn't stop thinking about them, not even for one full minute. It hurt so much but they were just in my head constantly and my thoughts were going so fast and were all about them and—and even after that I would think about them on purpose, I would spend hours just going through memories, I would be lying there for ages replaying these scenes and moments in my head while I was missing them so bad that it made me focus on those memories even more, y'know, I was just desperate to feel like I was with them again. And I-I feel so shitty about that now because every time I was doing that I was fucking up those memories a little bit more and losing a little bit of them and I—and who else is supposed to be making sure they still exist? Who else is supposed to be keeping those memories safe? Nobody else even has half as many of the memories I do! I'm—I was their family! I was with them every day and I was supposed to... There's barely anything left of them and I should be keeping them safe and instead I'm—instead, all this time I've been ruining my memories, and I'm losing them—and—"

He's gripping the chair again and getting a little breathless, so he stops and sucks in an inhale. It catches and grates in his throat. He scrubs another tissue under his nose and keeps his hand over his mouth as a shuddering tension slowly grips his whole body.

"God, Eno—"

He gives a few quiet sobs before he can even get enough air to speak.

"I miss them."

When his appointment ends a bit later, Kip is still shaky and crying a little. He swings his legs over the side of the chair and sits up and tries to clean up his face with more tissues. 

Eno finishes writing some notes before walking around from behind his desk to sit beside Kip.

"I'll do some research on that between now and your next appointment," he says, putting a hand on Kip's back, just below the base of Kip's neck. "But in the meantime, I really recommend that you think about it in terms of being unable to make the wrong decision if you're not given a decision at all. Because the only possible decision would be to either keep remembering your family or to forget they ever existed, and since you can't choose to cut off access to your memories anyway, there's no real decision in this for you at all. The choice you're blaming yourself for doesn’t exist for you or for anyone."

Kip sniffs and whispers "uh-huh" as Eno rubs his back and then gives him a few messy headscratches. Kip slings an arm around Eno's shoulder and leans against the other.

"I'll make us some tea," Eno says. 

He takes hold of Kip's head and pushes a kiss into his hair as Kip laughs and pretends to shove him away. Eno laughs too and stands up.

"Come and pick what kind you want," Eno says as he walks into the next room.

"Fine," Kip says, voice slightly stuffy. "But you have to tell me all about your week."

"It's a deal."

—

All day, Kip keeps taking out his phone and opening a new text message to Pascal. He stares at the blank field and his thumbs hover over the keyboard. 

"Just text him," he murmurs to himself. "Oh my god, just text him, just text him..."

He puts his phone in his pocket and his head in his hands as he sits down with a groan. 

He wants to open the door for Pascal, but he feels guilty that attention from Wallace still sometimes makes him blush. He's a little scared to consider that his newfound feelings for Wallace might be permanent. But there's no stopping his pulse from quickening at even a warm greeting from the human. 

Even worse, he can't deny that he likes the way he feels about Wallace. He had allowed the whole thing to have a trial run and now he doesn't want any of it to go away. His affection for Wallace has deepened into something encompassing and warm and, as dramatic a change as it is from his original reaction to the human, he finds even the thought of Wallace is comforting to him now. Imagining greater intimacy with Wallace triggers a feeling he can neither stifle nor ignore.

But his love for Pascal is a simultaneity, regardless of whether he's thinking of it or if he's tuned in to the frequency of his love for Wallace. He'd always found that it stayed in his heart from one day to the next even if he never consciously reflected on it. It just existed as a part of who he was—when they first started dating and didn't see each other much more than once a week, when Kip was too overcome with grief and shock to feel anything else, when he had a long shift at work and his depression was acting up and he was irritable and numb and tired all day, when he separated himself from Pascal and tried to change the way he felt, when he thought about loving Wallace: it existed.

And when he immerses himself in his feelings about Pascal, his feelings about Wallace remain equally unchanged whenever he next thinks of him. Neither seems eroded or supplanted by the other.

Kip blinks and sits upright.

—

It takes a couple of days both for Kip to work up his nerve and for all three of them to be off work in the evening to eat together.

They sit in a pile on the couch, watching a movie on Kip's laptop, eating from bowls. Kip and Molly bookend Roy and lean slightly against him—an arrangement that is both symmetrical and a source of happiness for Roy, who can drape his long arms around both his friends. He finishes eating in about half the time the others do so that he can free up his limbs to do just that. 

As the credits roll, they give a collective contented sigh. Kip closes his eyes and slumps against Roy's side. 

"Hey, you guys," he says, voice quieted to match the dimmed room. "I've been, uh, thinking..."

"Yeah?" Molly prompts.

"I was, uh, wondering what you guys would think about, um..." He's already embarrassed and he pushes himself through the rest of the sentence. "What you'd think about maybe having Pascal over here for dinner sometime."

There's a beat of silence in which Kip blushes deeply before the two burst into exclamations of surprise and excitement.

"Yes! Yes yes YES!"

"Oh my god, that would be so, so great!"

"We totally need to do that, we need to do that right away, oh my god, Kip..."

"I'm so glad this is happening!"

"Kip!"

He suddenly finds himself encircled in their simultaneous embrace and can't help but laugh along with the intensity of their happiness. After several seconds, they just hold him tighter, and he melts into it.

"It wouldn't be a date, okay?" he says eventually, muffled slightly by the cocoon of hugging. "Just a regular hanging-out visit and, like, actually letting him see where we live and everything."

"We haven't all been together in forever," Roy says, already sounding a little choked up about it. Kip smiles and nudges his head against Roy's shoulder.

"I know, and...and I want us to all be together, okay?" he says. "Don't anybody try to leave Pascal and me alone with each other. I'm not talking about a date. I don't—I'm not ready for that."

"Of course—"

"Kip—oh my god—"

The hug presses in on him again and he works his arms around them both to return it.

—

Wallace sits down beside Kip. Kip adjusts his balance along with the shifting pressure on the cushion.

"You like me?" Wallace says. His face is turning pink and his eyes are wide and he's so cute and Kip can't stop from smiling, thrilled that he's finally letting himself have this, that Wallace is so captivated by this, and that they're so close together.

"Yeah, Wallace," he answers through the laughter tugging at his voice. "I like you a lot."

"Oh," Wallace breathes, staring at him, a hand hovering by his chest. "Well...I like you, too."

A genuine laugh bursts from Kip and he sees Wallace light up with a smile in response. Kip drops all resistance to the momentum that sweeps him forward to embrace Wallace and press his mouth to the human's.

Wallace gives a tiny hum and Kip gets a hand on the back of Wallace's shirt and buries the other in Wallace's hair as he kisses him. Wallace's lips are soft and his skin is warm. A light sound escapes Kip's throat when Wallace slips his hands around his waist and then up and down along his back. Kip pushes the kiss further. His body begins to curve to follow Wallace's wandering touch.

The constant exchange of encouraging signals leads their already warm kissing to grow more heated. Their hands drift up and down each other's backs, sides, and shoulders, each feeling and kneading at the body underneath them. Their tongues and teeth meet, they whimper into each other's mouth as they press and pull themselves closer. 

Wallace slides a hand into the back pocket of Kip's pants; Kip rises up onto his knees with a sighed moan and pushes his tongue into Wallace's mouth. Wallace gets his other hand on Kip's ass too, gripping tightly with both. Kip responds with bites and sucks at Wallace's lip as he slides his palm up along the inside of Wallace's thigh to take a firm grip on his crotch. 

They're lying on their sides in Kip's bed; Kip slides a hand down Wallace's back and tugs his hips forward, encouraging Wallace to grind gently against him. Wallace compliantly bucks against Kip and Kip growls low in his chest and grinds back as Wallace's uneven pace finds a rhythm. He's wanted this so much, the contact of soft, warm skin against his own, the eager, gratifying touching that he's so starved for, the kissing that deepens moment by moment, the intense pleasure of indulging this need for the first time in way, way too long.

He's slipping away somehow, feeling the ache inside himself as strongly as ever but losing his sensations of Wallace. His feeling of the man's body, the pressure against him, his breathing, his smell—it's all getting faded and loose. He opens his eyes to fuzzy shapes that look nothing like Wallace or anything else at all. For a moment he feels something like the shadow of a kiss, but then he has to wonder if it was just a memory so vivid he mistook it for reality.

"Kip? Are you awake?" 

Kip sits straight up in the bed, now completely confused. He looks over at Pascal in the doorway—immediately his brain tries to rearrange its understanding of his existence. He reminds himself that he's living with Pascal, that Pascal is the person he kisses, not Wallace—

Wallace. Pascal doesn't even know who Wallace is; they haven't met yet.

"Kip?"

Kip hasn't met Wallace yet, either. He doesn't know who Wallace is.

He realizes he's dreaming and looks over at the Pascal he's dreaming of. His expression is one that's been directed at Kip countless times, one inherent in his memories of his years with Pascal. It rushes to his heart and he tries to wake himself up, unwilling to act out some mockery of their relationship with a Pascal who doesn't know this isn't real. He disengages with the entire environment, determined not to focus on any of it, and tries to trick his unconscious mind into feeling enough urgency to wake itself up.

He tries to thrash out, throw his head, but he's not sure if he's moving or if he's still asleep or where he is at all. He struggles to open his eyes. He's in the fog between sleep and waking and he can't figure out how to leave it.

Kip finally manages to blink his eyes open and finds himself lying in his bed, staring at the wall. He's a little hazy for a moment but quick to ascertain that he's no longer asleep. 

He sighs and rubs his eyes before rolling over onto his stomach. As he does, he feels his half-hard erection press against his thigh.

"Oh, god," he groans into his pillow. 

His dreams are already fragmenting and blending, but they're fresh enough in his mind that he remembers them with a clarity that heats his face and does nothing to soften his dick. 

He's embarrassed by himself. While he's been aware of the sexual aspect of his attraction to Wallace, he's never gone so far as to indulge in it. Not that he didn't have occasional instances of growing slightly turned on while dwelling on the topic, but he's never actually gotten hard from doing so, or crossed over from tentative, experimental considerations into outright fantasizing.

And he's embarrassed to realize he's faintly shifting his hips back and forth in time with his breathing, rubbing himself against the mattress.

He sighs again, consciously stilling the movement. It doesn't soothe the prickling of his libido. He starts weighing the arguments for letting himself follow this through to completion. He hasn't had sex even once since Pascal, and has been consciously starved for it for almost a year, and as a result it's not like he doesn't masturbate fairly regularly—especially when the buildup of his sex drive grows to be too much and he finds himself too distracted by it, too on edge. It's been a few days since he last came, and he has no real reason to deny himself an orgasm right now. He obviously wants it, and isn't too tired to give himself one. It's only that he was caught off guard by having a sex dream about Wallace, he tells himself.

It takes another minute to ascertain that he doesn't feel it's wrong of him to have had the dream in the first place, or to still be turned on by it even though he's now awake. It's not even like it's new information—just information that he was avoiding acknowledging. But there's no real reason to be too ashamed to take care of this.

So he closes his eyes and starts grinding against the bed. In less than a minute he's clutching the pillow and giving small, quiet gasps.

He's getting overheated. He rolls over, kicks the thick layer of blankets down around his knees, and strips his pants and shirt off and drops them to the floor. He stares up at the ceiling as he takes hold of himself, lightly rubbing near the base with his fingertips before settling into steady, even strokes.

He closes his eyes again and starts replaying the dream in his mind. His pelvis starts to roll, his cock is hardening fast. In a matter of seconds he's expanding on the memories of his dream, continuing them. He's imagining Wallace's mouth pressed to his own, to his neck, biting and sucking a bruise into his throat. He's imagining his own touch as Wallace’s hand jerking him off. He imagines himself lying facedown, pinned to the bed with Wallace's hands pushing down on the back of his shoulders as Wallace grinds his erection between his thighs and ass. 

He imagines Wallace kissing down his stomach until Wallace's lips close around the end of his cock and the man's warm hand cups and gently massages him. He imagines the touch drifting lower as Wallace begins to suck at the head of his erection, prompting Kip to spread his legs open for him. He imagines Wallace three fingers into him, slowly deepthroating him, hugging his thigh for stability. He imagines looking down and stroking his orange hair, bucking lightly into his mouth, hearing his stifled moans. He imagines dragging him up for a kiss, feeling the sweat on Wallace's back and the spit on his chin. 

He imagines that he's got Wallace on his back against the bed and has a hand around both of their cocks and is kissing Wallace as he grinds up on him. He's imagining Pascal is kneeling behind him and mounting him, cock pressed up against his ass, pushing him even harder against Wallace.

Kip gasps and his eyes open and his hand stills. He's squeezing the base of his cock and panting. His knees draw up slightly. 

Pascal. 

Wallace and Pascal.

Kip bites his lip and, with a gradual and deliberate exhale, slowly closes his eyes again.

Wallace and Pascal.

Pascal is grinding hard against him, chest pushed against Kip's curved back, soft arms trailing along his bare skin to his stomach and chest and tightening around him. Wallace is shifting underneath him, arching up, trying to grind back as best he can against the pressure of both Kip and Pascal's weight pushing him against the mattress. The three of them quickly find a pace to share, moving together. 

Kip's in the middle of the heat and the contact and he lightens his pressure against Wallace for a moment to grind back harder against Pascal. Wallace squirms with a faint whine and his eyes open and his lips part and he grabs at Kip's shoulders. Kip can't resist any of that and he leans in and kisses him; Wallace returns the kiss with enthusiasm. Pascal thrusts forward and Kip and Wallace's cocks are pressed together again and Wallace's hands are kneading at Kip's chest and side and Kip twists his head as far over his shoulder as he can until Pascal leans in for a kiss, messy and imprecise—neither of them mind.

Kip is on his hands and knees; his nose is buried in the hair on Pascal's pelvis, Pascal's cock fills his mouth. He sucks a few times, tasting it, and then carefully swallows around it. He feels the head pushed down his throat, feels Pascal thrust forward with a rough moan despite already having taken in his entire length. Kip lets Pascal start rolling his hips and he groans and Wallace is fucking him from behind and he's so caught up in all of it. The tops of Wallace's thighs press against the underside of Kip's and his hands are squeezing Kip's waist just above the hips as he bucks into him. Kip rubs his tongue along the underside of Pascal's cock and grinds back into Wallace's thrusts, whimpering. He's being fucked in the mouth and fucked in the ass and the sound of all their heavy breaths and sighs and moans and of Wallace's hips hitting his ass and of his own sucks at Pascal's cock are turning him on even more and his erection is starting to ache.

Kip is sitting in Wallace's lap, leaning his back against Wallace's chest as Wallace massages the inside of Kip's thigh with one hand and slowly strokes Kip's hardening cock with the other. Kip is groaning and arching his body as he moves against Wallace, trying to push his ass against Wallace's erection. Wallace slides his free hand up to Kip's stomach and holds their bodies together with rubs and squeezes along his torso. Pascal's arms are around the both of them and he's kissing Kip, kissing his throat and shoulders and chest and, over and over, his lips. The kissing grows more aggressive as Wallace is stroking faster and Kip is becoming more restless and his moans grow sharper and more frequent. Pascal takes Kip's tongue between his teeth and Kip reaches out and feels along Pascal's stomach until he can wrap his fingers around Pascal's warm and fully hard cock. He's working at Pascal and Wallace kisses the back of Kip's neck and Pascal squeezes them all tighter together in his arms and Kip buries his face in Pascal's hair as Pascal and Wallace lean in over his shoulder to kiss.

He's on his side, grinding against Wallace as Pascal grinds on his ass. His head is held tighter by Wallace's thighs as he sucks Wallace's cock and Pascal kneels behind Kip, rimming him and jerking him off. He's straddling Pascal, easing Pascal's cock fully into himself, gripping Wallace's back with one hand and threading the other into his hair while Wallace puts his tongue in Kip's mouth, both hands firm against Kip's ass, grinding against him. He's got Pascal facedown on the bed, gripping the headboard with his ass raised; he's fucking him hard while being held tightly from behind by Wallace, who follows the rhythm to grind against Kip's ass, one hand sliding up Kip's chest to his throat and jaw until Kip lets his head be tilted back and Wallace leans in to kiss and bite at his neck. His face is cradled lovingly and he's kissed sweetly and deeply while his dick is sucked. Hands are sliding down the front of his thighs, a cock presses hard and hot against his ass. Pascal's arms loop around Kip's knees and pull them open for Wallace to get between them and drag his tongue up his cock; Kip whines and sinks back against Pascal, who slides his arm around Kip's wrist and kisses his cheek. Cum is on his lips and face and chest, teeth bite gently at his stomach. Pascal's mouth is against Kip's jeans over his erection; he's slowly and carefully unfastening Kip's belt. Kip's moaning around Wallace's cock while Wallace sucks him off too and Pascal holds Kip's leg over his shoulder as he fucks his ass. Wallace holds Kip from behind and splays his hands out over Kip's chest, rubbing his nipples and suckling at the crook of his neck as Kip whines breathlessly, limp in his arms. Kip has Pascal's cock in his mouth and locks eyes with him while sucking and swallowing his cum. He's begging and thrusting as Pascal slides an arm down into the front of his pants, kissing the back of his ear and whispering encouragement to him.

Pascal fucks him so hard that Kip's shoving his face against the pillow and screaming for it and raking the sheets off the mattress. Wallace is watching them and gripping Kip's arm just above the elbow, Kip can feel and hear his masturbation and his heavy breathing. He and Wallace grind together with as much friction as they can manage, their heat and sweat mix, limbs entangling and wrapping around each other's bodies as their groans and cries roll onto each other's tongues. Kip pushes himself up to let them both draw a few unobstructed breaths and he meets Pascal's eyes and thrusts hard enough to make Wallace's voice crack. He's shifting restlessly as Pascal fucks Wallace, sighing and whimpering and grinding against his palm, his need burning like stirred embers in his stomach. He squirms and pumps his cock as he watches Pascal coax Wallace towards completion, watches their faces. He's focusing on the sounds Pascal draws from Wallace, on Pascal's fluid movement, the smooth, rhythmic rolling of his back and pelvis like waves that ripple through his whole body, moving his head and neck and shoulders and arms and legs and pushing Wallace's body with cyclic ebb and flow. Kip's breaths rasp when they look over at him, see him biting at his lip and sweating and panting, strained and desperate for them to touch him, his cock flushed bright with color and clear, shining drops slowly leaking from its tip. 

Kip accidentally sighs out a real moan and turns his head to cover his mouth with his arm as he bucks into his hand and pumps hard at his cock; he's on the verge of climax and aching so bad for it and he whines and nips at the soft skin pressed against his mouth. The sensations and images in his head blur together as they overcome him and he digs his heels into the mattress, thrusting hard, till finally he tenses all over with an arching spine and curling toes and cums hard across his stomach and chest.

It takes him a few moments even to relax himself fully back down to the bed, drawing heaving breaths. 

He's lying beneath heavy layers of blankets, nestled between two bodies that are soft and warm against every part of his own. Wallace is kissing his lips and rubbing one hand in lazy circles over his bare hip while slowly stroking his chest with the other. Pascal's arm is resting along his side, holding them close together as Pascal nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck and murmurs his adoration against his skin.

—

"Uh—e-excuse me..." 

Kip looks up from his book to see a couple of people he remembers were sitting at one of the corner tables. He momentarily worries that they don't realize he's not actually working and glances quickly around for Kate.

"Hey, uh, we just wanted to ask, um..."

They fade off and the two look at each other, hesitant. Kip is bemused, but the way they both blush makes him blush as well and feel suddenly embarrassed.

"Oh—is this like...are you..." he stumbles, "Like...are you asking me out?"

The blushing deepens for all three of them.

"Kind of..."

Kip tries to quell his nervousness enough to pull a decent response from his thoughts.

"I-I'm not really dating anyone right now," he says, then realizes the ambiguity of his statement. "I mean—! I'm not, uh, I'm not looking to date—I'm not looking to date anyone right now."

Apologies spill from the both of them and Kip reassures them, mouth twitching into a smile, before they excuse themselves, blushing and trading urgent looks and whispers.

Kip again immerses himself in his book and cup of coffee. It takes several minutes for his vivid blush to fade.

Twenty minutes or so later, Roy makes a characteristically bright and conspicuous entrance and drops into the seat across from Kip, following Kip's quiet greeting with an exuberant one. Kip asks him about work and soaks in the ten-minute stream of a story that follows, tracing the texture of the edge of the table and his chair. 

They chat pleasantly for a while before Molly emerges from the back. She and Roy have their usual reunion as she struggles out of a flour-splashed apron. 

"Was there a rush earlier?" she asks Kip. "I thought I heard a lot of people come in, but it's hard to tell back there..."

"Eh, we kinda got a little busy, but nothing horrible."

As if on cue, Cuddy and Lottie walk in, laughing together, and come over to their table.

"The gang's all here, huh?" Cuddy says with a smile. "Including Kate all the way over there."

They respond with a chorus of "hey" and Lottie distributes fond pats on each of their shoulders. Kip stands up as things start pointing to their departure and he wanders over to say goodbye to Kate as she cleans off a table.

"You guys outta here?" she says. 

"Uh-huh."

"How'd it go before I got here? Sorry I haven't really talked, I'm fuckin' tired and today has been kind of crazy—"

"Yeah, don't even worry about it, I know how it is. Nothing really happened today, but I think I just got like..." He pauses, reflecting hard on the memory. 

"Got what?" she prompts.

"I, uh...I got asked out, and I just realized I think two people were both asking me out at once, actually."

"Oh, damn, I don't think that's ever happened to me here before," Kate says. "You fucking hot piece of ass."

"Shut up. I didn't even get it at the time."

"Why, would you have said yes if you had?"

He blushes.

"No—I just—" He huffs and pulls on his jacket. "Ugh. I'm leaving. See you later, anyway."

“See ya,” Kate laughs.

Kip buttons the front of his coat and pulls the gloves out of his pockets, yawning as he pulls them on and goes back to Molly and Roy.

"Ready?" Molly asks, rubbing her back.

"Uh-huh," Kip says, winding his scarf tightly around his neck. 

"What was that you were talking about with Kate, you were offered a threesome?"

"What? No! I mean, no, just some people asked me out and I'm not sure if both of them were asking me or if it was like a wingman support thing because it was really vague, okay?" he rushes in a fluster.

"Well, like, the way you draw people's attention, I wouldn't be surprised if you had groups of people trying to get in on that—"

"Oh my god, no, probably someone just had a friend for support and I just made this assumption when I was trying to tell Kate about it, but I think I was right the first time, and now I regret everything."

He's definitely embarrassed by the teasing but he's even more sensitive about his suspicion that the only reason he supposed two people were trying to ask him to go out with both of them is because of how much he's been thinking about dating two people himself. He doesn't know if he wants to have it on the mind all the time or if it's just that he has no choice, but he's definitely been more prone to giving intimate groups a second glance and wondering if anyone anywhere around him is happily dating multiple people.

"Forget I was talking about anything," he grouses. "Let's just go."

Molly sends him a few more light digs about being extra sensitive about a pretty standard level of joking around—but as always, Kip is let off the hook whenever he seems too irritated to weather it patiently.

He deals with the issue by entering a stubborn silence which converts, as he hoped it would, into a natural quietness behind the conversation Roy and Molly enter to fill the empty space. By the time they get to the apartment, Kip's a step behind the pair and thoroughly inside his own thoughts, and they're practically walking up the steps before Roy's chipper greeting alerts him to Ben's presence outside the front door. 

Kip falls back another pace or two and slips behind the others to unobtrusively make his way inside. He's standing in the safety of the lobby before he realizes his heartbeat is elevated and that the mere sight of Ben prompted noticeable anxiety and his immediate instinct had been that he needed to avoid the man entirely.

His earlier indignation and discomfort is momentarily forgotten for a new sense of shame. He'd thought he was being mature and self-aware and strong. He thought he was disallowing any aversion to Ben to take any root. He thought he was combatting it simply by knowing it was unnecessary.

He hurriedly starts unwinding his scarf and undoing his jacket as his roommates follow him in, acting as though it was simply the chill of the outdoors that drove him inside. Not that anyone but him found the weather to be cold—it was only slightly less warm than usual and Kip had additionally been especially cold since he got out of bed.

"Kip..."

He turns at Roy's address. Roy is looking down at him with that look of deep concern. 

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Kip answers quickly, folding his outerwear over his arm and straightening his shirt.

He glances over to see Molly giving him one of her almost-suspicious questioning gazes.

"It—it just always gets me all nervous when that kind of stuff happens at work," he explains, rubbing his forehead. "I just wanna get back to the apartment. I'm tired."

"Aw..." Roy puts one of his long arms around Kip's shoulders as they walk back to the apartment.

Back in his room, Kip changes into a soft pair of old jeans and a loose sweater and rolls onto his bed with a sigh. He closes his eyes.

He's already dozing off when a soft knock at the door snaps him back to alertness.

"What's up?" he murmurs as he drags himself upright and to the door. He opens it to see Roy, looking slightly worried but offering a warm smile.

"Oh no, were you asleep? I'm sorry—" he puts a hand to his face.

"No, it's okay. I was only, like, on the verge of it, and I hadn't meant to be anyway."

"Oh, okay, well, uh... I was making some tea and I've made enough for everyone, if you want some. Because of being nervous, maybe, since tea helps you with that sometimes..."

Kip scrubs at his eyes.

"Thanks, Roy," he says. He puts a hand on Roy's shoulder, leans up, and presses a kiss to Roy's neck. He closes his eyes and rests the side of his head against Roy's chest, sliding his hand to the back of Roy's shoulder in a hug.

He leans back upright after a moment and smiles. Roy, blushing, smiles back at him.

—

"You know, I woke up yesterday and actually forgot they weren't here anymore. Like I got out of bed and it felt like they were just down the hall or something. I was even confused for a second when I left the bedroom and I had to remember my life all over again. I mean, it's been six years and that still happens. In the middle of the day even. I'll be at work and for a few seconds I think of going home and telling them about something that happened, exactly the same way I felt when they were alive. Like after all this, I'm still not totally used to them being gone."

He takes a pause. He's been needing a lot of pauses today.

"I don't know if—if I'm supposed to be making myself always know that they're gone. Like, that first night after they died, it just—of course it felt so wrong, just so illogically wrong because in my head they were still alive. I still knew them and lived with them and—I had just seen them, and...in my mind, it felt so completely like they still existed that it didn't make any sense that they could be gone. And even when it had been months, it still felt sometimes like they were just...somewhere else, but they were going to come back. Like it was all temporary."

He twists the soles of his shoes against the carpet. Sometimes he lies down in an effort to be relaxed. Sometimes, like now, he feels more comfortable facing Eno, sitting up on the edge of the chair.

"I think in the past couple of years it's finally permanently sunk in that they aren't coming back. But I'm still having those moments where I forgot they're gone in the first place. They were always such an inherent part of my life that I've never been able to turn that off. Like suddenly all the space I had for them in my life and heart and my thoughts just—was supposed to be replaced with nothing. I mean, I have all this love for them, and they're gone, and I don't have anywhere to put it. And I don't know what to do."

He looks at Eno for the comfort of seeing his face.

"It's like...leaning against someone and then suddenly they just vanish without warning, and you're falling. And that feeling of falling never stopped. It's this—this blend of shock and panic and sickness, and I still have to feel that whenever I forget they're gone."

It's exhausting, talking about grief, but he derives courage from the knowledge that Eno already knows what it's like. He feels a little stronger whenever he tries to put the experience into words, and it never feels safer than when he's talking with Eno.

"It just feels so wrong that they could just be gone all at once like that. It'll never make sense. I'm used to them being gone but... I hate that I'm always going to be hurt like this and I have to miss them every day of my life forever but I can't stand to forget them. I have—I have really bad nightmares about forgetting them."

There's a vague sense of discomfort in his stomach.

"It seems like it's immature or something, but...I can accept that they're gone and that I can't do anything about it now, but I can't ever stop being so angry that it happened in the first place. There's nothing to do with that anger anymore and I feel it anyways."

He weaves his fingers together and tightens them.

"They—they shouldn't have been taken from me. They shouldn't have been killed. And—and I know none of us deserved what happened but I—"

He suddenly can't say any more.

"You still think about wanting to take their places?" Eno guesses quietly, ending a long pause.

Kip nods miserably.

"I'm sorry, Eno," he mumbles. "It's like I haven't made any progress at all sometimes."

"You know you have nothing to apologize for."

"...Right," Kip says half-heartedly.

His body slumps as he sighs. He doesn't want to cry today.

"Ugh... Just...on a completely different topic, I'm trying to figure out how I can tell when I'm feeling weird about something because my instincts are telling me it's the wrong thing to do, and when I feel weird just because I'm nervous, or...or scared."

"Well..." Eno starts, biting the corner of his lip. "You're pretty familiar with what your anxiety feels like on an average day?"

"Yes."

"Would just a comparison with that baseline help give you an idea of what you're dealing with?"

"I, uh..." Kip sometimes bounces a leg when he's nervous or uncomfortable, and is always glad Eno doesn't react. "The thing is that, you know, I'm nervous in different ways in different situations, and...this one's kind of new to me, so I can't be sure if I think it's a terrible idea or if I'm just, well, nervous, because I don't really have a comparison. I can't be sure that I do, anyway."

Eno puts his chin in his hands and smiles when Kip glances over at him.

Kip blushes.

"I feel like I wanna date both Wallace and Pascal and I have no idea what to do with that," he says, uncomfortably aware that Eno probably knew what he was talking about even without the clarification. "And, you know, things just kind of...everything's a mess, even after everything we went through, it still feels like absolutely everything is up in the air. Like, I—I still just don't know what I want. Out of anything. I don't know what I want in the future, I don't know how I want my life to change from here or if I even want it to change... And right now, I...I know I really, really want to be with Pascal again, but now I'm wanting to try to be with Wallace too, so that's not straightforward, and I think Ben sets off my anxiety really bad now, and I feel like I'm keeping secrets from all my friends because I'm trying to keep things private, especially while I'm trying to figure it out, like how I've always felt like I'm avoiding everyone who cares about me whenever I'm trying to hide that I'm still upset about my family. And, I don't know, it feels like I don't know who I am, and I don't know what I want, and I know it's not true but it feels like all I am is a mess of depression and anxiety and insecurity who's lucky enough to have had friends around who wanted to stay with me anyway."

He sighs and drags a hand down his face.

"I'm just so frustrated all the time. I—I'm getting the idea that I'm always going to be hurting about what happened to my family at about the level that I am now, and it's not like it's not technically manageable because it's a ton better than it used to be, but it's just really exhausting and scary to think of having to do this for the rest of my life. I know you're supposed to heal from being hurt, even if it keeps hurting, and I know I've learned a lot but I've only...changed. I know I'm just as real and whole a person as I ever was but an entire future, a whole lifetime was taken from me that day too, and I just...I changed so fast, it feels like the person I was back then was gone after that too."

He feels a wrenching pang in his gut.

"God, Eno," he says with a grimace. "It's so...it's so the exact same fucking problems I've always had. I don't feel like I can actually do anything. After all that. I'll still feel so...useless and cowardly and like all the best things about me are fake. I still feel like...I still don't like myself."

He pauses again.

"I'm always so frustrated with myself." He sighs. "I guess it's just gotten worse again recently."

Their eyes meet and Eno gives him another small smile. He has that look, the quiet, serious kind he sometimes shows Kip, the one he always gets when Kip exposes real vulnerability to him. Kip knows Eno's sense of humor and light-hearted demeanor is no indication at all that the man isn't actually taking something seriously. But on occasion he'll take on a slight air of solemnity as a way of offering some vulnerability in return.

"I'm guessing you feel pretty stuck right now," Eno says.

"...Yeah."

Both of them are silent for a few moments.

"Um...would it be okay if I could just...talk about them? My family, I mean," Kip says quietly. "You know, like sometimes I just wish I could sit around and tell stories about them and talk about what they were like with everyone who knew them. And I haven't really gotten to talk about them like that in a really...really long time."

"You'd like to do that?"

"I—I think so. Yes."

"Go right ahead."

—

They stay in and Eno makes them lunch.

"You holding up?" Eno says. Kip is leaning back in an armchair; Eno walks over and sits down next to him.

Kip grunts assent and Eno wraps his arms around Kip with a contented sigh, pulling him in close. Kip huffs his own sigh, but leans into Eno, and after a moment he shifts until he can get his arms around Eno's waist, folding his hands to rest on Eno's hip.

"Your hugs are good," he mumbles as he nestles his chin against Eno's collarbones. 

"I have a lot of experience hugging you," Eno says. "I know how you like them." 

As if offering proof, he rubs Kip's back and slides the other hand to the back of Kip's neck, cupping his palm around it and slowly moving a thumb along the base of Kip's hairline. Kip closes his eyes and sinks against Eno, who breathes out a laugh.

Kip relaxes further and further into Eno as time goes on. Eventually Eno murmurs "here" and reclines the chair, lying back in it with a sigh. Kip lies down beside him and Eno gathers him in. He laughs again as Kip shifts his whole body to cuddle closer.

"Don't laugh at me..." Kip cuddles in again and Eno pats him on the back.

They lie there together, still and silent. Kip's arm is thrown across Eno's chest and he occasionally rubs Eno's shoulder. Eno rests a hand on Kip's side and has an arm hooked underneath his neck, hand hanging down with his fingertips trailing lazily through Kip's hair. 

Kip relaxes so much he loses track of how much time is passing. He slips into one of his breathing exercises again, and Eno's thumb gently taps a guiding rhythm for him against the base of Kip's ribs. 

Kip hasn't felt so safe and warm and comfortable in a long time. He doesn't even want to move and risk disturbing the tranquility.

In a way, it takes him back to the aftermath of the fire. Eno had put everything on hold to be with him almost all day and every day, and Kip had been so grateful for his presence. The two of them didn't talk so much as they just made a point of being near each other. Eno would sit in the same room as Kip, not even necessarily in his line of sight, reading a book so Kip could hear him turning the pages. Kip would grip Eno's hand tight when he saw Eno getting a distant, pained expression. And Eno would pull Kip in for a hug and hold him until Kip was more relaxed or even until he was asleep. Kip had often been hugged by Eno before that time, but they were usually fleeting parts of a greeting or farewell or of light, affectionate joking or a moment of congratulation—it was at once familiar and new to be held by Eno the way he was when Eno saw him being dragged down and unable to hold himself up any longer.

Such an association doesn't upset him now, however. It doesn't remind him of how much pain he had been in, but of how much comfort he'd gotten from Eno.

"Are you asleep?" Eno’s whisper is the first sound after several still minutes.

"...No."

Eno responds with a few soothing, caressing strokes against Kip's shoulderblade.

"I might fall asleep though," Kip mumbles. "Would that be okay? Are you comfortable?"

"Yes." 

Kip hums and puts his chin on Eno's shoulder, nose and lips grazing Eno's hair, which is somehow always soft and sweet-smelling. Kip drifts a little but never fully falls asleep. When the oven starts to chirp at them, Kip opens his eyes but Eno doesn't move.

"Eno," he breathes.

"...Mm."

"The timer's going off. The oven timer," he specifies.

Eno inhales deeply and lifts his hand from Kip's back to push his glasses into place.

Kip laughs, his stomach nudging Eno's arm. He hugs Eno tight as he leans in and kisses the side of his head.

Eno laughs and begins to sit up, extricating his arm from underneath Kip.

"You wait here," he says quietly, swinging his legs off the side of the chair and carefully pushing himself up so as not to move Kip. "And take this." He lifts up a blanket, folds it in half, and drapes it over Kip in one movement as he turns and goes out of the room.

Kip sits up a bit in the chair and tugs the blanket around himself. It's heavy and soft and in less than a minute he feels the warmth that it traps. Everything feels so relaxed and peaceful. He knows that all the things he's agonizing over are just pushed beneath the surface, but doesn't really mind that this is only a temporary break—he'll take whatever he can get.

Eno comes back in with a mug in each hand and sets one down on the table beside Kip.

"Here you go—the usual," he says, sitting down in the chair across the table. "I made yours the way you always do."

"Thank you." 

Kip wraps his hands around the cup and keeps them there for a minute or two, absorbing the heat.

"I feel a lot better right now," he murmurs. "At least, a lot more than I have lately."

"Yeah?"

"I think it's been one of those weeks where I mostly needed to just...talk about stuff, like, saying it out loud and everything."

"I can believe that," Eno laughs. 

Kip smiles and takes a sip of tea.

"So anyway. Let's talk about other things, Eno," he says. "C'mon, what have you been reading? Tell me how you are, I want to hear."

He glances up to see the smile he loves to get from Eno.

"Okay," Eno says, "just let me say one more thing before we go off in some other direction."

"...Sure."

There's a pause, and Kip looks up at Eno.

"As long as I've known you, you've always been prone to feeling guilty over doing anything for your own sake," Eno says. "Even for simply taking care of yourself. You're so often ashamed of yourself before you've even done anything. And right now, I think there's a lot of things that you know you want to do. I really want you to know that your instincts are a lot better than you think they are. I know it's hard for you, and I know you have a lot of guilt and fear, but I think if you try letting you guide yourself, even when you're uncertain, things could work out in ways you didn't know they could."

Kip is blushing and clutching his tea, eyes wide. 

"Trust yourself a bit more, Kip," Eno says. "And I mean that as your friend, not just as your therapist. You have an excellent sense for how to take care of others, but you often don't apply it to yourself. You're very hard on yourself, and I think it's difficult for you to see yourself."

"I—" He stumbles on his own thoughts. "Jeez, Eno..."

Eno laughs and pats Kip's forearm.

"Anyway. It's been a busy week, and I've been looking forward to this even more than usual," Eno says. "I feel better too now, really."

Kip smiles to himself and draws his legs up onto the chair.

—

As he rides the train back home that evening, he keeps taking out his phone to pull up Pascal's contact. He even opens a new note and starts writing some potential texts, trying to figure out how to invite Pascal over for a visit with him and Molly and Roy. It keeps his attention well enough that he scarcely notices the painfully wide berth humans give him whenever they have to pass by to exit the train. 

A potential roadblock occurs to him and he sends a group text to Roy and Molly instead, asking them about their schedules for the next week.

"are we all free any of the same evenings next week? i was thinking about asking pascal over then if we are. im off tuesday and thursday, and on friday and saturday i only work until the afternoon," he sends.

After a moment of thought, he sends out an additional text: "although of course even if we find something that works, pascal might be busy then..."

He puts his phone back in his pocket and looks out the windows for a while, but soon enough he starts receiving waves of texts from his friends as they talk back and forth with him and each other. Within mere minutes Thursday is settled on as the ideal day.

Kip's stomach tightens with anxiety. It feels as if he's already in the process of asking Pascal over—and he supposes he sort of is. He's just settled on a date, and now has the pressure of Roy and Molly's expectations. But he straightens his back and remembers what Eno told him.

He does want to make it clear to Pascal that he can be fully in their lives again—and he knows that everyone else has been wanting that too, but was holding back because of him. He wants Pascal back in his life, and to know he's going to be staying there. He wants them to be as close as they used to be. He wants all the feelings he knows Pascal gives him. He wants this.

He keeps his hand on his phone and goes through the transfer to another train at the station between B and C and spends the rest of the ride home deep in thought, trying to build up his confidence. 

By the time the train gets to his stop, there's a colorful dusk sky alit with bright oranges, pinks, and blues that casts everything in a dreamy purple hue. Kip stands at the station and watches the train depart, then turns towards home. He's walking for a few minutes before he gets the idea of walking the extra fifteen minutes to see if Pascal is still at his shop.

He's quick to realize he's a little too nervous for that. But he gets a small yet helpful flow of adrenaline from the thought of it and takes out his phone again, pulls up Pascal's contact, and keeps looking at it as he moves along the sidewalk.

Finally, coming to an intersection he has to wait to cross, he takes a leap and brings his thumb down on the "call" button. Immediately, the screen darkens, showing only Pascal's name, the call timer, and the button to hang up.

His knees start shaking a little as he hears the first ring; by the time he brings the phone up against his ear he's already a bit short of breath. He stares at the light on the other end of the crosswalk, feels conscious of everyone standing within earshot, and listens to the phone ring again.

The tension is worse during the seconds of silence—the ringing is almost a moment of relief before he goes back to expecting Pascal to pick up the phone. He's so on edge he's not sure if he wants the call to be answered or not.

But the ringing continues as he stares at the light, waiting for it to change. He waits through so many rings that he gets embarrassed. His thoughts start rushing with self-consciousness and doubt, questioning if he should hang up or if he should stay on the line or if it was ever going to go to voicemail or if it would ring forever or if he should leave a message or if he should've just texted Pascal or if it would be weird to text him after attempting a call or how many more rings he should wait through before giving up or if everyone around him could hear him waiting and waiting and waiting through an unanswered call—

The light changes, and Kip glances at the traffic and heads across the street. He's trying to remember if he's waited through ten rings or not when, finally, Pascal's voice is speaking into his hear, and his heart leaps, and he's thanked for calling, apologized to, and invited to leave a message.

He realizes just in time that he's about to be recorded and ends the call, shoving the phone back in his pocket, feeling a little jittery. He tries to calculate what would be a good amount of time to wait before calling again, or if he should text Pascal, and if texting would change how long he should hold off before trying again.

He's waiting at a crosswalk again, looking up at the sky and noticing a few stars coming out, when his phone rings and vibrates in his pocket. He flinches, freezing up. After a few seconds, heart pounding, he grabs his phone and sees Pascal's name shining from the screen. 

"Oh god," he whispers to himself. He takes a couple of measured breaths, stares straight ahead, and accepts the call.

"Hello?" he says.

"Kip, it's me, I'm sorry," Pascal's words are rushed. "I'm so sorry I missed your call, I was away from my phone while I was charging it—"

"It's fine," Kip says, laughter in his voice. The speed of his heartbeat suddenly has a completely different feeling behind it. "It's fine."

"I'm sorry," Pascal repeats. "How, uh—how are you? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, no, I'm fine," Kip says quickly. "I'm fine. I was, um, I wanted to know..."

He fades off and takes another deep breath and exhales it slowly.

"We were wondering—me and Roy and Molly—if you would want to come over to our place for dinner next week," he says. "We're all free on Thursday, in the evening, if you wanted—if you were able to come..." He trails off again.

There's silence. Kip keeps his eyes raised to the horizon line.

"...Really?" Pascal's voice is quiet, but Kip can hear all the emotion there. It tears him from his trepidation.

"Yes," he says, grinning against the phone. "We'd really love it."

"I'll—I—I don't know if I'd get there before seven..." He's clearly now the one who's a bit rattled, and Kip finds that, as usual, his own nervousness turns way down when someone he loves seems nervous too.

"That's fine!" he says quickly. "Don't worry, whenever you can make it is okay, if—if that works for you—we can always do it another night if that one doesn't work with your schedule..."

"I can do Thursday," Pascal answers just as quickly. "I know I can make it—if I have to, I'll move things around so I can make it."

"Okay," Kip says, hands shivering a bit. "And, you know, don't worry that this is something fancy or anything like that. Just come over and we'll have food for you, and...we can finally all hang out again," he finishes quietly.

"Yeah," Pascal says. "I'd love that."

"And, um, you know, really don't think of this as a special occasion. I mean—" Kip flusters, "not that it isn't going to be special to have you over, but...but if you want, we can do this a lot, not just this one time."

There's another pause.

"I think that would be great." Pascal's voice is soft.

"Me too."

Pascal laughs quietly, and Kip does too, blushing.

"Um, do you think I could visit you before then?" Kip asks. "Like, meet you somewhere sometime after we both get done with work?"

"Sure, of course," Pascal says quickly.

"Okay." Kip is still smiling to himself; his walking pace is faster than before. "Pascal?"

"Uh-huh?" 

"I'm really looking forward to this. I mean, I know we met up earlier this month, but...I miss you." He exhales. "A lot."

"Yeah. I know what you mean. I miss you too, Kip."

There's a slight hiccup in Kip's sense of ease when he realizes he wants to say "I love you." It sits in his chest and throat and against the roof of his mouth.

"I'm gonna be home in a little bit, and I can check my schedule and text you maybe about when I could be free to meet up before next Thursday," he says instead.

"Okay."

"Okay."

A pause.

"Thank you, Kip." Pascal's voice is gentle but he places significance in the words.

"You're welcome," he says. "I really want this too, though."

"That's—that's awesome." Pascal sounds a little breathless, and it's painfully cute, and Kip can picture the blush on his face and his smile and the way he lifts his head and curls his arms around whatever he's holding—or around themselves—when he's excited.

Kip laughs, clenching and flexing his free hand.

"Okay," he says again. "...I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"Okay. I'll have my phone with me."

Kip smiles.

"I love you," he says, fixing his gaze on a star in the cerulean sky.

It's not just a preface to a goodbye; it's an admission, and they both know that. So the long silence that follows doesn't really surprise Kip. His pulse is heavy enough for him to feel it, but he's not exactly scared.

"I love you, too. I love you, Kip."

Something clicks into place inside him. 

"Talk to you later, okay?" 

"Okay."

"Bye, Pas."

"Bye, Kip."

Drawing a deep breath, Kip ends the call, puts his phone away, and turns his face to the sky. 

—

Within ten minutes he's pushing open the door to his room, sliding the strap of his bag from his shoulder and letting it down on the floor. He puts his face in his hands and slumps onto his bed, turns on the lights around his corkboard, and curls up as he rolls over to face his wall.

Before long, he gets up and changes into pajamas, pulling on a fuzzy pair of pants, a soft t-shirt, and slippers. He goes into the kitchen, takes out a cup, and stares at it for a moment as his thoughts catch up with him and he takes hold of all the attention needed to do anything but stand there holding it for an hour.

A minute or so later, Roy appears, and his welcome apparently alerts Molly to Kip's arrival as well, and then all three of them are together.

"So?" Roy says.

Kip turns around to lean casually against the counter, arms folded.

"SO?" Molly raises her hands, leaning in.

"So, what?" he says, feigning ignorance. His smile twitches at the corner of his mouth anyways.

"Did you talk to Pascal!" 

"He says he can come over Thursday," Kip answers, and is almost knocked off-balance by the hugs thrown at him.

—

It's only the next day that he ends up slowly descending the stairwell, heading for Wallace's apartment. He still has no idea what he expects—much less wants—from this situation, but he hopes to take advantage of his currently increased confidence to move things a little, to try getting unstuck. Even if all he accomplishes is stopping himself from being forever uncomfortable around Wallace due to nervousness.

He pauses at the actual door, placing a hand on the jamb.

'I can do this,' he thinks. 'I can do this.'

He has a certain knock he uses for Wallace, two knocks with a slight pause before the third. It's not an outright code so much as just something he did once and kept doing, just so that Wallace could know it was him as soon as he heard it. After all, when Molly or Roy aren't around, he can be a bit anxious about answering the door to an unknown visitor, and he can easily suppose Wallace might feel the same. His fist hovers in front of the door before he quietly taps his knuckles against the wood.

The door unlocks and opens within seconds to Wallace in socks, sweatpants, and a t-shirt. Kip raises his eyes and gives Wallace a soft smile.

"Kip," Wallace says, brushing his orange hair more into place and moving aside from the doorway. "Hey, what's up?"

"Nothing," Kip says, following Wallace into the apartment. It looks cozier every time he visits it. "I just...I'm off today, and I..." He hesitates. "I haven't really been over in a couple of weeks, and I was just thinking...if you're not busy, or—"

"Yeah, no, I'm not busy," Wallace says with a light laugh. "I've actually kind of been doing nothing today, which...it's kind of relaxing but also...y'know..."

He rubs the back of his neck and shrugs with a casual smile, and something in the gesture makes Kip feel more at ease. Maybe it's the sheer familiarity of Wallace, but Kip is remembering how comfortable it is to be around him.

"I don't think I'm the best for bringing excitement into anyone's day, and I didn't come here with any amazing ideas, but..."

"No, that's okay, it's good to have you around," Wallace says. "I...I like hanging out with you, you know."

Kip can't stop himself from smiling in response.

They end up, as Wallace phrases it, being boring together. Kip sits on the couch beside Wallace to watch an old low-budget sci-fi movie Wallace was already partway through. Wallace half-successfully tries filling Kip in on what had happened in the first half hour, but Kip insists he doesn't really care if it's actually good or if he even manages to follow the plot.

As movie involves a lot of action sequences and a general lack of significant dialogue, Kip and Wallace chat quietly over a lot of it, having small, casual conversations over chaotic scenes, or commenting with curiosity on whatever's happening on screen. Wallace sometimes has this snarky, biting sense of humor that can emerge without much warning, and getting samples of that over and over makes Kip start to laugh in earnest.

"Oh my god, Wallace," he manages, covering his face as he leans towards his knees.

"Are you gonna be okay?" Wallace is clearly trying to avoid laughing back at Kip.

"Shut up," Kip says, wiping quickly at his eyes before sitting back up, trying to keep himself reined in. "It’s your fault."

By the time the credits roll, Kip feels just as at home in Wallace's presence as he'd grown to be before his dream, as if all he needed was this reminder of how solid things between them have become.

"Are you hungry?" Wallace asks, raising his arms and stretching his back. "I, uh, I was probably just gonna have this leftover pizza, but I might have enough stuff to maybe put together something decent."

"You don't have to make anything fancy just because I crashed your party," Kip says with a wave of the hand. "I like pizza."

Wallace stands up, straightening the elastic waistband of his pants.

"Do you want it hot or cold?" he asks.

There's a pause.

"I won't make any jokes if you say 'cold,'" Wallace says.

"Okay, good. Then cold."

In about half a minute Wallace is handing him a plate with a couple of slices of pizza while the microwave runs quietly in the kitchen. 

"What would you like to drink?" Wallace asks, leaning on the back of the couch. "I have, uh, I can make coffee or tea, I think I still have some orange juice, some soda, there's water—"

"Water's good," Kip answers.

There's a pause during which Kip looks up and Wallace smiles at him and Kip can't help but laugh quietly.

"What?" he says. "I just want water. Come on."

He sees Wallace grin to himself as the human turns away, and he feels a slight flutter in his heart, as though it beats its wings against his chest. It feels a little silly, a little middle-schoolish, like he wants to pass Wallace a folded note that says "do you like me?" or get someone to ask on his behalf while he shields himself with his locker door, laughing and blushing with his friends.

He knows he can be credited as being a little more mature than that, but he can't help the mild feeling of butterflies in the stomach, and that's something he associates with the memories of all kinds of newfound crushes, something he hasn't experienced since before the fire—besides maybe a few incidents of sheer nervousness around disarmingly cute people. Not until he met Wallace and would be hit with a few fleeting moments that shook up his heart before he even considered a relationship with the human at all possible—and when he ran into Pascal and was flustered about it for the rest of the day.

He doesn't mind at all that he's feeling a little pleasantly shivery. It's nice and a bit exciting—at least refreshing—to be experiencing it. But moreso than that, he has a deeper, steadier feeling running quietly beneath everything. It's that growing fondness for Wallace, the thought of which always makes him feel a bit softer, a bit warmer. It makes him want to put his hand over Wallace's and rub it with his thumb, kiss his brow as he's falling asleep, hold and comfort him with whispered words when he's going through too much.

It seems inevitably near, as if all that Kip needs to do is tilt his head forward half an inch and their foreheads can touch, noses brushing—yet also completely impossible.

Wallace reappears, holding out a glass of water to Kip with another plate of pizza and his own glass cradled in his other arm.

"Thanks," Kip says, straightening his back as he carefully takes the drink. Wallace settles onto the couch across from him and leans against the arm. 

"How've you been doing lately?" Kip asks. "It seems like you've been pretty busy."

"Heh, yeah..." Wallace touches his forehead and glances at the floor. "My schedule was extra packed the last week or so... It's not the worst, but it can kind of sneak up on me when I realize I have a bunch of things piled up at once. It's definitely nice that it's kind of calming down again now."

"Yeah, I haven't really seen you even just around the building."

Wallace's quiet laugh ends with a sigh. 

"I've definitely been out a lot," he says. "Which is kind of nice that it lets me leave my apartment, but then sometimes I wish I could stay here and just relax for a while..."

"You need an excuse to go out?" Kip asks with a trace of incredulity. Wallace's face tinges slightly pink.

"Well...uh..." He shrugs. "I mean, I don't 'need' one, but I just tend to...just stay in place and kind of stick to my routine. Especially when I could use some rest. I always want what's most familiar then."

"I guess being in C isn't very familiar for you, still..." Kip says, a question within a statement.

Wallace grows a little pinker. 

"Well, still not exactly," he admits. "I like it here, but I...I spent all my life in the same part of District A, and it took me a while to start being comfortable here. I guess I'm just in the habit of keeping to myself in my free time."

Kip takes a bite of pizza and reflects on the feeling of being torn from a lifelong home and your sense of security.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I do have an idea of how it is to kind of...prefer staying in, even if you wish that wasn't the case."

"Really?" Now Wallace has the tone of slight surprise. "But you have friends here, right? And you know the area?"

"Of course," Kip says quickly, rankling a little. "It's—not about that—"

He sees the confusion in Wallace's face and quiets, biting the inside of his lip.

"So...you go out more if you have friends going out, too?" he infers.

"Oh, uh—" Wallace shifts where he sits. "Yeah, it's a lot easier for me if someone's inviting me or if I can invite someone along, I think. Back in A, I had friends from work mostly, maybe a few I knew from earlier, or who just lived near me..."

Kip looks down at his lap. As much as has happened to him, he's never had to be separated from everyone he's known. 

"It was really lonely having to move out here, huh," he says quietly.

"Yeah." Wallace is just as quiet. "I-I mean, it's not like I don't keep in touch with friends I made back there, but...when it comes to what it's like actually being able to be around people..."

"I know what you mean. It's different... When we moved to D, we left behind a lot of people, even if we could still talk with them. We fell out of contact completely with some friends, or at least I sure did. And now that we're back in C, we can't see as much of the friends we made from the years we spent in D."

He shrugs.

"I've never had to be completely on my own like you were, though."

Wallace gives him a tired smile.

"It was a little scary," Wallace says. "Or...maybe more than a little. I mean, it was the first really big move I'd ever had to make, and on such short notice, and I had already been pretty stressed about my job even before that... And then to be moving to a place where I wouldn't know anyone, where I'd never been..."

"And with monsters," Kip adds flatly, making Wallace blush and laugh quietly.

"Y-yeah, I admit I was kind of scared about monsters," he said. "If you were like me and never left A, that meant you'd never seen a monster in person. And even people who sometimes went to B usually never encountered a monster, or at least...never interacted with any. It was really pretty rare to meet people in A who'd gone to C even once, much less multiple times. And people who'd been in D were pretty much stuff of local legend. Well, at least local rumor."

There's a pause; Kip is listening carefully, taking it all in.

"Back in A," Wallace continues, "you'd never really...actually learn anything about monsters. I mean, you knew they existed, but...it was kind of implied that, since you were in A, you'd never meet one, so you didn't need to know that much about them. And it was always implied that since District A did so well for itself, it was justified to keep monsters out. Like that changing things would just be rocking the boat, or...or even that A was well-off BECAUSE it was kept all-human.”

Kip's mouth twitches. Wallace keeps looking around the room, but not directly at him.

"Between that, and treating monsters as this really mysterious subject, and implying that they're dangerous," he continues, "a lot of people had no interest in having anything to do with monsters at all. Even though it was kind of treated like a joke that everyone was afraid of monsters, it was also kind of true."

There's a long pause. 

Something nags at Kip, something he's never really discussed with Wallace yet. 

"I know that sometimes humans want to be nice to monsters even when they're scared of them," he says in a low voice. "Did you..." He trails off with a slight grimace, finding it awkward—even difficult. He looks up and meets Wallace’s eyes, and he's not sure if that makes it harder or easier. "...Did you decide to come here out of pity?"

Wallace blinks.

"I didn't," he says. "It was for the same reason I'm a social worker."

Kip keeps looking at him but doesn't say anything.

"I—I never wanted to be the social worker who acts superior, or dismissive, or...contemptuous.” Wallace sighs. “I know I'm not perfect, and that it’s...basically irresponsible to assume you don’t harbor any judgments towards anyone, when working with them or otherwise. But I can promise I went into this field wanting to help people so that they could experience real results through that, not so I could feel better about myself. And I moved to C because I just—wanted to keep being a social worker. I just figured it might be easier to stay with this company where I’d been fitting in than to try to be hired at a new one. But...having said all that...I was still pretty nervous just to be around monsters. You were kind of always around the idea that, y'know, monsters are scary and dangerous, and they just hate humans for no reason, and you’re lucky to be in A.”

Kip glances down to see that thin branches of frost are creeping out from where his fingertips are touching his glass of water. He grimaces and gives a tug at the glass, but he's already stuck. He sighs and closes his eyes.

"Oh, are you..." Wallace leans in and reaches towards him, then moves his eyes from Kip's hand to his face and hesitates. "Here, uh...I can...I can maybe..." He puts down his own plate and moves closer to Kip.

Everything in Kip tenses up a little, but he makes no move to escape as Wallace slowly puts both hands around Kip's and presses them tight.

"That's—that is cold," Wallace says with a short laugh, clearly trying not to wince.

"Ah...yeah," Kip mumbles. In the vast temperature difference between Wallace's warm hands and Kip's near freezing ones, Wallace's skin feels incredibly hot, but it's soothing instead of painful.

And then Wallace takes hold of the top of the glass with one hand and starts rubbing briskly with the one atop Kip's. Kip looks at Wallace with some incredulity, but Wallace is focused intently on their hands.

"Here..." Wallace leans in and Kip reflexively shrinks slightly back at the sudden motion, curving his spine away, and presses his knees together. Wallace sees this and pauses momentarily. "Hang on, I'm just going to see if this helps—"

Wallace gently pulls the glass towards himself and Kip fights the nervous reflex to protest, letting Wallace bring it close to his chest.

"Hold it here for a second," Wallace murmurs, and Kip complies.

Wallace cups his hands around Kip's, then lowers his head and breathes into them.

Kip blinks a few times and looks down. Wallace's breath is close and warm against his skin and he doesn't move, and after half a minute or so of slow exhales from Wallace, he doesn't feel the ice clutching at him anymore.

"I think..." he starts, just above a whisper. But Wallace seems to get the message and takes his hands away. 

Kip takes the cup in his free hand and, with a slight tug, detaches himself from the glass. He grimaces and squeezes the hand into a fist and tucks it under his arm, looking at the shapes in the frost left where his fingers met the glass.

"Thanks," he mutters, putting the water aside before any more mishaps can occur. He can't help but be embarrassed. It's always embarrassing. "It's a pain when that stuff happens."

"It really must be," Wallace says, who is pressing his hands together, trying to warm them up again. "How do you deal with that if you don't have any kind of heat around?"

"I just wait it out until I can get it to something hot," Kip says. "It sucks, but my threshold and tolerance for low temperatures is a lot stronger than basically anybody's. Not that I don't feel it when I'm cold—I spend a lot of time being cold and it's honestly really frustrating, but cold doesn't...it doesn't damage me nearly as easily, and it might be an unpleasant feeling but it's not painful or anything. Like, having ice on my body doesn't hurt me."

"Oh, wow," Wallace says, looking at Kip's hands. "I can't really touch ice with my bare skin for more than, like, ten seconds before it starts hurting."

Kip laughs through his nose.

"Well, can you think of any time you'd ever want to be able to do that?"

Wallace thinks for a moment, then looks at Kip silently.

"Yeah, exactly," Kip says with a slight smile. He picks up his plate again. "It's almost never convenient and it causes problems about every other day. Plus, you know...you saw where it got me.”

Wallace focuses on his own pizza for a bit as well.

"So how do you feel about monsters now?" Kip asks after a minute. He's teasing—mostly—but Wallace seems to take it straightforwardly.

"Oh, I mean..." He rubs at his arm, shifting in his seat. "It's a lot different. I mean, it all really seems ridiculous now, talking about the way a lot of people in A think about monsters. I don't...I mean, I know I've barely started to learn, and—and it sounds pretty patronizing to say anything like I have a lot more appreciation or anything like that, but... I at least do know that the way A talks about monsters is just...uh, total bullshit.”

Kip raises his eyebrows and shrugs.

"Yeah." He adjusts his glasses on his nose. "I imagine so."

He glances up and catches Wallace watching him; Wallace looks away and brushes at his hair.

"Also, I mean, I was kind of joking just then."

"Oh...yeah..."

"You don't always get when I'm joking," Kip observes. 

"Sorry—" Wallace blushes.

"I'm not saying that as a bad thing. Just that it's something that happens."

"Does it happen a lot?" Wallace looks a bit nervous.

"Not really, I don't really joke around as much anymore. Well—it at least takes a while before I stop being kind of boring."

"No, you're not—"

"I'd know," Kip says, leaning back. "I'm a little boring." 

"I'm the boring one, remember?" Wallace says. "Never going out, and all?"

Kip breathes a laugh.

"You just have to make some more friends," he says. "For starters, if you just like, text Molly and Roy, even if you don't have any solid ideas, you're all but certain to get one or both of them out, and they might even get other people coming along, and then after just a couple of times they'll invite you to things all the time and you'll meet just about everybody they know and see the whole town and you won't have any problems. Plus, they could use the excuse, too. They stay in for my sake way more than they should. You'd all be doing each other a favor."

"Hmm." Wallace chews thoughtfully. 

Kip's mind apparently decides to have him look at Wallace and be aware, at this random point in time, that he would seriously like to kiss him. It feels real to Kip in a new way, to think about it mid-conversation, sitting a few feet away from Wallace while the man scratches the side of his face and smooths out a wrinkle in his jeans with his palm.

"You said you sometimes want to stay home even though you wish you felt like going out?" Wallace says, looking over at him.

"Yeah, I, uh...I did." 

"How come?"

"Um." It's one of those blushes Kip can feel blooming across his face. "It's—"

His thoughts tangle up for a moment. But he can't avoid thinking about how Wallace has been honest to him about some potentially embarrassing and personal things. He straightens his back and preemptively smiles.

"Well, mostly because of depression," he says.

"Oh. Right."

Kip stopped caring about talking about such things a pretty long time ago, but he feels a little twinge of worry that Wallace could treat him awkwardly after he’s outright labeled it like this.

"I probably should have guessed..." Wallace murmurs. 

"Oh? Why, do I seem sad?" Kip smiles so that hopefully Wallace can tell he's joking.

"I just—I mean, I'm not a psychologist, but I'm meant to be able to recognize some common symptoms of things. And it's not like I don't encounter it fairly regularly in my work... I mean, when you tell me you end up staying in, despite being in familiar surroundings with familiar people and not even necessarily preferring the solitude, that should be kind of obvious..."

"Don't worry. I don't need a diagnosis. And I've got my therapy to help me. You can miss my signals all you want."

On the one hand, it's taking Kip some real effort trying not to feel awkward, or at least succeed at seeming casual. On the other hand, he can't help but feel a little flattered that Wallace has any interest in such a personal matter at all, rather than wanting to drop the subject as quickly as possible.

"And...are you, uh, anxious?" Wallace asks. “I know that pairs up with depression a lot...”

"You mean, am I anxious right now, or do I have anxiety? Because no to the first one and yes to the second. Well, yes a little bit to the first one too, but only because we're talking about it."

Wallace nods to himself and looks off at apparently nothing.

Kip puts his empty plate next to his water and looks at his hands on his lap, hooking his thumbs together.

"Sorry if—sorry if that was too much," Wallace says suddenly. "I don't mean to pry. Or make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's alright. It's not really a secret. And it's not like you're some total stranger."

Wallace laughs quietly. Kip smiles.

"You know, you kind of smell like honey," Wallace remarks, and Kip blinks.

"I...? Do I?" he says quietly, the only response he can summon.

"Yeah, sorry, I just keep noticing it..."

Kip has no clue what to do or say. Wallace might as well have punched him in the side of the head for how blindsided he feels. 

Until, all at once, he gets it, and the dissipation of his confusion is such a relief that he physically relaxes and can't help a real smile.

"Oh," he says. "It's—it's when I wash my hair, I—there's honey, it smells like honey—"

"Your hair?" Wallace repeats. "You...wash it with honey?"

"I'm not, like, pouring honey into my hair or something, but there's honey in there, yeah. I can smell it in the shower, but I guess I get used to it and don't notice it after that." He laughs brightly and brushes his hand through his hair. "In theory, I might smell like..." He thinks for a moment. "Vanilla and lilac, also. But I suppose my hair holds this scent the best."

After a moment he looks over to see Wallace looking at him with a soft smile.  
He laughs again and looks down at the cushion of the couch.

"Man..." Wallace says. "Remember how long it took before I ever heard you laugh?"

That makes Kip laugh again.

"What?"

"Back after we first met, you were always so serious or tense around me, you know? And, I mean, back then I couldn't be sure that it wasn't just what you were like all the time. I mean, I kind of knew you acted different around me than you did your actual friends. But it felt like such a surprise even just to ever see you smile a little."

"Well..."

"Now I know why you were like that, of course, but oh my god, it took so much time before you laughed in front of me, remember when that happened?"

Kip smiles to himself.

"I do, yeah," he says. "It was a pretty memorable moment. Plus you pointed it out to me that you'd never heard me laugh until then, so..."

"Well, it was surprisingly exciting," Wallace says. "And honestly? It was just really great to start seeing all these new sides to you and realizing how much you'd been hiding. ...And that you'd decided you didn't have to do that anymore."

Kip blushes. 

"...It wasn't just knowing that I didn't need to protect myself from you, you know," he says softly.

They pause. After a few seconds of silence, Kip looks over at Wallace. He has a quiet but attentive expression, as if they both sense they've just wandered into a different sort of territory.

"I wouldn't have changed the way I was around you just because I didn't have to be that way anymore," he says. "I let you see me because I wanted to."

He doesn't look at Wallace's reaction to that either.

"It's been pretty amazing," Wallace says after a moment, "actually knowing you. It's kind of funny to think about how unapproachable you used to seem to me."

Laughter bubbles up Kip's throat and Wallace smiles at that.

"You have a really good laugh, too," Wallace says.

Kip's fading blush flares up again and he can't manage a direct response to that.

"God, back then... Even as soon as I met you, it was such a mess," he sighs. "And it just got so much worse from there."

"Oh jeez," Wallace drags a hand down his face to his neck. "Getting pushed together like that was a little rough... I will completely admit that when I found out I was supposed to work with you I was kind of dreading it. I mean, of all the people I'd met in C..."

"I was the worst," Kip finishes for him. "And then eventually you figured out that you were right."

"Aw, no," Wallace laughs. "You just didn't seem to want anything to do with me—"

"Well..." Kip says pointedly. "I was your worst option, but you seemed like the same thing to me."

"And you turned out to be right about that, too."

"Heh, well..." Kip is already sobering a bit from reflecting on the intensity of that period. "You really scared me more than anything had in years. The difference between what it's like with you now versus what things were like then? I can't even describe how it feels."

"You're...the opposite of scared of me?" Wallace says. "I mean, hopefully you are, by now..."

"Mm. Yeah, something like that."

A pause. 

"You've been to District B, haven't you?" Kip asks, looking down at his folded hands.

"Uh, sort of. I traveled through it when I moved here from A."

"Did you see any monsters?" he asks.

"I didn't notice any, no. Not until I got here."

Kip runs a finger along his thigh on the seam of his jeans.

"I like going to see Eno," he says. "But I kind of hate being in District B."

It's quiet. Kip knows he's just introduced a one-sided topic, but he's thinking about something important and, if he's ever going to be able to really talk to Wallace about anything he wants to, this is as good a time as any to test the waters.

"I really have a lot of respect for the monsters who live in B," he continues. "Because sometimes I can hardly stand just riding the train to the station that's a few blocks away from Eno. The only way I've ever figured out how to deal with it is just ignoring it however I can or disappearing into my head when I can't. I’m lucky when I have enough control to make the space around me cold enough to—to protect myself when I need to.”

He scratches the back of his neck.

"I know monsters kind of form small communities there and watch out for each other, and I'm really glad, because they deserve to live there without being pushed out. But god, half the time I think about how I'm in a district where if I just kept riding the train, I'd get out at a station where I'd be stopped from going any further. You can just feel that everywhere. That people think you shouldn't be there and want you to go away, and the closer you get to A the more they want to push you towards C."

He takes a moment just to evenly breathe a few times; Wallace doesn't speak and Kip is glad of that.

"It's not that you don't ever encounter that in C. Or even in D. Or that it stops affecting you constantly just because you don't have to deal with it all the time. But just because you get used to it doesn't mean it ever stops being horrible."

He takes hold of the bottom edge of his sweater and starts fidgeting with it, examining the interwoven colors. 

"I mean, you know how far it goes. Even humans who have a single monster in their family tree are looked down on. I just..." He sighs. "Imagine if I was in A, if I could actually get in and nobody would be trying to force me out. It's bad enough the way you're treated in B, the way you're just looked at... It must be so much worse if you were ever in A, I can't even guess how anyone would react to me there. Even if A opens to us, I can't imagine trying to move there as a monster, in the middle of all that..."

He raises his gaze to the wall.

"I'm not saying that because it has anything to do with what I used to think about you," he says. "That was a problem that was completely—well, almost completely different. It's just...something I thought about. Even though I know you're not dangerous, it's still strange that you're from A. I mean, we could all be together back where we used to live in D, and we could all visit B, but we couldn't...we can't be where you used to be. I can't—we can't visit where you lived or see your favorite places or anything."

"I think about that sometimes," Wallace says quietly. "It feels strange to me, too."

"I just..." He leans back into the cushions of the couch. "I get reminded that I'm a monster. All the shit that comes with it.”

He pauses. 

"Not that I ever forget, but..."

"Yeah. I get what you're saying."

Kip looks over at Wallace and gives a soft smile, which is returned. 

"...You know," Wallace says slowly. "I was gonna watch another movie that's actually supposed to be kind of good."

They look at each other for a moment.

"If, you know, you wanted to do that."

"Uh—I—" he stammers. "Sure, that's, um, that's fine."

Wallace smiles, and Kip does too.

"Here, let me take your plate," Wallace says. Kip watches him extend his hand.

"Oh," he says, and picks up his empty plate. "Here—thanks—"

"You know," Wallace says as he stands up, stacking Kip's plate on top of his own. "I'm really glad we get to be friends, Kip."

It's a simple enough, even clichéd statement to make, but the way that he says it sounds genuine enough to make Kip blush. 

"I am, too."

—

Kip wakes up to a bad day.

He's exhausted when his alarm wakes him up, and within seconds is aware of feeling a consuming sense of unease, dissatisfaction, and anxiety. Every tiny problem and stressor his brain can identify feels like a crisis. Every worry turns into dread and he has a confidence that everything will go wrong. He's sad and tired and has little interest in doing anything but hiding away all day and maybe trying to distract himself or sleeping it off.

But he has to go in to work. Fortunately he's used to the job well enough to maintain a great façade just by going on autopilot. Small groups of people seem overwhelming, he feels hopelessly distracted, and every sound that's unexpected or even a little bit loud sets him on edge. But as the only person working out front, he has to keep himself afloat.

His preoccupation leads to little mistakes that are easy to fix but rattle him anyways; the nervousness and self-doubt cause lead him to make more mistakes. He can't tear his thoughts from getting to go home. He knows it would help if he was able to get a head start on closing processes throughout his shift, but he's so slowed down that he barely makes headway on any of them. 

In the middle of dinner, he makes a drink and then spills half of it and that just stops him for a second, frustrated and coffee-stained and fed up with himself. But he's only stuck in place for a few moments before he lets out a drawn-out exhale and starts cleaning it up, grateful it at least happened behind the counter.

By the time he's nearing the end of the shift and making some real progress in closing, he's reached the stage of mental exhaustion where he just doesn't care—he doesn't care if it takes him a long time to get home to his bedroom, he doesn't care if nothing makes him feel better, he doesn't care if he feels like a complete fuck-up. He's just checked out of his own thoughts and feelings, going through the motions as he cleans and restocks and makes sure everything is ready for the café's next opening shift.

It's only about half an hour after the store closes when he's ready to leave. It turns out he actually kind of enjoys it. He locks the door, switches off the lights up front, and gets to just finish a few familiar, straightforward tasks in quiet and solitude and finally feel like he's managed to do something. Even if all he managed was getting through a fairly easy work shift and doing an average, baseline-competent job at setting things up for the next day.

He heads home, glad that he at least had the physical energy he needed for work—though the thought does remind him that he ought to eat, even though he knows he probably won't bother with anything much more than a snack. He makes it to the floor of their apartment and is reaching for the handle of the door when he stops short.

He hears Molly's laugh, and after another second tunes in to the sound of her and Roy carrying on an animated conversation, punctuated by both their laughter. His anxiety leaps through him and he doesn't struggle with it—he just turns from the door and continues down the hallway, going into the stairwell at the end and making his way back down to the lobby, giving a tired smile to the monster he passes along the way.

He steps back outside and decides the weather is nice enough for him and there's enough light left in the day for him to at least take a walk to the park and back. He sets out, alternating the focus of his gaze between the sidewalk and the sky.

There's this fear set deep within him that he's always doing what he would have done if he'd walked into the apartment. He'd bring their conversation to a halt, and it would be obvious he was having a bad day, and they'd try to comfort him, and after that they wouldn't be able to give any signs that they were having any fun at all because they'd know Kip couldn't participate in it. It's like his bad days cast a shadow that eclipses their days too.

He's always so conscious of how it was for everyone after the fire. In the immediate aftermath, Kip was completely helpless, and the only reason he ended up safe and in a new home was because he had friends who stepped in immediately and took care of all of it. And even when Kip grew capable of participating in any routines of the day, very limited and very shaky, he still relied so heavily on all their support. For a long time he was hardly even moving around, and they had to make sure he ate, even if some days he would only take one small meal, feeling too tired or sick or just unwilling for anything more. They had to try to make sure he could sleep—although sometimes he couldn't get out of bed and slept almost all through the day, sometimes he would be up most of the night, too uneasy or just too upset to sleep, and sometimes would be repeatedly forced awake by nightmares that grew so terrible he gave up on getting any restful sleep. They had to try keeping him warm—something often impossible even at the best of times, and which required all but hourly efforts from them then, fighting it off with blankets and space heaters and hot showers and baths and food and drink. 

Even back then, Kip was aware of how much everyone was doing for him, on top of their own struggles with what had happened—not to mention that Roy and Molly were in completely unfamiliar surroundings in a completely new life. The guilt made him feel worse, which if anything made it harder for him to do even basic things. He would be embarrassed to be seen or even heard after extended periods of struggling even more than usual with everyday things. He would get up and try cooking something only if no one else was around to see it. And he'd mumble apologies sometimes and they'd assure him he had nothing to be sorry for, and he couldn't bring himself to say I'm sorry for what I'm doing to all of you.

He'd hear them coming and going throughout the day, sounding sad and quiet and tired, and know that he was only making them feel moreso. He'd lie in bed staring at the ceiling in the morning—or afternoon, or evening—watching changing shadows of tree leaves waving gently across it, and try as hard as he could to feel okay—and he never could. He'd try to go through days doing any small task to distract himself, to feel like he was accomplishing anything, but he couldn't force himself to feel like anything was normal. He couldn't forget what had happened for even a moment, and he couldn't stop thinking about his family. They were always in the background of his thoughts and often all he could focus on. He didn't think he could ever stop doing anything but thinking of them. It didn't make sense that anyone could be thinking of anything else.

And even when he was slowly, slowly managing to do a little more, he was still just wholly drowned in depression and grief which tended to hit him without warning and which he couldn't force back. He knew he was draining to be around. He just couldn't do it; he couldn't make himself even seem like he was in a good mood, he could barely manage an occasional weary smile. He couldn't figure out what was best—when he kept to himself, he made them worry about him, and when he was with them, it was like he could feel himself darkening every room he'd dragged himself into. He felt like he was a ghost haunting the place, like a curse hanging over everyone that they couldn't avoid. He was hurting everyone else.

And even now, over half a decade later, he's still not past it. He still has nightmares, still has bad days, still gets unexpected pangs of grief, still collapses, still breaks down, still cries. He'd always been the most serious one among his friends and now he's far and away the most depressing. And it's not like he doesn't know they all have problems of their own, everyone does—struggle and loss and fear and trauma are endemic amongst monsters. But of course he leaves nobody any room to look after themselves, to do anything but worry about him.

He's just Kip Kaizer, whose problems supersede everyone else's, whose vulnerability demands constant attention, whose souring moods obstruct the lives of those closest to him. Kip, who can't handle his problems and forces them onto people who've actually managed to shoulder their own. Kip, who's always too close for comfort to crying or panicking and can only deal with that fragility by pretending to be frozen over. Self-defeating, self-absorbed, self-pitying Kip. 

It's the very least he can do to give people the occasional break he knows they could benefit from. He can let Molly and Roy have a little bit longer without him, let them enjoy things a little more before they have to start dealing with him. He can handle taking a little longer to get back home than he thought.

He walks over to an empty bench by a tree near the edge of the park and sits down in the middle. It's his favorite place in the park in the evenings, facing him towards a wide-open view of the sky that shows both ends of the sunset's spectrum. There's mostly afterwork joggers and dogwalkers around, providing enough noise to keep him from feeling too alone but not so much that he can't relax.

He sits for a while, watching the flow of clouds and the shift of colors above him. He doesn't think of his friends, or of Wallace, or Pascal. He doesn't let himself think of his family. He doesn't think about himself. He just takes in the sky and the sounds of people moving around him and groups of birds flying by and the smell of trees and water carried to him by the breeze. When the nightward horizon deepens beyond dusk and freckles with stars, he gets up and turns towards home.

—

His mood upon waking up the next day isn't exactly good, but it's an improvement from his last. It's calmer, more like he's mentally tired than stressing out over things, and he feels like there's at least a chance it could improve at some point in the day. And if it doesn't, he's at least more inclined to be numb to any sources of stress than frustrated.

He has enough energy to settle on the couch with his laptop and a cup of tea, drawing his socked feet up onto the cushions and starting notes for a new blog post. He's been a little slower on updates for the past month or so, but the latest topic he's decided on is on the positive side—there's been an encouragingly steady uptick in monsters forming local organizations geared towards supporting each other and alleviating specific community issues—and he hopes that will make it easier for him.

His focus isn't spectacular, and he writes neither particularly fast nor well, but he figures it's good enough for the brainstorming stage. After a couple hours of work he saves the document and folds his laptop shut, stretching his legs out and leaning his head back on the couch and closing his eyes. He rests there for a while, feeling a little better for finding something to occupy his time and attention and remind him there's some things he's good at—or at least capable of.

After a little while, he decides that a day for which he doesn't have standards high enough to be disappointed by it—and a day in which his schedule is completely free—is a good day to get some chores out of the way. He changes into the pair of pants that got beat up from work and the t-shirt mottled with bleach stains and starts out by doing a few small things in his room: watering his plants, putting a fresh set of sheets on the bed, and running the little sweeper over the floor.

He tucks his phone into his back pocket, plugs in headphones, and puts on quiet music as he starts cleaning off all the surfaces of the kitchen, scrubbing every inch of the countertops, wiping along the edges of the cabinet doors, taking the knobs off the stovetop dials and soaking them in hot water. He sweeps the floor and mops it twice. He goes through the fridge, taking all the food off of a shelf and wiping the space clean before replacing everything and repeating the process on the next shelf, from top to bottom.

He finishes with that in a little less than an hour, and fills a bucket with cleaner diluted in hot water, carries it to the bathroom with a bunch of old towels, and scrubs the floor. He dries it, mops it, dries it again, scrubs the tile of the shower walls, cleans the toilet, cleans the sink, wipes the walls, changes the trash. He looks at himself in the mirror for a moment before cleaning it and pushes his glasses into place. 

After putting everything he'd taken off the sink back into place, he pulls the towels down, puts them with the sheets he took off his bed, and wrings out all the rags he'd used and puts them on the pile as well. Then he puts a new set of towels in the bathroom, turns on the shower and the vent, and leans his phone against the wall outside before stripping off his clothes and stepping into the shower.

He's fairly brief about it but stands for a minute in the lingering steam before getting out. He wraps himself in a towel out of habit and picks up his clothes, carrying them out of the bathroom and adding them to the pile of laundry. He goes into his room and lets the towel fall to the floor, lies on his bed, and takes a moment to enjoy the rare experience of feeling the air against his naked body. He rolls over after a few minutes to let his back get the same treatment, but his arms are gradually horripilating and he's already starting to feel cold.

He can't really decide what to wear, so he just puts on another pair of jeans and socks and a sweatshirt, hangs the towel back in the bathroom, gathers the laundry up under one arm, and takes a bottle of detergent with the other. He puts a key in his back pocket and goes out the door, conscious of the somewhat strange feeling of walking down the hall in only socks.

When he gets to the laundry room, there's a few machines running but no one else around. He puts everything in one washer, adds the soap, and turns on the machine, watching it spin a minute as he takes in the soft rumbling filling the room. He sits up on one of the running dryers, pressing his hands against the warm metal surface and trying to get as much of his legs against it as he can. 

Eventually he hears someone coming down the hall towards the door; he gets anxious and hops down and sits in one of the chairs against the wall instead. The footsteps pass by. 

He stays in the room—it's small and warm and enclosed and the noise is easy to get used to, and he can think of worse places to pass the next twenty minutes or so. Nobody else comes by before his washer is done, and he breathes in the scent of the freshly cleaned fabric for a moment before pushing it into one of the dryers. 

The timer on the dryers is a little longer than on the washers; Kip leans over onto it, warming his chest, humming tunelessly and tapping his fingernail against the lid. He sits on the top again when his legs start feeling cold by comparison, still tapping an erratic rhythm against the gently vibrating surface.

He stays with the dryer the whole time, and only sees two other monsters come by to collect their laundry. He acknowledges them with an instant of eye contact and a twitch of a smile before looking back at the wall, and neither of them demand anything more from him. 

He slides off when the rumble stops, pulls the laundry out and folds it, stacking it on top of the dryer. He gathers the soft, warm pile of cloth up in his arms, taking a minute to hug it against his face and breathe in the smell and soak up the residual heat. 

Back in their apartment, his stream of motivation to do anything at all—besides pick up his phone from the floor—seemingly runs into a steel wall and he puts the stack of laundry on the shelf in his room and flops over on his bed, burrowing his legs under the blankets and drawing them up to his neck. 

He sighs deeply and closes his eyes. He didn't realize how good an idea lying down was until he did so—his muscles aren't exactly sore, but he's clearly tired them out by rushing through several fairly physical chores in such a short amount of time. He rolls onto his back and arches it as far as he can to counteract the effects of cleaning the floor and bending over the countertops, then sinks back down and tries to relax every part of his body.

He's lying there for a while, and starts considering how much he might want to make himself eat, and suddenly thinks of the fact that he only has a day and a half between him and his planned meeting with Pascal. It doesn't leave him many chances to wake up feeling better than he has the last few mornings; usually when he has a mild depressive streak like this it takes close to a week to clear up. He could be in a far worse place than the one he is now, but he wants to have steady energy and a positive mood before he even sees Pascal on that day. He's had to try to force himself into neutrality in all their meetings before, unable to predict what kind of emotions could surge up and wanting to protect the both of them from that. But now he doesn't want neutrality. 

He's not very thrilled that the first strong feeling he has all day is a spike of anxiety, set off by the thought of being anxious around Pascal. He tries to derail its momentum. He sets his glasses aside and closes his eyes, draws the blankets further up around himself, relaxes every muscle, and tries to sleep.

He opens his eyes with the understanding that he's waking from the edge of sleep, and closes them again, burying himself deeper into his nest of blankets. He falls asleep slowly enough this time to feel his conscious thoughts blur and fade out.

It's an equally gradual process when he wakes up again, feeling foggy and soft. He can't focus easily, but the vague sounds he hears are distinguishable from dreams—which he's glad to have seemingly gone without. The instant he hears bubbly laughter, his brain understands what it's hearing. 

After a few minutes, he sits up halfway, finding himself awake enough to process Molly and Roy's individual voices. He catches words here and there but can't make out what they're talking about. Drawers slide open and shut, footsteps pad around the apartment, and periodically something drops to the floor and Molly exclaims in annoyance.

Kip drags himself out of bed, returns his glasses to his face and his phone to his pocket, and goes over to the mirror to tug his sweatshirt into place and comb his hair. He grimaces slightly at his reflection—he looks flat and tired and messy.

He sighs and opens his door, stepping carefully outside his room in case he's throwing himself into the middle of a storm.

"Hey, guys." He greets them before he even sees them. 

"Oh, Kip, we were wondering if you were here! I was going to check, but I knew if you were here you had to be in your room, and I knew if you hadn't come out already you were probably sleeping or wanted to be by yourself—"

"Hi, Kip," Molly says.

Kip follows their voices to the kitchen, and sees Molly wearing a yellow sundress and putting a sandwich together as Roy, in shorts and a bright orange shirt, folds up an old cover and a large paper handlebag sits on the table.

"Um," he says quietly, and Roy looks over at him with a smile that tells Kip something extra exciting must be happening. "What are you doing?"

"Put on outside clothes," Molly says. "And stand by the window for a second to see what you think, it's pretty warm out."

"What? What are you doing? Where are we going?" Kip says, putting a hand on the doorway and holding tight.

Molly apparently hears his rising undertone of stress because she stops and turns to him.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun," she insists, slightly softening her voice for him. "Just give us a minute. It's supposed to be a surprise."

Kip blinks and looks between them again, and thinks about the probability that he's going to end up feeling worse if he doesn't go along this.

"Okay," he says quietly. Molly smiles.

He comes back in about five minutes or so, changed into a light gray button-up shirt and wearing his most comfortable shoes. He rubs his neck, already feeling a little less removed from everything around him, and a little more like he feels when he's having an okay day. 

"Okay, so," Molly says, closing the refrigerator door. "The three of us are going to the park."

"Okay," Kip repeats, bemused.

"We're going on a picnic!" Roy says brightly, turning towards Kip. Kip smiles faintly and Roy grins back at him. "We have everything packed up and we can go whenever you're ready to go."

They're both looking at him, and Kip feels like his head is lagging behind this sudden change to the course of his day.

"I mean," he starts, "I'm ready to go whenever you guys want to. But you don't have to bring me along, I'm really fine just hanging out here today. I was thinking I could probably vacuum the living room..."

"Uh, no, we're not inviting you just now, Kip," Molly says, folding her arms.

"We planned this the other day," Roy explains. "We planned it for all of us." 

"Oh—" Kip touches his mouth. "Oh—I—"

Roy smiles at him and lightly touches his back; Kip laughs softly.

"C'mon."

Five minutes later they're walking out the front door of the building into sunlight and a warm breeze. Molly leads them down the sidewalk, holding the bag under her arm, and Roy walks behind her, drawing double-takes from passersby with his height as always, and Kip finds himself following them along the same path he took the other evening after work.

He's a little tuned out when they reach the park and he realizes the others are trying to ask him where he wants to set things up. They end up on the top of a slight hill that's covered in thick green grass and a few scattered wildflowers, with a good view of the rest of the park and a tall tree providing plenty of shade. Kip sits down beside the tree, crossing his legs underneath him, and Roy and Molly work on unloading the bag. 

In a few minutes the food is in the middle of the cover and a cloud is passing in front of the sun and a bird is singing from a branch somewhere nearby. Roy lays out on the blanket, unscrewing a bottle of lemonade and then passing it to Molly, who's leaning back and looking up at the sky. Kip watches them for a few moments before resting against the tree, closing his eyes and drawing slow, deep inhales. The two start an easy conversation, and simply coexisting with something so pleasant feels like a comfort to Kip.

"Oh, I wish I could show you guys what the kids made last week," Roy says. "I'd cut them out strips of paper for crowns and they all decorated themselves and they all had such different designs! It's really amazing to see the way they each interpret the idea so individually to make something beautiful for themselves."

"That was when they used glitter and markers and glue all in the same day, right?" Molly asks.

"That was brave of you," Kip murmurs.

"It's worth it every now and then to give them all the materials I can," Roy answers. "They're really so creative..."

"Oh yeah, I had to get that patch of glitter off your back for you," Kip says, sitting up and stretching. "I remember that."

"It's worth it!" Roy repeats. "They really have a lot of fun with that kind of stuff."

Kip smiles and sighs and hugs his knees to his chest. He watches a family walking in the distance, two little kids holding the leash of an equally small dog.

"I want to give them all a chance to try as many new things as they can, you know?" Roy says. "I really try to let them do things they might never have before and I hope each of them finds things they really enjoy and are really interested in and that make them feel confident about what they can do and want to try other things too!"

Kip looks over at Roy's impassioned tone to see him sit up and twist his fingers in the grass, blushing slightly. Molly smiles at him and squeezes his shoulder, and he smiles back at her. 

"You do really good things, Roy," Kip says quietly. He leans back against the tree again and pushes his glasses up. 

"Yeah, you do," Molly agrees. 

"Aw, you guys..." Roy puts an arm around Molly and reaches out towards Kip with the other; Kip rolls his eyes but can only partially restrain a smile as he scoots forward into the inevitable hug. 

Kip edges back to the tree again after a minute, trying to let himself be in the background. He's better than he was, but still feels very acutely the presence of his depression, and he would rather come off as simply being in a quiet or tired mood. But he isn't overshadowed by Molly and Roy's energy for the simple reason that they seem to keep themselves from overshadowing him. They're talking and laughing but, relative to their usual levels of vivacity whenever they're having fun together, their quietness is much more unusual than Kip's.

He watches them for any signs that something might be wrong, but he doesn't see anything else out of the ordinary. Soon enough they start eating some of the food, and Kip diverts some of his attention to his sandwich. 

"How are you guys?" he asks after a while. 

"Good," Molly says.

"Yep," Roy says with a laugh. "We're good."

"I mean in life," Kip clarifies. "How are you in general."

"You know? Still pretty good." Molly stretches out her legs and rocks a foot back and forth.

"Yeah! I mean—" Roy sits up, crossing his long legs. "Something I really think about, and that I'm thinking about right now, is that so much has happened to us but we've still ended up here, you know? It's nice out, and we're together, and it's really great to be here like this."

Molly grins and moves across the grass to hug him. Kip smiles, deciding he's overanalyzing things, and tries to pull himself into the moment as best as he can. He takes a piece of celery and drags it between his fangs, gradually scraping it down.

"What about you, Kip?" Roy asks.

"Hmm?"

"How are you doing?" 

"I'm fine."

"Are you fine in general?" Molly says with half a smile. Kip blushes and bites down on the celery.

"Yeah," he answers. "I am."

"Really? Because part of what gave us the idea to do this is because you've really seemed kind of low lately."

"Well...I mean, yeah, I've been having a few bad days in a row, but it's only the thing where I just wake up to it. It's okay." 

"But you've been kind of..." Roy starts hesitantly. "It's just seemed like for a while now you've had stuff on your mind, and we're kind of worried that you don't seem to want to tell us about any of it. We know what it looks like when you're weighed down by something. We want to make sure you're okay."

Kip is starting to bristle; he glances quickly between them and feels a little too backed up against the tree. He hates feeling confronted, but the feeling of being cornered is even worse.

"Don't worry," Molly says. She and Roy glance at each other and Kip sees their expressions momentarily shift to a sad kind of worry. "We're just asking. We know you don't always like to talk about things."

Kip softens, and then sighs.

"You don't have to worry so much about me," he says quietly. "It's just been the usual stuff, and some stuff that I...don't really feel like talking about yet." He sighs. "Sometimes I think about saying stuff about it but I just don't feel like I'm ready."

"...Is it about Pascal?" Roy asks gently.

Kip can feel his blush flood his face.

"I—of—I mean—" he stammers. He takes a deep breath to try to recover the flow of his thoughts. "I... Yes. Part of it is Pascal. And I am a little nervous about that. But, you know, it's all manageable, it's just a lot of little things at once, and I, y'know, have the usual bad day or two every now and then."

He tries to gauge how his words are landing. He sighs, seeing the hints of tension in their expressions.

"Look..." he says slowly, dropping his gaze to his knees. "I really do wish I could talk about some of this stuff with you guys especially, because I really don't want to make it seem like I don't trust you or I don't...know that you guys care about me. And I don't want you to think it means I don't want you to talk to me at all, for us to talk, I just—" He sighs again. "There's this stuff that I'm still really figuring out day to day and it feels so—so personal and kind of embarrassing and I've only even talked about it a little bit with Eno, and I...I'm not really trying to keep secrets, not forever. I wanna tell you guys, but I just haven't gotten there yet."

He looks at them again. 

"But...part of it really is..." he trails off and sits up from leaning against the tree. "So much has happened so fast and it feels like stuff has changed so much, right? And I'm kind of..." His mouth twitches towards a grimace. "It's just really strange that after everything, I don't...feel like a completely different person, or anything. I still feel the same a lot more than I thought I would, after going through all that... Like, I always thought if I could ever just...do or say certain things it would have to mean I'd changed, or it would make me change, but...I've stayed the same, too. I still—I'm still kind of struggling with the same problems in the same ways and...realizing that has kind of been a hit, you know? Like it's really kind of exhausting. It feels embarrassing and disappointing to say I'm still struggling with the same stuff in the same ways as always, after so much, after so much time..."

He drops a hand to the grass, trailing his fingers through it.

"I know that it's fine and that it makes sense and that things take a lot of time and...and some things will never be okay, even though we have to live with them, but...it's gonna take a while to feel like it's fine—like it's still fine to feel bad." He gives a quiet laugh. "And knowing that things just...are going to be hard for a long time still. I mean, it's all such obvious stuff, but..."

He trails off and blushes, suddenly hit by the feeling that he's talking too much.

"...I know what you mean," Roy says softly. 

"Yeah," Molly says, smiling slightly. "Nothing's ever nearly as simple as it sounds."

Kip sighs again and twists some grass between his fingers, squeezing the hand into a fist.

"It's just been kind of tiring, and with having other stuff going on, it's been really hard to not just be weighed down by all of it together. Like, it sometimes feels like I've taken a step back, or missed my chance for a step forward, and it's—obviously all of it's frustrating. But really, it's nothing terrible. I'm managing it okay. I'm sorry I'm being kind of withdrawn but I really don't want..." He rubs his palm along his thigh anxiously. "I know I'm a little more...outward with my problems than other people, even when I'm not saying anything, I know I still have a ton of tells, and I really don't want it to seem like I need everyone to give me a lot of time and attention just because it's easier to see when I'm having a bad time than with other people. I...I don't want to drain people or take anything you might need for yourselves, I..."

He lets go of the grass and fixes his gaze on the fibers of the blanket spread out in front of him.

"I want to do nice things for you guys, too," he murmurs.

"...You...uh, you already do," Molly says slowly.

"Do you think you don't?" Roy's incredulity surprises Kip. 

"Um? I, uh—I mean, I'm never doing anything like this," he says, gesturing to the picnic and its beautiful and peaceful surroundings.

"Kip!" Roy sits upright with a sudden look of determination and Kip flinches back. "Of course you're nice to us! You're great to be around."

"Thanks, uh—I—"

"You do nice things all the time," Molly says firmly. "You just cleaned like half the apartment today, of course we noticed that. And the other night when you made us all dinner again? And that's only the most recent stuff. Not to mention that you're obviously looking out for us all the time, and you've been like that ever since I met you. I'm pretty sure that kind of thing counts for something."

"Yeah, but that's—that's just—" Kip stammers helplessly. "That's just everyday stuff, I should be—be able to—"

Molly cuts him off with a finger pointed at his chest. 

"It's not 'just' anything!" she insists. "Do you think things don't matter just because it happens every day? You think the things we do only matter to each other if it's completely out of the ordinary?"

"No!" Kip huffs. "You know that's not what I mean."

"Well, what I mean is that you can't tell yourself that we don't know you care about us. Because I'm telling you that we do."

Kip doesn't have any interest in or energy for arguing. He clenches his jaw and shifts his gaze to the grass.

"Kip." Molly's tone could be mistaken for a rebuke, but Kip knows her well enough to tell it's an entreaty.

In his peripheral he sees Roy push himself up and he, as he always does, stays still while others move around him. A few moments later Roy's arm is around his shoulders, gently pulling him in. Kip resists it for a moment and Roy's light touch almost vanishes, but then Kip decides it's okay. He leans half an inch towards Roy and within the second finds himself hugged against Roy's torso.

Kip tilts his head up so that his forehead rests comfortably against Roy's shoulder, and puts his hand on Roy's knee, his other on the small of Roy's back. He waits for Roy to pull away first, but it quickly becomes clear that this isn't a hug; he's being held.

He lets out a prolonged, almost strained sigh, and Roy holds him a bit tighter. 

It's a simple fact that it's impossible not to feel loved when cradled against Roy in one of his extra encompassing hugs, especially when Roy lightly strokes Kip's hair and softly says "we love you." Kip slowly melts, as he always does.

"...I'm sorry," Kip mumbles after a quiet half minute. "I'm not...I don't mean to be like this."

He leans a little into Roy and stares at the colorful fabric of his shirt.

"I know you guys love me," he says. "I really, really know it. And it means so much to me, and you do so much for me, and..."

He sighs a lot whenever he's struggling with what he's trying to say.

"You guys are so important to me," he says quietly. "I love you."

"We know you do, Kip," Molly says, voice quieted but strong.

"I love you guys," Kip repeats.

"We know," Roy says, echoed so quickly by Molly that their voices overlap.

"I love you so much," Kip says. He doesn't say things like this out loud very often and when he does he feels like he wants to say it a dozen or so times. "I love you."

He feels Molly lean against his back and she has her arms around both of them, and she kisses him above the ear.

"You guys..." Suddenly Kip can't help a moment of weak laughter. Their arms wrap further and closer around him and Roy leans back and Kip and Molly follow until the three of them are in a heap in the grass, still hugging each other tight.

After a minute or so Roy and Molly loosen the embrace so they're just lying by each other, looking up at the leaves and clouds. 

"Hang on..." Molly pushes herself up and reaches into the bag they brought everything over in. "I almost forgot I brought these along."

Roy sits up and Kip props himself up on his elbows to see her open a small paper bag and shake the contents out into her hand. 

"I made these this month," she says. "One for each of us. Here you go, Kip, this one's yours."

She puts a long, thin band in his palm and in half a beat he realizes it's a bracelet. It's made of delicately interwoven strings of light orange, peach, and yellow, with a loop at one end and an azure bead on the other.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you could make these," he says, turning it over in his hand, its color complementing the blue of his palm. "This is so good, Molly."

"Aw, thanks," she laughs. "I wanted to try it out and it was pretty fun. It's pretty relaxing and I could listen to music while I made these and I just like how they turned out!"

Roy gasps when she gives him a wider band with bright stripes of color, and helps her put the purple and pink one she made for herself around her ankle. Kip fastens his bracelet on his left wrist and traces a fingertip along it, then lies back in the grass and looks up at the sky. He gets about two seconds of warning before Roy and Molly lie down beside him, flanking him, and drape their arms across him.

"What's up?" he says, and is answered with a squeeze of his arm, a kiss to his forehead, and laughter.

—

Their outing lasts a good while longer, until they notice what looks like a front on the horizon and have a discussion about how heavy the clouds look and how fast they're coming in and whether or not the breeze feels or smells like rain. Kip eventually manages to get Molly to agree that it's a storm approaching, and they pack up and head back home and are only halfway there when they start feeling the occasional tap of drops on their skin, and only a couple of blocks away when the rain becomes dramatically heavier and they rush the rest of the way until they're finally inside, laughing at themselves.

Kip still wants to do something a little special in his own way to thank Roy and Molly, especially for picking up his mood—he may not be at 100%, but it's a significant improvement from where he'd been that morning. So he goes into their kitchen and looks at what ingredients he has on hand and starts making batter for chocolate cupcakes, working mostly from memory and a quick reference or two with his phone.

He mixes together some chocolate frosting while the cupcakes are in the oven and gives both Roy and Molly a coated spoon of it. The cupcakes finish and cool and he carefully frosts them all evenly, giving a slight spiral and peak to each one. He tells the others that the cupcakes are done while he settles on the couch with one already in hand.

They all spend the rest of the day hanging out together. Kip feels like his detachment is almost gone; it's like he's just as present in their small group as Roy and Molly are. By the time the other two start their routines for heading to bed, Kip is fairly confident that as long as nothing especially bad ruins his day tomorrow, he can start the day after that in a solid place for his plans with Pascal.

Roy and Molly say goodnight to each other and to him; he hugs both of them individually and murmurs his thanks and in both cases is hugged back so hard he's momentarily lifted off the floor. And then they both catch him up in one exuberant group hug that gradually settles into an excuse for unabashed cuddling. There's laughing, but it quiets and they have a few moments of wholehearted, affectionate warmth, manifesting in wordless looks and easy smiles, in brushing hands and palms pressed against arms.

Kip takes a brief, warm shower a bit after Roy and Molly settle in their rooms, mostly scrubbing off his face and under his arms and washing out his hair again. He slips into his pajamas and settles cross-legged on the couch with another cupcake and his laptop and types out an outline of his blog post as he waits for his hair to dry a bit, dimming the screen for the sake of resting his eyes. The soft clicking of the keys and his own voice building the sentences and the light sweetness of frosting on his lips is a comfort to him.

When he turns off the light in his room he closes his eyes too, already beginning the process of falling asleep before he even climbs into bed and under the covers.

He sleeps straight through the night. He has dreams, but they're neither pleasant nor bad—just enfolding splices of mundane routines and peaceful spaces. He wakes up gently, and hears rain softly hitting his windowpane. Rather than making himself get up right away, he spends a while lying in bed, dozing.

When he does get up, he feels okay. He puts on warm socks and fixes himself warm breakfast and tea. The apartment is a little quiet with both Molly and Roy already at work, but he washes some dishes and then reads for a while and he doesn't feel stressed about it. 

When he goes into his room to change into his clothes for work, he takes a moment to water his plants and is noticing how many more flowers have bloomed when his gaze drifts to the portrait beside them and lingers there. The lighting on it is dim and filtered through the rain still audibly falling outside.

He takes it off the dresser and sits on the bed with the picture in front of him, looking at the faces of his family. He's not confident enough to dwell on things like fond memories or the wish that they were with him now—even on his best days, it's a risk to think about something so charged, one he's not currently willing to take. He thinks instead about the commonplace details of his life with them, the intricacies of their habits and tastes, the little signs of their presence that were in their home even when Kip was alone: the notepads with neat bullet points left on random flat surfaces, the newspapers with page corners folded down, the slippers on the stairs, the constant presence of a small jar of blackberry jam in the fridge.

He closes his eyes and lets himself delve into the memories as they come to him, focusing on the specific pieces rather than the potentially overwhelming whole. He lets himself replay the kinds of small moments that always brought him the most comfort. The kind that he, with Eno's help, is working on convincing himself he deserves to access whenever he wants to think of or feel close to his family. He can already override his reluctance with the feeling he gets when he thinks he's avoiding the thought of them.

He loves and misses them and lies down on his side with the picture lying next to him. It remains manageable; after ten minutes or so he sits up and carries the photo back over to the top of his dresser, carefully centering it between the plants, gently trailing his fingers along the top of the frame. 

He changes into his clothes for work and combs his hair into place in the mirror. He goes into the kitchen and has some leftovers for lunch and puts four cupcakes in a plastic container to take with him to work, and another four in another container for Ben and Wallace, sticking a note on the latter set labelling it as such for Roy or Molly to see whenever one of them gets home.

When he leaves for work he folds his apron up and puts it in his back pocket so he can carry the cupcakes in one hand and his umbrella in the other. The rain patters over his head and he watches the ground as he walks so he doesn't step into any puddles.

The café doesn't look like it's busy, but there's a small group and a few pairs and individuals, some on laptops, some reading. It's the kind of pace they usually have on rainy days—most people are kept from going out, but some specifically want to be at the café during such weather. Kip hangs up his umbrella in the back and ties on his apron and hears Kate putting dishes on a rack. 

They're both in a quieter mood than usual but they talk as they work. Kip points out that Kate seems to be in kind of down and with a little coaxing he convinces her to vent to him for a while, after which she apologizes for being frustrated over relatively minor things and he scoffs and says he'd never judge anybody for doing so. She laughs at that and slings an arm around his waist, pulling them together by the hips in a sideways hug. He laughs too and tells her about the cupcakes he brought for her and Cuddy; Kate scrubs at the top of his head and nudges his chin with her knuckles.

Their efficiency and teamwork during shared shifts is all but effortless at this point, and Kip knows what tasks he can do to give Kate some space to relax a little. The steady rain gives them long pauses between incoming customers, which allows them to catch up and get ahead on the smaller details of the work and keeps the job calm for them. Kip spends a while just washing dishes, which he never really minds—as long as he can take his time and they don't have to desperately wash cups and plates in the middle of a chaotic mealtime rush. He likes to submerge his arms in the hot water and feel the warmth prickle up to his shoulders and into his chest. 

A couple of hours into his shift, his phone buzzes in his pocket with a text; he glances at it and sees that it's from Pascal and seems to be about confirming their meetup tomorrow. He blushes and takes a few minutes to refocus on his job. It's decent timing—he gets to take a short break about half an hour later and he sits down with the text, reads it over a few times to be sure he's getting everything, and takes his time constructing a good response. 

Around fifteen minutes after that, Pascal sends a short reply, an "okay! i'll see you then!" and Kip is picturing his face.

Cuddy stops by later in the evening and chats with him and Kate a bit and Kip gives her the other cupcakes. The last hour before closing is completely uneventful, with a few people coming in for a coffee or tea. Kip and Kate finish everything within about fifteen minutes or so of the store's closing. They walk out and the rims of their umbrellas bump together and the rain sounds no lighter than it did on Kip's walk over to the café—it's maybe even a little heavier. They chat and Kate keeps cracking bad jokes that make Kip giggle and murmur "oh my god."

They reach Kate's building first and then Kip walks the several blocks further to his own. It's just late enough to be fairly quiet both on the sidewalks and inside the lobby as he takes a moment to shake out his umbrella and check their mailbox. His legs are slightly tired from work but he climbs the stairs steadily and is back in the apartment within minutes.

He gets a hug from Roy and greets Molly through her door as he unties his apron and heads to his room to change into the clothes he sleeps in. When he takes his phone out of the pocket of his pants he sees a text he hadn't felt when it was originally sent to him hour or so ago from Wallace. The realization feels like a little spark as he reads the simple message: "i just had one of the cupcakes you gave me. its really good! thank you, Kip!!"

The use of his name in the text is enough to make Kip smile. He taps out an equally simple reply: "you're welcome. im glad you like them"

He spends a few minutes going through his clothes, thinking—not for the first time—about what he wants to wear to meet Pascal. It's nothing like the stress of heading into their first meetup after Kip learned that Pascal was in C as well, but it's a completely different kind of meeting and he's possibly even less sure how to approach it. He's sure he wants to be with Pascal in the same way they'd used to be together, but he's not going to see Pascal as a date. He's going with the intention of explaining himself—explaining how he feels about Pascal, and how he feels about Wallace, and how he feels about having those coexisting feelings.

He wants to wear something nice so that Pascal knows this is important to him, but he doesn't want to create any kind of pressure. The whole point of doing this a couple of days before the dinner is to give Pascal an easier opportunity to cancel the plans if he's not comfortable with it anymore.

Kip stares at the shades and tints of blue as if one will suddenly look like the right shirt to give him any sense of certainty about tomorrow. He breathes out slow and slides the drawers shut and goes out of his room to be around Molly and Roy for a while.

Roy is putting together an activity for his job as he sometimes does, trying it out himself to get an idea of all the steps involved and gathering materials. Kip makes himself some tea and sits with his laptop at the table, opening the outline he'd made earlier and turning it into a draft. Molly walks through to take a shower and gets caught up in conversation with Roy for a few minutes.

As is usually the case, Kip is the last to head to bed, typing away until he's satisfied with the structure of the draft and saves it and shuts off the laptop. He brushes his teeth and pees and reads in bed for a little while, letting himself relax, focusing on things that won't lead to him overthinking about tomorrow.

Though when he turns off his lights and lies back, his thoughts inevitably gravitate to Pascal. It's fairly easy for him to direct them towards stress-reducing topics and he focuses in on the memories that provide him with the most sensually-loaded details about Pascal. He settles in on the thought of one particular routine they'd developed, generally when they were glad to be able to touch each other and in a playful mood with generous time to themselves. 

Kip would usually be on his back as he is now, and Pascal would carefully straddle him and they would kiss. Kip would let his desire for Pascal move him freely in all ways but one—both of them would keep their hips against the other's but as still as possible, refusing to grind against each other. They would make out and push each other's shirts up and try not to be the first to break, and all the while they could feel themselves and the other growing harder, pressing together. They'd continuously become more breathless and impatient, every incidental rub of their bodies more jarring. They'd inevitably start to laugh at themselves and Kip would put on a show, arching his spine and rolling his head back and panting and moaning and sliding his hands up Pascal's chest—he'd be half-joking, but Pascal would kiss him fiercely and finally start grinding hard against him and Kip would gasp and dig his heels against the couch to grind back too and the relief was immediate and intense.

But what usually happened next was that, even after their laughter and teasing and indulgently aggressive dry-humping that worked them into a mess, they slowed down. There would be this moment where they’d try to catch their breath and suddenly things were much more deliberate and focused and it was Pascal's fault every time. He would take a minute, slowly rubbing their cocks together as he just looked at Kip and softly trailed the ends of his arms along Kip's body, his chest and shoulders and throat and jaw. And Kip would be steadily rolling his pelvis, getting harder and harder, looking back up at Pascal and feeling his heartbeat pound. The only sound would be their breathing and the fabric of their clothes rubbing together and Kip would reach for Pascal and they would kiss, slow and deep, and Kip would stroke at Pascal's tongue with his own.

And what Pascal liked to do next was retreat out of Kip's reach, moving off of him to pull his legs open and kneel between them. Kip would find himself holding his breaths and trying to stay still but gasping and fidgeting as Pascal carefully worked the front of his pants open. He'd keep his eyes locked on Pascal's face, wanting to watch how he looked at him and get every moment of eye contact he could, and drew a shaky breath when Pascal undid his belt, letting it out with a quiet, sighing groan as his zipper was opened.

He always remembered things seeming to go very slowly as Pascal gently pulled his jeans down to his thighs, kissed his erection through his underpants, then murmured to him how much he loved the moment of uncovering Kip's dick before actually doing so. By that point Kip would already be badly worked up, but Pascal would draw things out further by getting Kip's clothes off entirely, draping his pants and underwear on the back of the couch, unbuttoning his shirt from the bottom as Kip joined in at the top with trembling hands until they'd meet in the middle and Pascal would lean down to kiss Kip's bared chest and Kip would whisper Pascal's name at the feeling.

When Pascal sat back up again, his eyes would be on Kip's, and Kip would blush, and feel like he must be beautiful. He would want it more than ever and push his hips towards Pascal, quietly repeating "please,” hands twitching and clenching and unclenching. Pascal would lean in to softly kiss his parted lips while lightly wrapping the end of his arm around the base of Kip's erection, then move his mouth to Kip's throat, then smoothly glide down to give the same attention to his nipples. A hoarse moan of Pascal's name would finally convince him to bring his other arm to Kip's waist and slide it down to his hips, holding them steady as he kissed a path down Kip's stomach.

Kip hadn't ever really imagined that a blowjob could be all that sweet and affectionate until Pascal regularly demonstrated thus. The intensity of Kip's orgasm and the steady buildup with which Pascal brought him to it would alone have been enough to trigger an emotional reaction, but by the time he was pushing Pascal onto his back to return the favor, he'd have to take a minute to stroke his hair and the side of his face and look him in the eyes as he whispered loving compliments between easy, lingering kisses.

The only problem he's having now while trying to masturbate to the memory is that while the thoughts are great for arousing him intensely and quickly, his own hand can't replicate anything like the sensation of Pascal's mouth or arm around his cock. He doesn't get the benefit of feeling other parts of Pascal against other parts of himself either, and imagining all the things Pascal did to work him up isn't nearly as effective as it actually being done to him. It's becoming frustrating. Pascal knew him and knew his body so well, had been so attentively observant of everything about him, had taken such time and care to learn about what felt good to him and what he liked and what he needed and what signals he gave that he could always give Kip incredibly, exhilaratingly all-consuming sex he lost himself in and orgasms that utterly wiped him out—and Pascal could give him sex that good whether they went quickly or slowly, were being coy and silly or intensely serious, through all kinds of different approaches and positions and processes.

Pascal seemingly knew Kip's turn-ons better than Kip himself did, and the way he constantly employed that and was so tuned in to Kip made every instance of sex feel thrillingly intimate. If initiated by butterflies in the stomach or cuddling or straightforward lust, if it lasted about ten minutes or over an hour, if they were in the mood to kiss and talk and move slowly or fuck hard and aim to give each other the most overwhelming finishes they could—Pascal always acted like Kip's pleasure was his own. One time in particular after Pascal had fucked Kip senseless, while Kip was flat on his back feeling the most enjoyable, relaxed ache envelop his shivering body, Pascal lay beside him and talked to him over his breathless panting, giving him these long, detailed descriptions of everything he liked and noticed about Kip's body and having sex with him, telling him about the way he looked and sounded and felt and tasted and moved. It was unexpectedly sensual and arousing and so thorough that Pascal was still talking when Kip cut him off by pulling him in and kissing him until it was clear they were going to have a second round. 

Pascal didn't quite stop there, spending a significant amount of time with his arms spiraled around Kip's thighs as he knelt between them, describing what it was like wanting to blow Kip and what it was like doing so, pausing at times to kiss and lick his growing erection, until Kip's replies became totally incoherent with moans and Pascal obligingly took him into his mouth. Kip was gripping Pascal's hair in both hands and crying out between shuddering gasps by the time he came, and Pascal kept sucking him through and even after the orgasm until Kip was weakly twisting and stretching his legs out and whining hoarsely at the overstimulation. At Kip's request Pascal lay right up beside him again, so Kip could use what little strength he still had to kiss him and work at his dick and Pascal could cum on Kip's stomach. Kip distinctly remembers how they held each other for ages afterwards and the simple, sweet things they whispered and the way Pascal cuddled him and fell asleep just before him and the way Pascal touched him and looked at him and spoke to him when they woke up. 

He looks up at the corner of the ceiling and sighs quietly, stroking himself slowly. 

Sometimes he'll touch his own chest, caress his own face, bring his own hand to his mouth so he can kiss something and imagine it’s someone’s lips. But it's easy for that kind of thing to just make him notice everything he can't even begin to recreate about being with Pascal. The way Pascal sounded. The full embrace of his arms. The force of being rocked into the mattress by the strength of his motion. His whole body touching and touched by Pascal's. The stubble on Pascal's jaw rubbing his skin as Pascal kissed along his thighs. The look on Pascal's face while he lay compliantly back as Kip straddled him. Having sex multiple times in a row, being fucked so well that he can't hardly think. The warmth and weight of being held against Pascal's body as they rested together in their afterglow.

Kip is frustrated with the comparative inadequacy of jerking off, but is at the same time getting restless from how long he's taking to bring himself to orgasm. He grits his teeth and gets up from the bed. A minute later he's coating a dildo with lube; soon after he's on his back again, fucking himself with it, rocking into it steadily as he works it inside, then finds the right position to work relentlessly. He has to fight to stay silent, feeling his self-control eroding with every thrust.

He can't hold back a soft whimper as he cums. His arms drop to his sides and he slides his legs down to the mattress, releasing all the tension in his body. He lies there for a while, catching his breath, keeping the dildo inside himself, enjoying feeling filled. It wasn't a coincidence that he got one close to Pascal's size and shape, after all. When he eases it out and sits up, he looks down at his chest and stomach. He remembers how he'd usually be the one to clean himself and Pascal off after sex, wiping the cum off of their torsos or faces or thighs. It was easier for him to hold things like tissues and cloth, but he'd have liked doing it even if that wasn't true. But he'd liked it too when Pascal would lick the cum off of his skin for him. If he had any on his face, his lips or jaw or nose or cheeks, Pascal would sweep him up in his arms and lean him back almost horizontally and kiss him breathless before cleaning it off for him with tender and lingering touches.

After resting his body for a few minutes, feeling Pascal's absence, he pulls his sweatpants back on and goes into the bathroom. He starts up the shower, trying to run it quietly, and washes the dildo before cleaning himself off. He starts with the cum on his front but washes his whole body from the top down and lathers shampoo into the hair on his head, under his arms, and on his pelvis. He has his usual coda to the routine, standing under the falling water for a while just to enjoy the heat and then sitting on the rug with his knees drawn up to his chest, wrapped in a soft towel, luxuriating in the steam.

He feels sleep blanketing him and hangs up the towel, slides his pants back on, brushes his teeth and combs his damp hair into place, and goes back into his room. He puts the dildo away and pulls out one of the t-shirts he uses for pajamas, thick but soft and loose, easy to slip on his body. He draws the covers up around himself as he stretches out on the mattress, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Falling asleep, half-dreaming, he feels Pascal's kiss pressed to his lips.

—

As soon as he wakes and remembers what the day has in store for him, he gets a twinge of nervousness. But he's at least feeling fairly well-rested, having slept soundly through the night. When he pushes the blankets down, however, he realizes that resting well is something of an understatement for the slight stain on the front of his pants. He tends to remember wet dreams as much as any other kind, but he has no memory of anything he dreamt the previous night, good or bad.

He finds himself taking another shower. He can't help wanting to look good even though he knows all too well this isn't going to be anything like a date. He puts on a dark pair of jeans that are soft and have slight signs of wear at the knees, and puts on a loose sweater, one with a small clutch of cerulean stars that Molly had stitched in over the heart. It's usually one of the things he wears around the house since he likes to project a somewhat formal presence in public, but he thinks he could stand to be slightly humbled when he meets with Pascal. He fastens Molly's friendship bracelet around his wrist.

—

Kip keeps himself busy. He's thinking about what he needs to say to Pascal, but if he lets himself focus on it fully he knows he runs a good risk of constructing a script in his head—something that will all but condemn him to trip up on it and end up even more stressed than he would have been without it. He already can't help stressing; he doesn't need to add to that. It's going to be the first time since living in C again that he's ready to be completely open to Pascal about the future of their relationship. Without being sure one way or another if he wanted to be with Pascal again, he couldn't help but maintain some barriers, hold back parts of himself, try to keep Pascal at a certain distance and keep his own emotions in check. But now he knows he no longer questions what he wants between them. He's been sure of it for a while now. He knows that. 

And he may be a lot less sure what he realistically wants when it comes to Wallace, but he's moved beyond doubting his feelings about him. Even if he's not completely certain if or how or when he'll express this to Wallace, he's no longer unsure about whether he feels like it's something he should express to Pascal. Just the thought of being with Pascal on an actual date without having told him about it makes Kip feel a twist of guilt. It wouldn't be fair. He would know it was something that would need to be revealed sometime, and the longer he put it off the harder he made it to bring up.

He can't feel okay until he discusses this with Pascal as soon as he can manage. He won't feel okay talking about even the potential of them dating again without talking about this.

—

He debates whether he should take himself out for lunch. As far as he knows, nobody's available to invite along, but it's starting to seem too suspenseful as the day goes on and he feels like he's slowly pacing laps around the apartment, feels like all the clocks around him are a countdown. He's keeps trying to stay occupied to distract himself. He spends a fair amount of time tending to small things: he cleans and cuts and files his nails, he flosses, he puts balm on his lips to preempt nervously tugging on them with his fangs, he rubs lotion into the back of his hands where they sometimes get dry and rough from work, he shaves his face, he brushes and combs his hair into place several times over. He knows he's preening a little and he knows none of it is necessary, but he also knows that all the little details he takes care of in advance are things his anxiety won't focus in on later. 

He takes out his laptop to try to edit his draft a bit more. He can't come up with many changes and he doesn't know if that's because his focus is lacking or because he's actually satisfied with what he's written. He at least manages spending a good half-hour on the task and afterwards messes around online for a while.

During the last hour before he has to leave he becomes aware of a distinct feeling of excitement underneath all his worrying. It's starting to feel like a reality that he's taking the first steps towards getting back together with Pascal. It's exciting to know that Pascal is thinking about him, too. He's grateful that he doesn't have to wonder whether Pascal wants the same as he does.

As he goes around making final preparations before heading out, whenever his mind wanders it goes to Pascal. As he slips his feet into socks he thinks of holding Pascal's face in his hands and kissing his mouth. He fixes his hair one more time and imagines how good it would feel to know that every time they parted ways, they'd see each other again soon. He puts his dishes from lunch in a neat stack by the sink and feels a little flutter in his chest at the thought of getting to be so involved in each other's lives again.

For the first time in more than a year, he finally has real, solid hope that he and Pascal can be together. They can finally approach this head-on. He can finally, finally stop missing Pascal. 

—

It's still threatening more rain so he takes his umbrella and takes a deep breath before stepping out into the hallway. He checks his phone as he reaches the front door to make sure he's not missing any texts—as his tension increased he'd started worrying Pascal might be held up or have to cancel after all—and steps out onto the sidewalk with his head held resolutely upright. 

He knows he's gone out a bit unnecessarily early, but he doesn't want to worry about getting lost or sidetracked or delayed and making Pascal wait. He doesn't mind if he doesn't get there first, but he doesn't want to risk adding any more nervousness to the situation.

He pictures what Pascal might look like; he's more than eager to see him again. He thinks about what Pascal might be wearing, what expression he might have when he sees Kip. He imagines what it might be like to walk in and see Pascal waiting for him, what Pascal must look like sitting at a table by himself, quiet and unobtrusive despite the obviousness of his presence, with a gorgeousness that takes only a glance to register.

The thought is lovely as he turns it over in his mind a few times. Then it leads to another thought that almost stops him in his tracks.

It was almost a year ago. Only a couple of weeks after they had moved to C. They all felt Pascal's absence, a heavy silence in place of someone they had been with for years. Kip knew that he alone was what kept Pascal from being with them right now; he knew Molly and Roy must be missing him badly too, but they weren't saying anything more to him about it, and he was grateful. He was having a hard time with the strangeness of both adjusting to a new environment and being in a familiar one he hadn't expected to live in again, and was struggling particularly with the loss of Pascal and of their relationship. He woke up confused that Pascal wasn't beside him. He missed him throughout the day and had trouble falling asleep without him. He missed him badly and he couldn't deny his own heartbreak—he just tried to keep it to himself. 

But one day he was having so hard a time with everything that he couldn't even pretend he was okay to himself, much less anyone else. It was just a storm of mental and emotional exhaustion that together was too much. He'd had bad nightmares that stressed him horribly and deprived him of all but a few hours of sleep. He'd started the day with his family incessantly, painfully, unwillingly in his thoughts—it intruded into the forefront of his consciousness even as he fruitlessly fought to distract himself, something that used to happen all the time after their loss but usually didn't overwhelm him in that way anymore. His depression was like an ache, he was nervous, he was stressed, he was tired. He had to work that day and by the time he arrived he felt so frayed he wasn't sure he could get through it—he'd had too many instances that day where he'd needed to stop everything and dedicate all his focus to keeping himself from crumbling into immobile frustration. 

And so as soon as he showed up at the café he choked down his shame and told Kate right off that in the condition he was in now he could probably get through the shift, but he knew he was very shaky and had only a fifty-fifty chance at best of remaining up to par if he started feeling worse. He remembers Kate's face falling as he told her this—she explained she was actually only supposed to have an hour left in her shift and she told Kip she couldn't stay later. He felt a pit in his stomach but nodded and said he'd figure it out. 

He'd done okay for a while, as the work occupied him enough to at least keep the worst of his thoughts at bay, keep him from actually feeling sick from all of it. But when Kate squeezed his shoulder and left for the day, he suddenly felt a bit afraid. But he was still okay. He couldn't fully conceal the heaviness about him, but he was managing. 

And then, during a lull, he had looked around and seen the individual people scattered around with only a few couples interspersed among them, and it had all felt lonely. And in that moment of loneliness his flimsy defenses crumbled and he was again at the mercy of cascading thoughts—he missed his family, he missed the life he'd had before the fire, he missed his home, he missed being in D, he missed Pascal. And as he looked at the people sitting quietly alone, reading and typing and writing, he wondered what Pascal was doing now, if he was sitting in any of the cafés they used to go to together, feeling lonely too.

And then Kip looked at the pair sitting by the window and his stomach was horribly wrenched. He'd suddenly, helplessly imagined Pascal out somewhere like this looking sad and painfully handsome and being approached by someone else, and before he knew it he was caught in the idea of Pascal being with someone else and then he was caught in a cycle of fear at how fast he was crumbling, and then to his horror a customer opened the door, and it was way too much and it was so much all at once and tears pooled in his eyes and one spilled down his cheeks in a matter of seconds.

He quickly wiped at his face with a paper napkin from the pile beside the register, but as she approached he knew it had to be obvious—especially since the flow of new tears was obviously not going to stop. He was crying about everything now, crying in the way he knew he couldn’t stop, but the awful flash of realization that Pascal might be dating someone else by now felt like a crisis, the potential reality of which had never fully struck him until now, all at once punching him in the chest. And the horror of it happening while alone at work was inescapably worsening it.

"I'm sorry," Kip said as the monster came within speaking range. He recognized her with some relief as a near-daily regular who was always particularly patient and friendly. "Just—I'm sorry—"

"Oh," she said quietly, concerned. "Should I...?"

"It's alright," Kip said, trying to keep his voice as steady as he could. "It just—I'm really sorry—" He wiped his face again and had to sniff and couldn't bear to lift his head and see others looking at him.

"No, don't worry," she said. "Are you—are you okay? Did something happen?"

He shook his head quickly.

"I'm sorry." He could barely manage above a whisper. "It's fine, it’s nothing, I'm just—it's been a bad day, I'm really sorry..."

He glanced up far enough to see in his blurry peripheral that she was looking at him, hugging an arm across her stomach, the other nervously touching her chin. He realized he was probably making her really uncomfortable—his too-shallow inhales were starting to hitch. 

"Kip, should I... Is there anyone else here? Do you need me to call somebody for you?" she asked quietly. 

He didn't know she knew his name and felt a little guilty he didn't know hers. He shook his head again.

"I can do—can do it in a minute," he said, voice on the verge of breaking. "Thank you though, I—I can—" He sniffed and wiped his cheeks and wiped his nose. "Were you going to get your usual order?"

"Oh—" She seemed to fumble with choosing words for a second. "I—yes, I was..."

"I can make it. Did you want both drinks or j-just yours?" he asked, knowing she sometimes ordered for her girlfriend as well. 

"Both, please," she said quietly. 

He nodded. 

"Alright," he scrubbed his face with another napkin. "I—" He stifled a sob. "I promise I won't cry into it." Joking didn't make him feel any better, but he could at least manage a fleeting smile. 

She laughed quietly and he lifted his eyes to hers for an instant before turning away. He cleaned his face off and cleaned his hands thoroughly and slipped on gloves, quickly making both drinks from memory, trying to breathe better, grateful for the concealing noise of the espresso machine. He finished them within a minute, poured them carefully into the paper cups, added nutmeg to one and chocolate shavings and a hypotrochoid of raspberry syrup to the other. He quickly labelled each with a marker, put sleeves on them, placed them into a carrier, and took them back to the girl, who hadn't moved away from the register.

"You don't have to pay," he explained as she took them from him. "You come here so often, and thank you for...thank you."

"I can pay, it's no problem—"

He shook his head and she smiled.

"Alright. I'll tip it instead."

Kip's huffed a breath, caught off guard by the gesture.

"You don't—" he said uselessly as she slipped eight dollars into the jar. His hard blink rumbled in his ears; he'd shed enough tears that the new ones were starting to flow down pre-established trails. 

"You guys always make these so good," she said quietly. "It helps me and Lani get through our day. Feel better, Kip. Thanks for the coffees."

He nodded and his breath hitched and she gave him one more smile before she left.

As soon as she departed, he knew this wasn’t going to get better anytime soon. And knew that maybe, probably, it would get worse.

Kip rang up the order, paid for it with cash from his wallet with shaky hands, and fled to the back, grabbing the phone and dialing Cuddy's number from the contact list in his own phone. He tried desperately to stymie his tears as he listened to it ring, which only seemed to make his crying worse.

It rang six times, and he was afraid she couldn't pick up, and he was afraid someone else was going to come in, and he was afraid he was going to completely freeze up and break down in the middle of this shift and have to explain to Cuddy later why they didn't have any more sales after five. But sure enough, he finally heard a soft "Hello?" in his ear.

After a half-second of confusion, he realized that Lottie had answered the phone.

"Hi," he said, hating how badly his voice was trembling with every syllable, how irrepressibly audible his breathing was. "It's Kip, from the store, I-I...I'm okay, I just...can I talk to Cuddy for a second?"

There was a beat of a pause. 

"Sure, you just hang on real quick, okay?"

He heard quiet, unintelligible talking for a few seconds as he took a napkin and wiped off the snot running down his upper lip. He glanced at the front of the store and tilted the receiver away from his mouth as he drew in a light sob.

"Kip?" Cuddy had an deliberately gentle tone. Kip knew Lottie must have told her he was crying.

"Cuddy," he answered miserably. "I'm sorry. I'm okay, the store's okay, nothing happened, I—I just can't—I don't know if I can finish my shift, I'm so sorry. I'm not—it’s not even anything, I'm just—I was having a-a bad day. And then I got freaked out about something small but then I just, I...I'm sorry. I don’t know why this is so bad." He had to sob, he tried to stifle it as much as possible.

"Kip, are you going to be okay right now?" she asked firmly and clearly. 

He sniffed and nodded before realizing and answering "Yes." Cuddy murmured something away from the phone.

"Okay—"

"Kate—Kate couldn't stay, she can't come in, sh-should I call Molly? I think she's busy, I—I can try to get through this but I don’t know if I—I think I might need to close for at least a little while, I—" His voice caught in a sob. "I called you because I'm not sure... I'm not sure, uh, what would be best to do..."

"It's fine, Kip," Cuddy said. "Thanks for the thought. Listen—just put the closed sign up. Go ahead and start closing the store if you can, if you need to rest in the back that's fine. I can be there in about ten minutes, okay?"

Kip sobbed quietly and covered his mouth.

"Okay?" she repeated.

"Okay," he said hoarsely.

"Alright. I'm on my way now; I'll see you in a bit."

"Okay..."

"Bye, Kip."

"Bye." He sniffed and hung up the phone. He felt ashamed and pathetic but he was still so relieved that Cuddy was going to be there; it seemed obvious to him now that he should've known he wouldn't hold up alone. Days like this tended to be bad—if not always in this kind of way.

He clenched his teeth and went up front to clock out, walked to the door, carefully turned the sign around, and returned just as calmly to the back.

He couldn't stop thinking about Pascal. Just the thought that he might have moved on from Kip had opened up the still-raw wound of his heartbreak. He logically knew it was his own fault he couldn't go home to Pascal right then, and he knew that he didn't want Pascal to be lonely, and that he'd told him it was fine to start dating again, and he'd meant it. And he'd been trying his best to move on from Pascal and fully accept the end of their relationship. But quietly, privately, he knew that he was still in love with Pascal—he had only managed to put it in stasis so far. And even though he was slightly in denial of that, he was also slightly in denial that things were really over. He hadn't allowed himself to consider that Pascal could really, actually, right that moment be dating someone else, and the idea had just managed to burst into his consciousness while his guard was down and his defenses were weakened.

He was still in love with Pascal, and the thought that Pascal might actually, currently have moved on from him was a legitimate shakeup when he was already so unsteady from the move, and had sent him plummeting.

He sat at the table in the back, slowly feeding crumpled napkins into the trash can, trying hard not to breathe any faster, not to let his thoughts go to certain places, and stiffened when he heard the back door open. He turned and saw Cuddy close and lock the door behind her and immediately half-rose from his chair.

"I'm really sorry, Cuddy," he said quickly. "I should have said something before I even came here, I don’t know why today is so bad, but... It’s just all—I'm really sorry..."

She put her bag on the table, pocketed her keys, and sat down in the chair beside him, turned towards him. Kip fixed his gaze on her sleeve, analyzing a particular stripe, looking at the individual threads.

"I don't want you to... I don't want to—seem like I'm gonna be un-unreliable—I—th-this kind of stuff hasn't happened in a really long time—" His voice was crumbling all over the place and his face was covered in tears and snot. He hated how pathetic he seemed, how messy and weird and weak, how helpless he felt. He wanted to talk to Pascal. He wanted Pascal to hold him and kiss his face the way he used to when Kip got badly shaken up like this.

"Don't be ridiculous, Kaizer," Cuddy said. "You’re fine. You stay back here, I'm going to be able to close up everything with no problem. This is why you guys have my number in the first place. So you can reach me when there’s problems."

She handed him a napkin from the pile he'd put in the middle of the table and he wiped at his nose. 

"Is it okay if Lottie meets us here in a bit?" she asked. "She went to go pick up Evelyn."

Kip nodded. He was too grateful to object to anything she could’ve said.

"Do you want to talk about anything?"

"...No," Kip murmured. "But thank you."

"Okay." She stood up and briefly touched his shoulder. "Just let me know if you need anything," she told him. "And don’t worry about things, I can take care of the rest of this."

She went through the procedures of closing calmly and steadily, showing no signs of weariness or frustration, and Kip was so grateful for it. But he missed Pascal so badly and he was so shaken that he was falling apart like this. He knew it was ridiculous that he was so stung about something he didn't even know was true or not, and he knew it would be wrong to be upset even if he did know for a fact that Pascal had a new boyfriend. But for all his logic and his determination to get over it, his emotions had been shredded into a barbed tangle that stung him every time he moved.

He was imagining Pascal kissing someone else, some vague concept of a boy he couldn't bring himself to think up any defined features for—but someone prettier, sexier, stronger, sweeter than him, someone warm to the touch, someone confident and brave and reliable. Someone without depression or grief or trauma. The Boy kisses Pascal, he climbs into bed with him and warms Pascal throughout the night instead of draining his heat. He doesn't have trouble sleeping. He isn't afraid of everything. He isn't numb and distant to everyone on random days. He doesn't worry Pascal with his struggles with his trauma. Pascal doesn't have any fears about The Boy ever leaving him. He's better in bed, better at domesticity, better to come home to, better to imagine a future with, better than Kip. He makes Pascal feel ways that Kip never could. He makes Pascal happier. He makes him feel more loved, more special, more secure. He's more attentive, more caring. And so Pascal doesn't miss Kip anymore—doesn't want Kip anymore.

Tears dripped down to his chin and he felt a physical ache in his gut. He hated this. He knew it was all in his head and it was absurd and jealous and immature in the first place but he hated it. He couldn't stop it. He hated that it upset him so much, but that didn't matter. It was almost as horrible as when he was first realizing he might have to leave Pascal. He had no idea he was so unprepared to confront this. 

The imagery drilled into him. He hated himself for feeling so tortured by the thought of Pascal feeling happiest without him.

"I should be happy if he's happy," he thought, and it didn't make him stop crying.

"I can't want him to miss me forever, I can't want him to always be sad without me and wishing I was there and never be happier than when we were together," he thought, and it didn't help; his emotions refused to respond to anything.

He hated himself for this. He hated that this had come to mind. He hated that after so much time in therapy, so much dedication to learning ways to try to soften the blows of his emotions and tackle his issues as small pieces rather than an overwhelming whole, that after years of effort and practice and struggling to work through things, he could now be totally helpless to a problem he knew was a result of his own ridiculousness and cowardice and selfishness. After years, after going through so much, suffering like this so many times, he felt thrown back to square one. He felt alone. He felt sick.

The grip on his stomach gradually shifted into something else and his breaths grew too shallow. Under a barrage of thoughts he desperately wanted out of his head, he had just enough warning to grab a small trash bag, walk to the back door, unlock and open it, and kick the doorstop underneath it. He fumbled with the bag for a few seconds before finally managing to pull it open. He bent over it, felt the horrible yet expected lurch in his stomach, and vomited. He coughed and panted. The feeling of momentarily being unable to breathe had added its own tears to the mix. He felt the nausea growing again, he sucked in air rapidly as he sensed the awful choking sensation preparing to grip his throat. He leaned over into a series of harsh coughs, horribly close to retching.

"...Kip?"

He coughed roughly from deep in his chest, now just wanting everything out. He tried to force up the next inevitable gag—it worked, and he silently spat up a few ounces of mostly acid. He leaned back against the wall, breathing heavily, but relieved to be rid of the worst of his nausea.

"Kip." Cuddy's hand was on his shoulder. He opened his eyes. "God, are you okay?"

He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and wiping them with the back of his hand, clutching the trash bag tight in the other.

"I just got too stressed out for too long,” he mumbled. "I had to throw up. But I—well, at least I don't feel sick anymore."

He sniffed and brushed a tear from his cheek, blinking at the ground. He wished his crying had gone away too, but it was at least a bit quieter than it had been before. Throwing up at least seems to have knocked him out of the spiral.

"I'm okay," he said softly as Cuddy put the back of her hand to his forehead. 

"I don't even know what a fever would feel like on you, Kaizer," she said bemusedly. He laughed.

"I'm not actually sick," he said. "I just—I stressed myself out way too much a minute ago, I—" He wiped his nose on the back of his hand. "Is there still people out front?"

"A few," Cuddy answered, still hovering close as though she worried he might collapse.

"I...just need a distraction," he said quietly. "Or something. This’ll all go away, I just...”

He looked up at Cuddy even though he knew he must be a mess, face sticky and shining with tears, eyes and cheeks flushed blue, holding a bag of his own vomit. She looked back at him steadily and fleetingly touched the side of his face. 

"I'll stay with you," she said.

Kip tied off the bag and tied another bag around it, and rinsed his mouth out several times, and washed his hands and face again. Cuddy made him a hot tea and sat down next to him.

Kip was intensely relieved and grateful that Cuddy had so much patience with him, but he was overall still way too embarrassed by the situation to say much of anything. He stared down at the table and quietly wiped away at his tears, and after a few moments Cuddy took a sheet of printer paper and began writing across it.

"Here," she said, sliding it across to him and placing the pen on top. He saw that she'd written rows of multiplication problems, with four digit multipicands and two digit multipliers. "You could try to go through those, if you think it could help, it might distract you."

Kip picked up the pen and slowly started solving the first problem.

"I do that sometimes to get myself focused from one thing to another," Cuddy said. "I just write out random numbers and work out a few."

Kip stifled a sniff with a napkin and tried to concentrate on doing the math without allowing himself any pauses for his thoughts to wander. He could sense the horrible feeling coiled tight in his chest, ready to spring out through him again at any moment.

"I'm gonna get you some honey for your tea," Cuddy said, and Kip mumbled thanks and fought to remember the eight times table over the thought of not being important to Pascal anymore. Both warring concepts were making gains on his mind, and his shoulders started twitching with stifled sobs as he leaned in over the paper and wiped at his face and determinedly filled in the numbers.

"Kip," Cuddy said as she returned with a bottle of honey and a spoon. She put a hand on the top of his back and rubbed in circles, dragging the fabric of his shirt. His sobs became wheezes under his breath at the gentle contact and when he squeezed his eyes shut he heard a couple teardrops hit the paper. 

"It's okay," he croaked once he managed to find his voice. "I'm just. I'm okay."

"It's okay that you aren't okay," Cuddy offered. "Drink some of this. You could probably use it."

He heard her mix a spoonful of honey into the cup of tea and slide it over to him.

"Thank you, Cuddy," he said, wrapping his hands around the warm ceramic. "Thank you so much for all of this. I'm sorry this happened. I knew it might. I'm sorry I let it get this far."

"Shh. Don't worry about it." She laid her hand in his hair for a moment. "I wouldn't want you to force yourself through this. It was good you called me. I'm not about to ever tell you to do damage to yourself for the sake of keeping the store open a few hours."

He blew his nose quietly and took a tentative sip of the tea. It was sweet and hot and it did make his throat feel a bit less rough.

"For as good as you guys are at keeping this place together and making things easier on me, you think I won't ever go out of my way for you?"

He gave a short laugh and looked up at her for a moment; she gave him a slight smile and he smiled weakly back. 

The door to the café opened and Kip heard the unmistakable sound of a toddler's energetic chatter. He sniffed and wiped his eyes, redirecting his focus back to the half-finished paper, and Cuddy went around to greet her family.

Worrying that Lottie and Evelyn might see him turned out to be a solid distraction. But they stayed out front. He drank his tea and took out his phone and wondered if he ought to talk to Molly, wondered if Kate was going to find out he broke down, wondered if this was an incident that was going to be discussed by any of the others. He wondered how the monster from earlier would react whenever she next came in for her coffee and saw him there. He wondered what it must have looked like to all of the customers who were present when he suddenly burst into tears and couldn't stop.

He hated feeling this vulnerable again. He hated the disappointment and humiliation and shame of it. He hated feeling the loss of control—the loss of his image of control he projected around others. He felt childish for wanting Pascal back so badly and being so hurt by the reality he chose to put upon the both of them. He hated feeling so weak. He hated that he was always the weak one. He'd once wanted to be like his brother, strong and courageous, helping everyone around him, but it was proven to him all too soon that he was nothing like Kent. He was the one out of all his friends who couldn't stand on his own. Even when they'd first started dating he'd felt steadied and emboldened by Pascal, and when he lived with Pascal he often ended up in his boyfriend's arms whenever he fell apart. 

He knew he could only pretend to be stronger than he was. But he was supposed to have moved on from the stage when he couldn't help but collapse and suffer outwardly and pitiably. He hated that he had no defensible explanation for why he'd broken down—just that he'd felt sorry for himself about something that was entirely his own fault and his own choice. Just that he missed Pascal and wanted him back and didn't want him to move on from the relationship Kip had decided had to end against both their wishes. It was selfish, immature, and unavoidably horrible. He didn't deserve to feel it. He didn't deserve sympathy. And he didn't deserve Pascal.

He took a drink of tea and scrubbed his face and stood up and started pacing the floor, breathing in and out to a strict rhythm. He was still doing so when Cuddy came back into the little room; he stopped and wiped his face and sighed.

"You alright?" she said.

He nodded.

"I'm trying to get it together," he said with a hoarse laugh.

"There's just a couple of people still out there," Cuddy said. "You want to hang out with us out front? I can get the last of the closing stuff done. I don't want you by yourself the whole time."

He sniffed and blinked, softly stuttering "um" a few times.

"Come on," she said, putting a hand on her hip and waving him towards her with the other. "They're coloring. Evelyn will think it's a special occasion. It'll be alright."

"Okay..."

She patted him on the back encouragingly as he blew his nose and wiped at his cheeks one more time. He took his cup of tea with him, going out front and seeing Lottie and Evelyn sitting at two little tables pulled together with a few coloring books and a bag of bright markers. There was a human sitting in a booth with a laptop and another one cutting up a piece of cake; he thought they might be glancing up at him but he made no effort to find out for sure.

Lottie looked up at him and smiled brightly.

"Kip, hello!" she said, then put a hand on the shoulder of her daughter who was scribbling purple intently onto a page. "Evelyn, you remember Kip? He helps Mommy with her store, he's Roy's friend."

Evelyn fixed her gaze on Kip as he awkwardly sat across from them, trying hard to keep his head up. She smiled at him and reached across the table for a blue marker, carefully attaching the cap to the bottom.

"Hi, Kip!"

He smiled back at her and she turned through a few pages of her book and began deliberately yet messily coloring again.

"Hi, Ev. And hi, Lottie." He turned towards the monster and his expression fell and his voice quieted. "I'm sorry I messed up your guys' schedule. I guess you were supposed to be home by now but... Thank you for coming over here."

"You're more than welcome," she answered. "Trust me, both of us have plenty of experience changing up our plans on the fly. Things like this are no trouble at all."

Kip gave a tired smile and raised his tea to his lips. He watched as Evelyn slid the book towards Lottie and offered her the other page to color on, and Lottie obligingly began filling in the body of a parrot. 

Their family always looked so close-knit and sweet to Kip and it frustrated him, to say the least, when something that gave him such a nice feeling sometimes turned around and cut him. It wasn't nearly as bad as it had been in the aftermath of his family's death, when it seemed like everything reminded him of them and he couldn't help but think of them and their permanent absence whenever he was confronted with the concept of family. He didn't know if it was jealousy whenever he saw families together, especially when he heard people talking about siblings and things they did together, what they did for each other, or if it was purely grief—but he knew it upset him and he could hardly endure it in the earliest days. Crying used to be an almost daily occurrence back then, as unstoppable as a reflex. And right now it wasn't an average day, and while he had managed to recover a little bit in the past half hour or so, his crying picked up again. But it was at least silent and subtle, just a tightened throat and tears slipping faster down his cheeks.

He tried to make his tea last as long as possible. He felt like he should help Cuddy finish up since he was a lot less of a disaster, but he knew she would refuse and he felt too nervous about the thought of drawing even an ounce more of attention to himself. He could tell Lottie was aware of him but was discretely keeping her focus on Evelyn. Until Evelyn directed her attention to Kip, turning the coloring book around to hold it up and show him a picture with a stream and a tree and a monster sitting between them. He was about to issue some general praise when he realized she'd added uneven circles which had to be glasses around the eyes of the figure which only otherwise resembled him because of the dark blue color she'd applied to its body and the amorphous cloud of black filling and obscuring the outline of its clothes.

"Oh," he said. "Is that me?"

"Yeah!" she chirped, clearly satisfied with the success of her work. "I put in your glasses. Mommy wears glasses, too."

She fumbled a bit trying to put the caps back on the markers and Lottie leaned in to help.

"Yeah, she does," Kip agreed.

"Are you sad?" 

"Huh?" He looked up at the unexpected question.

"Are you sad?" Evelyn repeated, tone unchanged.

"Um...yes," Kip decided to answer truthfully, as he could feel another tear preparing to fall down his face.

"How come?" 

"Evelyn..." Lottie started softly.

"It's okay," Kip assured her quietly, knowing the obviousness of his condition. 

He looked down at what was left of his tea while he tried to decide how he should respond.

"There's some people who I love, and I miss them," he said after a moment.

"Oh," Evelyn said. "Where are they?"

"They're, um..." Kip touched his mouth nervously, trying to remain honest without potentially requiring Lottie and Cuddy to explain some difficult subjects to a three year-old sooner than they might like. "They're not where I am. I can't see them anymore."

She stared at him a moment and nodded as though taking it in, and then tilted the coloring book towards Lottie and pointed inside.

"C-can you pull this out for me, please?"

Lottie carefully tore out the page and handed it back to Evelyn, who held it out towards Kip.

"Thank you," he said, taking the portrait she'd drawn.

"I'm gonna make another picture," she said solemnly, and flipped through the pages.

A few minutes later Cuddy came over and sat with them in the chair beside Kip's. 

"How's everything going here?" she asked. 

"Good," Evelyn answered.

"We've been coloring," Lottie said, steadying the plastic bag full of markers as Evelyn fished inside.

"Kip is sad," added Evelyn. She pulled out a yellow marker. 

Kip laughed quietly, only a bit self-conscious. 

Cuddy patted his shoulder and asked if he wanted some more tea, laughed after he fumbled with an answer, and got up to get everyone some. She returned a minute later, putting a tray on the table with three mugs of tea, honey, spoons, and four cookies that Molly had frosted with different colored stripes. She passed out the cookies to all of them and gave a tea to Lottie and Kip, who took turns sweetening it with the honey.

The last of the other people left as they sat and talked—or as Cuddy and Lottie and Evelyn talked, and Kip was silently present, trying to gather his composure. He suffered a slight setback when Cuddy reached over in the middle of talking to Lottie and rubbed his back, breaking his wall back down a little. But he found more success quietly crying it out than trying to stifle it prematurely. Evelyn passed him a crumbly piece of her cookie and he smiled and wiped a napkin across his face.

"Alright," Cuddy said. "I think once I get these dishes washed we should be good to go. Are you almost done with your picture?" she asked Evelyn.

"Uh-huh." 

"Okay, let me get all this." She stood up and gathered everything onto the tray. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Thank you, Lottie."

Kip blinked and watched her as she carried everything to the back. He wiped his face again and balled the napkin up in his fist.

"I should go help her," he said quietly. He looked at Lottie and sat up straight against the back of the chair. "Thank you again, so much, I'm sorry for interrupting everything like this. Thank you guys for being so patient about it."

She smiled at him. 

"Of course, Kip," she said. "Don't worry."

He stood up and took a deep breath and walked to the back. 

"Cuddy?"

"Hey," she said, washing one of the cups. 

"I know you don't really need it," he said, "but I thought I should at least do one thing to help. I'm a lot better now than I was. Thank you again for coming out here."

"You're very welcome."

He took a towel and dried off the dishes she had washed, head down.

"I'm...I just want to say that this isn't something that happens," he said, staring at the fabric in his hands. "I mean, yeah, I have bad days, but I can handle it. I'm used to that. I just got set off by something today that was really stupid but—I just wasn't ready for it, and I'm still getting used to the move, and it was stupid but it's—I'm not going to need help all the time or just screw it all up like this. I'm sorry I was like this today but—"

"Kip—"

"I'm not going to be like this. It isn't like this. I don't freak out like this. It was just—it was an accident. I really don't want you guys to have to worry about if I'm gonna be able to do my job."

"Kip."

"Today was just a one-off thing. I'm fine. This doesn’t happen anymore, I can do this. I'm—I'm sorry."

"Kip, for god's sake," Cuddy said. "I know. Don't worry. I don't need any explanation. You can't control everything and neither can I, I'm not going to blame you for that. Don't worry."

Kip wiped at his eyes.

"Please don't tell Kate. I don't want her to think she had anything to do with it. And, I mean, I'm kind of...really embarrassed."

"Sure." She smiled at him. 

She and Kip went back out front, where Lottie and Evelyn were waiting, and told Kip to let them drive him home. He emphasized the brevity of his walk but they insisted and when Evelyn expressed excitement at the idea, he knew it was settled. He got in the back beside a box of mom supplies, sitting stiffly as Cuddy fastened Evelyn into her booster seat beside Kip and Lottie climbed into the driver's seat.

He murmured directions and they reached the curb in front of the apartment building in less than five minutes. 

"Thank you again, so much," he repeated as he unbuckled and stepped from the car.

"Oh, you get an extra drawing, by the way," Cuddy said as she rolled down her window. "The other one is for Roy."

"Thank you, Ev,” he said, taking the pieces of paper, then directed his words to her parents again. "Thanks for all of this."

"You're welcome. Be nice to yourself, Kaizer," Cuddy said with a slight smile.

"Bye, Kip!" Evelyn called from the back.

"Bye," he said, waving. "Bye, Lottie. See you later, Cuddy."

He smiled and stepped back, watching the car pull away before he turned and unlocked the front door. He climbed the stairs slowly and opened the apartment door slowly as well, feeling strange to be back earlier than he was meant to be, still feeling strange that this was home now.

Molly and Roy were both inside, and the only thing he could think to do was give Evelyn's drawings to Roy with a brief explanation of their origin. 

"I thought you were closing tonight?" Molly said.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing his neck nervously.

"And I’m pretty sure Lottie picked Evelyn up today, not Cuddy," Roy said thoughtfully.

"They came to pick Cuddy up from the café," Kip told them, face heating up. "I—she had to come help me. I couldn't finish the shift." His voice lowered.

"Why?"

"What happened?" 

Their voices overlapped. 

Kip grimaced and folded his arms tightly across himself. 

"I..." He gripped his upper arm and lifted his head to look them in the faces. "Look, can you just...promise not to tell me how stupid this was? Because I really already know it. Like, seriously, please just know that I know this is already totally ridiculous."

Molly sighed. 

"Just tell us what happened," she said.

He looked down again.

"Today was pretty...rough," he said, voice low. "Like, I don't know, in a way it hasn't been in ages. I guess it was stress too or whatever but I kind of felt really bad even when I got to work and, like—I know this is really stupid but I just. I thought about Pascal and I got kind of freaked out all at once and I kind of fell apart for a little bit and I—" He sighed. "I called Cuddy about it and she came over and said it was okay to go ahead and close."

The one-second pause feels painfully long in the presence of the people who tried hardest to convince him to let Pascal come with them. He finally lifts his eyes to see them exchanging a look he can't quite read.

"I know it's...it's really disappointing that I want to be with him still and that I'm—I know it's stupid and I know I shouldn't feel it but today I couldn't stop myself, on top of everything, and I just...I wish I didn’t but I broke down. But I'm not gonna let it happen like that again. I'm already seeing Eno tomorrow, I'm gonna..." His sigh was even heavier. "I'm gonna figure out how to get past this stuff. I'm sorry it happened like this."

He looked up at them again and all three of them were still and silent.

The memory spans hours, yet the whole of it is thrown back at him in a matter of moments. A fraction of a second and he has to stop walking, his tenuous confidence is dealt a near-critical blow. He grips the edge of his sweater and notices how difficult it is when he tries to lengthen his exhales.

—

Kip holds on to the silver lining with everything he's got. He plants his steps to a beat that's as steady and bold as he doesn't feel and keeps his eyes forward and chin raised.

He grips that silver lining and every ounce of his past regret telling him he can't bear to turn away from Pascal again. 

He can't force away the thoughts reminding him of how awful he'd felt when he'd confronted himself with the idea of Pascal with someone else. But he can focus in on how much in that moment he'd wished he could be with Pascal again.

Pascal is back in their district. Pascal moved there because he didn't want to be so far from Kip. Kip has no more doubts about how he feels. And Pascal is waiting for him right now. 

Kip isn't going to let anything keep him from this. 

He slows a little as he nears the destination, his natural anxiety kicking up as he has to glance at his phone a few times to confirm he's got the address right. And then his heart jumps to see the name of the restaurant printed on a window. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, crosses the street, and opens the door.

His heart is beating through his chest as he tried to take in the entire space in a single glance. His eyes land on Pascal, sitting at a two-person table in a soft grey t-shirt and darker sweatpants with his hair spilling out of a knitted hat, just as Pascal lifts his gaze to look right at him. 

The way Pascal's face lights up despite what he can tell is an effort to restrain it makes Kip laugh and pulls him forward.

"I tried to get here before you!" He guesses he's just as bad at subduing his smile. Pascal stands up as Kip approaches and Kip steps into a hug with no hesitation, resting the side of his head against Pascal's collarbone.

"It's so good to see you," Pascal says as they part, audible passion behind the sentiment. "You—you look great, I..."

He blushes and cuts himself off, momentarily glancing aside.

"...Thank you for coming," Kip says. "I've really been missing you, you know? I mean," he laughs, "I'm seeing you right now and I'm still excited about having you over Thursday. A couple of times a month really doesn’t cut it."

"I know what you mean," Pascal says, still blushing. "Like, seeing you right now just makes me want to see you again even more."

Kip grins and doesn't even look away from Pascal to do so. 

They make some small talk about the day between deciding what to get, and Kip goes up to the counter to get them drinks and a couple of raspberry parfaits. He blushes and smiles when he turns and sees the look on Pascal's face as he gazes back at him.

He feels the instinct to use a pet name as he carries the drinks and the desserts over to the table, as well as an impulse to lean in and kiss his cheek, though he stifles both. Their past relationship, their present situation, and the possibility of their future is all hanging thick in the air. Their separation feels like a mere instant in their lives and barely a separation at all, as in retrospect it's clear that, although physically apart and temporarily uncommunicative, their presence and influence remained in each other's lives. And he may have been trying to get over Pascal, but with only a matter of months to do so, he never stood a chance. And Pascal made it clear he never really thought he could get over Kip—at least, not the way they left things.

Kip had definitely been frustrated and at times angry upon initially finding out Pascal had come with them to C anyways. He'd reprimanded himself for being selfishly glad of it. He was humiliated and self-conscious and upset that he seemed to be the only one in the dark about Pascal's relocation, spending weeks with it weighing in the back of his mind during quiet, solitary moments, struggling with something that wasn't even true anymore. He was confused about what he should do, and even moreso about what he could. He knew he couldn't control what Pascal did, but he thought he could at least control himself. Pascal had made himself infinitely more vulnerable simply because of where he moved, but Kip didn't want to add to that. Everything that had happened gave him a sense of dread about extending anyone his emotional intimacy. He'd focused his worry on Roy and Molly and tried to devote his energy to building up their next new life and and he had tried to get over the loss of Pascal in a way he knew he couldn't apply to the loss of his family. He had just started to gain a true sense of routine, an acceptance without any true belief of stability, a bit of hope that all he needed now was time. 

And then Wallace showed up, followed almost immediately by Pascal. And both of them had taken what terrified Kip and ultimately forced the beauty of it into view. Kip had hated that his inability to control anything extended even to himself. But he was made to realize this also meant that his capacity for love, which so scared him, was as impossible for him to suppress as the color of the flush of his cheeks or the extent to which he’s loved by others. It was an inherent part of him, and he couldn't keep himself from loving Pascal. And just as his love for Pascal preceded any choice on his part, his love for Wallace developed before he could think it through or accept or even realize it. He'd tried to choose separation from Pascal and to get over loving him and now he's sitting across from him, looking him in the face and melting at the familiarly fond, warm expression he sees there. He'd never have chosen to have a District A human living within ten miles of him, and he'd never have chosen to love one. 

Kip knows that he has a lot of love and he knows that he has a deep and real happiness when he's feeling love for someone who he knows loves him. But he also knows he has so much fear about so many things and has always been able to see the worst-case scenario waiting on the horizon—a tendency which was miserably intensified after the fire taught him the reality of his worst fears. He knows he's scared of believing that things could be okay. He knows he feels completely out of his depth here, seeming for the first time in ages to have a choice over things beyond his control. He didn't choose to have Pascal eliminate the basis of his argument for the end of their relationship, he didn't choose to have Wallace brought in his life, he was never expecting either. He didn't choose to find his love for Pascal as growing and alive as it had ever been, he didn't choose to have a love for Wallace blossoming underneath their relationship until it was powerful and deep by the time he even realized it might genuinely exist. But he can choose what he does with these developments now. Pascal is here with him by Kip's choice, for the promise of Kip's choice. It's more difficult with Wallace, who has no notion of Kip's feelings for him, but Kip feels that at least his awareness of his own emotions gives him the choice of what to do with them.

And he feels like he's looking out on the verge of it all.


	2. Chapter 2

They spend a surprisingly long time making small talk, but it doesn't feel like a quietly awkward social formality or avoidance maneuver—more like they're trying to share the small, mundane details of their lives as a way to catch up on the experience of being together for them. They'd already covered the general story of the months that they spent without each other, but left out any element of missing or thinking about each other. Pascal had blushed throughout his first summation of his move to C, never mentioning what the decision had all hinged on or how he had agonized over the inevitable moment in which Kip would find out he had come to C anyways. But Kip had been stiff, a bit too sharp, words a bit too infrequent and clipped, demeanor overall colder than he felt, and Pascal had been a little meek to the point of abashed, and the untouched topic was present in the tension between them.

It had taken a while before they discussed it with any sort of ease. But they had managed it, explaining their past emotions in a slightly formal, dispassionate manner, and hadn't made it at all about their present feelings. And now Kip finds that they're in the inverse situation, with the past left behind while they're focused simply on being present with each other, talking about their lives, looking each other in the face and smiling as easily as they blinked and breathed.

Kip feels like he's Pascal's boyfriend again already, and like Pascal is his. Every impulse feels like second nature, the urge to extend his hand so Pascal can wrap his arm around his palm, to push a soft kiss to his lips, to wind his fingers in his hair, to slip into their old jokes and affectionate rituals and helpless intimacy. Neither of them is much stifling their desire for their relationship or trying too hard to hide their affection for each other anymore. It almost feels like a date already.

It's intoxicatingly pleasant. Kip's enjoyment is almost total, but he's aware that it's necessary to reveal what he arranged the meeting for in the first place, and the more they talk the more he feels the moment impend. Pascal seems completely happy with him whether conversation flows as easily as it does now or they're together in silence, but Kip is starting to feel like he's actively putting it off. Which is exactly what he wants to prevent: the feeling that there's something he has to hide from Pascal.

During a pause, looking down as he spoons a raspberry into his mouth, he makes himself cross the brink by simply starting with one word.

"So..." he says towards the parfait.

And it becomes more manageable to follow it with more words than to leave it hanging in silence.

"I wanted to meet you today so I could, um, tell you about something." 

He looks up. Pascal has his drink lifted, looking back at him with a faintly curious expression. 

He looks so beautiful. His genuine sweetness is all but visible in every inch of him. Kip loves him.

"I-I have a lot of stuff I want to say to you," he continues. "But I have to talk to you about something before the rest of it."

"Okay." Pascal gives him a small smile. 

Kip can't just blurt it out, but if he tries to circle the topic he strongly suspects he'll just be allowing time for his fear and insecurity to become more debilitating. 

"I...um..." He looks at the collar of Pascal's shirt. It dips just low enough to display a brush of the dark hair that grows on his chest. Kip remembers resting his head there, feeling it soft against his face. 

He doesn't have the first clue how to say that he's in love with someone else.

He's blushing hard now; he knows it. Pascal, patiently, says nothing.

Kip has learned to start consciously controlling his breathing before he even needs to. He hooks his ankles together.

"I'm having trouble thinking of how to say it," he explains. 

"That's okay," Pascal says quietly.

Kip is watching Pascal wait for him to speak, quiet and still.

Kip's heart is breaking to see Pascal crying at the news that Kip wants to move away.

Kip is pressing the sole of his foot against the floor and rubbing his spoon with his thumb.

He's watching Pascal disappear from his sight through the rearview window.

He thinks of every moment he spent building up confidence for this. How much he prepared himself for this moment and how often he told himself he was going to have to go through it, even though it was going to be difficult and painful and terrifying.

His heart is gripped and kicked by the sudden thought of Pascal loving someone in place of him and he freezes up behind the register.

He knows how frustrated he'll be with himself if he fails to tell Pascal what he knows he has to, what he's here for in the first place.

He's so shaken up and distressed and feels so deeply awful, all at the thought of Pascal not wanting him anymore.

Words are in his mind, he's telling himself over and over to say them, his voice isn't listening.

He's sobbing as he leans against a brick wall, alone, about to throw up.

Pascal seems slightly worried by the length of the silence.

Kip feels physically, mentally, emotionally horrible and completely drained and wishes he could force himself to stop thinking of Pascal moving on from him.

He's looking Pascal in the eyes and imagining giving him that same feeling.

He can't do this.

He tries to force himself. 

He can't.

"...Pasc," he says. "I really do have something I need to tell you about before I can start talking about other things, and I wanted to meet you so I could do that before having you over for dinner, but...I'm really finding right now that I'm not as prepared as I thought I was."

"...That's alright," Pascal says softly.

Kip takes a deep breath. He hates how relieved he feels about delaying this, but he's determined to use that to focus on being as fair to Pascal as he can manage. At least, as much as he can be without making things truly fair by telling Pascal about his feelings for Wallace.

"Okay," he starts, dropping his head slightly. "You can probably guess how I feel about you. I know how I feel. This isn't about something that's going to change that. It's just something that I need to tell you before we talk about us because you need to be able to decide how you feel about it." 

He lifts his head again to look Pascal in the face. 

Pascal looks slightly surprised, and is blushing deeply, but Kip's glad to see he doesn't seem overtly worried.

He feels another push to just go ahead and tell him. He keeps his head up and straightens his back and inhales. He watches Pascal wait for him to speak and he exhales and inhales again, trying to just get himself to say the first word.

But instead of finding that word, he gets flashes of memory from the feeling of being so hurt it overwhelmed him. He's looking at Pascal and can't help but imagine him going through that. No matter how much he tries to convince himself it's not the same situation, it doesn't reach the knot of dread that's desperate to keep him from doing that to Pascal.

He wishes he knew himself well enough to predict these kinds of disasters. He tries to have confidence, but it seems that most of the time that just means ignoring his obvious problems or outright lying to himself.

He draws another long inhale in place of a sigh and shifts in his seat.

"I'm sorry, Pascal," he says. "I really meant to tell you today because I wanted to do it before you came over, but I guess I didn't do enough to make sure I was actually ready. I really can't do it right now. I'm really sorry. ...Thank you for coming here, though.”

"Of course," Pascal says. "You're important to me, Kip."

That twists at Kip's heart in a way that's both lovely and crushing. It almost makes him blurt it out and he clenches his hands, horrified at himself. He knows the worst thing he could do is dump the info on Pascal and then panic and fail to discuss it further, which is all he suspects he's capable of right now. He's just overestimated himself at Pascal's expense and refuses to let it happen again.

"You're important to me, too," he says. He wants to lay his hand on Pascal's arm and reach out with the other to touch his face. "So I really, really want to be ready to talk about you with this when I can be...reliable and prepared and I—" He sighs. "I can tell I'm not there right now. It's my fault. I need this to be fair to you, and it's not going to be fair if I can't... You know, if I can't even handle the conversation. I..."

He pushes his glasses back and fidgets with the corner of his napkin.

"I don't want to make this seem scary," he says with a quiet laugh. "I mean, I don't want to be building it up or anything. I'm just...I have to work past this issue that came up on my way over and I promise I'll figure it out. Even if—if it turns out I can't, I'll still talk about this with you."

"Okay." Pascal nods, looking a little more solemn.

Kip watches him take a sip of his tea. He glances at the wall and his expression momentarily slips into worry.

"This isn't necessarily something bad," Kip says. "It's just—something I've never dealt with before, so it's taken me a while to figure out how to think about it, and—and it's very difficult. I—I just...had something come up on the way over here, and now..." 

He sighs and glances down at his lap.

"It's nothing that's going to change Thursday," he continues. "I just wanted to go ahead and talk, and I'm really only putting it off now because I know that I even have the option to. I still want to do it as soon as I can, but I'd rather know that I'm going to be able to be...in a better place for this. I want to be fair to you. It wasn't fair today to ask you to do this without knowing I could go through with it, and I... There's no good excuse for it. I'm sorry for putting you through this for nothing, but thank you for being here anyways. It's really nice of you to have made the time to do this."

He feels his persistent blush but doesn't shy away from looking Pascal in the face. He knows he owes him every ounce of respect he can possibly give. He wants to make it clear that none of the failure is anyone's but his own.

"Of course," Pascal says, looking back at him. "I'm glad to share time with you, Kip. And really, it means a lot just knowing you want to share something with me, you know? I can wait until whenever you feel ready and comfortable about it."

Kip sets his teeth and nods.

They stay a while longer. Even while feeling guilty and awkward, Kip feels warmed by Pascal's presence. He's sweet and soft and radiates strong patience and love. The desire to tell him that he already seems like a boyfriend, to slip his hand around his arm, to touch his face and kiss his lips, feels like an ache. 

"I don't want to keep you here all day," Kip says quietly a bit after they've both finished their food and drinks. 

"It wouldn't be so bad," Pascal says with a light laugh, head slightly tilted as he gives Kip a look of affection that could make him fall in love if he hadn't already. 

Kip blushes fiercely and drops his head. 

"I know," he says with a soft smile. "But not yet."

They chat a little about Thursday as they clean up their table. Kip finds it easy to laugh by the time they head to the door.

"Pascal," he says as they step outside, tracing the band on his wrist. "Listen, I promise—" He turns towards Pascal and lifts his head so they can lock eyes. "I promise that I'm going to talk to you and I'm going to make myself ready for it as soon as I can. And if I can't get ready I'm still going to talk with you. I'm not going to give you any more false starts and I'm sorry I have to now."

He takes Pascal's arm.

"I don't want to brush you off and I don't want to take you or your time or your patience for granted or—or take advantage of it, I promise. This is important to me, I—talking about this is important to me because you're important to me. I'm not going to keep you waiting forever on this, I promise. I'm going to figure this out because that's the only way to be fair and...you deserve that and I'm just repeating myself now but...thank you so much for meeting me, even if it wasn't what I meant it to be, thank you so much for giving me your time. I really, really appreciate it."

"Kip..."

Pascal steps forward a bit and Kip realizes it's a hug just in time to curve his body to fit it. He reaches his arms out to gently slip around Pascal's back and turns his head to rest against Pascal's chest. Soft arms and warmth are wrapped around him and he's starting to feel Pascal's heartbeat through his own. He expects it to be lingering yet brief, but Pascal is holding it, sometimes shifting an arm a half inch along Kip's back or squeezing just a little tighter. Kip's response to the length of the hug is inevitable—he relaxes with a long exhale, he leans into it, he curls his fingers into the fabric of Pascal's shirt and shifts his head against Pascal's chest; it feels like an inadvertent nuzzle and he blushes deeply but doesn't have the strength to move away even a millimeter. The feeling of Pascal's body is immediately, intimately familiar, yet he's gotten so used to being without it that he wishes he could stay here for hours so he can hold on to the experience like an afterimage.

Kip knows the embrace probably lasted about a quarter of a minute but it feels like a week's worth of experience was folded up into it. The warmth clings to him even as they separate and a smile keeps tugging at his mouth as he looks up at Pascal. 

"Don't worry," he murmurs. "I swear I'm not just saying this: I'm gonna get this together so I can do it right and I'm going to make sure that happens as soon as I can manage."

Pascal smiles.

"I promise, Pascal," he repeats seriously.

"I believe you," Pascal answers quietly.

Kip draws his bottom lip under his teeth and bites it and then nods.

"This must be confusing," he says, lifting his shoulders in a slight shrug and nudging the bridge of his glasses up. "Thank you so much again for being so patient. I'm sorry that this is all so opaque right now, but I... It's sort of all or nothing, I don't want to just be dropping hints around and just leaving you with that..." His laugh is light and nervous.

"Right, I understand that." Pascal gives a short laugh too. "It's alright. I can wait however much time you need."

Kip's exhale is audible and in a single movement he quickly, tightly, hugs Pascal again.

"Thank you," he says quietly. He lets Pascal slide his arms around his back for a few moments before he pulls away.

He looks at Pascal's face. Again his imagination is providing him with the thought of Pascal suffering the same tumult and heartache that he had. He quickly sweeps the thought away.

"I'll see you on Thursday?" he says, shifting his weight over one foot and rubbing his thumb along the hem of his sweater.

"Yes." Pascal brushes some hair out of his eyes and his cheeks redden. "Definitely."

"Okay." Kip lets himself smile. "Until then."

They reach out and Kip curves his hand to cup Pascal's arm as it winds around to his wrist. They squeeze the hold before finally parting ways, both looking over their shoulders at each other a few times as they walk further apart down different strips of sidewalk. 

—

Kip is drawn into his own head shortly after Pascal leaves his line of sight. His reflexive reaction to what happened is a stressing mix of dread and nerves: he sees himself fucking up worse on the next attempt, knowing he let Pascal down, knowing that he couldn't do right by Pascal when things became too difficult. He thinks about the likelihood he won't be able to talk openly with Wallace either. He thinks about what he's going to do if he ends up ruining his chances with both of them. What he's going to do if he has to live with the knowledge that he's not only let Pascal down, but dealt him a blow, hurt him badly.

A growing frustration begins mingling with the fears running through his thoughts. It quickly turns inwards and he's angry at himself for not remembering that he had this old insecurity that he'd really only dealt with by stubbornly ignoring it and trying to convince himself not to care or think about it. For always being so easily choked by his fear. For always seeming so weak to everyone around him. For not being as good to Pascal as Pascal is to him.

Every thought from every angle is showing him his own failure.

He's put on edge, shoving his cold hands into his pockets and staring at the sidewalk ahead of his feet. He just wants to get home and calm himself down with a mug of tea. The heat would be welcome, too—his arms are already a bit tense from their growing chill and he knows he'll start shivering soon. 

A couple of times he's so caught up in his thoughts he almost runs into things, and being startled by that only increases his frustration and makes him more irritated at the remaining distance between himself and the comfort of the apartment. 

The front of the building is quiet, and he's grateful for it. He sighs and twists the lining of his pockets between his fingers and pushes his way through the door and almost collides with Ben.

"Oh my god—" He jumps and his hand shoots from the door towards his own chest. He sees Ben flinch back a little as well—whether from the initial surprise or the violence of Kip's reaction, he doesn't know.

"I—sorry," he murmurs, moving aside and trying to collect himself, heartbeat raised.

"It's alright," Ben says quietly. 

Kip looks up in time to see Ben turn his head away. He feels a rush of indignation—there's a subtlety to Ben's expressions but Kip knows them well and he's more than fed up with seeing shadows of distaste there. He's sick of the aversion that continues seemingly without regard for how outgoing or reserved he pushes himself to be around Ben. He hates being made to feel like there must be something inherently, unpleasantly, abrasively wrong with him—and that he deserves to be considered so repulsive because of it.

The sudden, cumulative strength of his reaction surprises him. But not nearly as much as the way his temper flies ahead of his composure and, for once, his automatic response is to speak rather than keep quiet.

"What am I doing wrong?" he snaps. "I just live here, why do you have to—" 

He cuts himself off all at once, from a rising voice tinged with anger and hurt to total silence; he even physically holds his tongue between his teeth. 

Ben looks over at him at the outburst, stopped in the middle of reaching for the door. His expression is still characteristically subdued, but clearly surprised as well. 

Kip feels just short of shaken. He quickly glances away from Ben, stepping back. He didn't know he could lash out over such a mild provocation. He was always so much more inclined to turn away and sigh and keep silent than to confront anyone in the moment, much less do so by losing hold of his temper.

"I'm—" His voice comes out too quiet that time. He glances at Ben and glances away again, too quick and too nervous to even process the sight of his face.

"Sorry. Never mind. I—sorry," he mutters, and just puts his head down and bails. He turns and walks briskly through the lobby and sweeps through the door into the stairwell. He barely feels any less secure when he's already up on the first landing by the time he hears the door shut behind him. He climbs the rest of the stairs at the same pace, taking the steps two at a time. 

He slows his pace upon reaching their floor and opens their door to a quiet, dim apartment. He switches on the kitchen light, filling the kettle with water and putting it on a stove burner, then goes into his room and changes into warmer clothes, a soft t-shirt under a heavier sweater and sweatpants and thick socks. He slides a packet of hand warmers into his pocket and goes back into the kitchen to put a teabag in a cup and wait on the kettle.

His brain is simultaneously trying to replay the tumult of the past couple of hours and analyze and solve everything and worry about what he should do. He works on shutting it all out. He knows if he's going to get anything out of his introspection, he has to rein in the initial rush of his thoughts so he can untangle him. Right now his best course of action is to keep his focus elsewhere and try to relax.

He puts his head in his hands. Every exhale is a sigh; he keeps his breathing easy and even until his pulse seems to have slowed to a calm rhythm. He doesn't move until there's a faint whistle sounding beneath the bubbling water.

He stands over the steeping tea for the first few minutes while it's too hot for even him to touch, letting the steam flow over his skin and fog his glasses, waiting.

He focuses on its scent, and on the quiet sound of activity outside. He focuses on the anticipation of the moment he can press his frigid hands to its warmth, and when he can put his lips to the surface of the tea and hold its flavor in his mouth.

—

Kip starts feeling physically tired and so he buries himself under the blankets in his room and lets himself take a nap, falling asleep with surprising ease. Although he wakes up at his phone's alarm only half an hour later, he can tell that he slept deeply. He's created layers of warmth around himself and he lays there for a while longer, reluctant to leave it.

He gets up upon checking the time and realizing Roy and Molly will probably be home in about an hour. He still wants to do things for them as thanks for the outing they took him on—though as he knows they won't let him do anything too significant, he figures that as usual his best shot at doing them a favor is making them food. 

He makes a dinner without too much trouble, even having time to make a simple muffin batter and bake a pan of them. He wraps them in a towel in a bowl and puts them back in the still-warm oven and takes out three plates and makes everything as close to being finished as he can. 

He takes out his laptop and adds a couple finishing touches to his post before finally officially putting it up on his blog. He feels some relief at seeing his own update.

Kip expects Roy to be back at his usual time, and gets a little worried when it's fifteen minutes past that window and there's no sign of him, but he tells himself to settle down. 

He's in the bathroom when he hears Roy get back home and he steps out expectantly, eyes searching for the walking burst of color and sound as though he'll be difficult to find. 

He says Roy's name even as Roy is already looking over at him.

"Hey, Kip!"

"Hello," Kip says, and Roy opens his arms as though he can sense what's coming and Kip buries his face in Roy's torso and wraps his arms tight around his back.

"Aw, did you miss me?" Roy laughs.

Kip doesn't answer; he just hugs a little tighter. 

When he starts to let go a few seconds later, Roy leans in and gets his arms snug around Kip as he lifts Kip up into the air.

Kip's reflex as always is to flinch, and he clutches at Roy's shirt and digs his knees into Roy's hips.

"Sorry," he whispers, making himself relax a little.

Roy holds him securely enough to eliminate any fear of being dropped and spins him around a couple of times, making Kip giggle breathlessly. As Roy carefully lowers him back to the ground, Kip lets his hands slide up to Roy's shoulders and kisses him on the cheek during his descent. Roy laughs.

"It's good to see you," Kip murmurs.

"How come?" Roy laughs again.

"Just because it’s good to see you," Kip says.

—

Molly comes home another quarter of an hour later and goes straight to the shower, covered in patches of flour and batter and frosting from work. Kip quickly puts the rest of what he needs to cook on the stove and puts out dishes. By the time Molly gets out, clad in pajamas with a towel draped over her shoulders, he's in the process of putting the finishing touches on everything.

Molly and Roy start up a conversation with each other, which always dances from subject to subject and sustains itself with ease. Even though Kip usually doesn't join in—rarely having the energy to meet their pace and even less often to maintain it—he appreciates being able to tune in to it right now. He's in no mood to be left with his own thoughts.

Roy brings up the warm welcome he got from Kip, and when Molly jokingly demands to know why she didn't receive the same treatment, Kip silently walks over and provides it—initially as though he's just playing along with the joke, but he quickly shifts it into a genuine embrace. Molly laughs quietly and returns the hug and Kip tightens it and rests his forehead on the towel on her shoulder, not caring about the dampness of it or of her.

Kip knows for certain that she understands the sentiment behind the embrace because she lets him hold it until he's ready to let go—in this case, at least a half minute. 

They eat together in the main room, Kip cross-legged at the table and Molly and Roy sharing the couch, each leaning back against the arms.

Continuously trying to stay in the moment, Kip focuses in on appreciating everything currently around him. To start, that he's alive and his friends are alive, which for him—and especially considering what each of them has gone through in the past as well as the recent chaos—is never anything to take for granted. They're in a good mood. They have a place to live and their own spaces and enough to eat and no current financial panic. None of them have any physical pain. They have each other's presence right now, and the knowledge that they'll have it indefinitely. 

He watches Molly and Roy for a while, zoning out a little as he reflects on how much their friendship has meant and done for him over the years. He knows it was sheer luck he found people as loyal as them. He's never had much difficulty forming casual friendships with anyone he meets, but he's very familiar with how difficult he can be on a more personal level. He used to lean so heavily on his family, certain in their unconditional love and their deep understanding of him. But after losing that, the full strength of the support of his closest friends became more apparent to him than it had ever been. He'd been in no state to express his gratitude at the time but he felt it deeply and it relieved him of some of his worst fears of being alone and having nothing after his world was burned away. It was his friends who picked him up and took care of the few pieces that remained and all but carried him to a new life of safety and love. Yet Kip is just as impressed, if not moreso, that these people have managed to stick with him in spite of his more everyday issues—those problems borne of an uncertain person often smothered by fear who can't voice his own weaknesses because of his desperation to hide them and appear stable and sturdy to everyone on every front. 

He appreciates knowing they're safe and happy and having them with him more than any other additional comfort. 

But he's not grateful—he'll never say that he's grateful. Life may not have any requirement to be kind to them, but it's certainly not exceeding any standards when things aren't horrible. He's not grateful to have his loved ones alive, because he shouldn’t have to be. But he appreciates fully how wonderful it is. 

—

"You and Roy haven't gotten to go on a vacation for...well, for ages, have you?" 

He puts another plate on the drying rack as Molly towels off a mug.

"You ought to," he adds, submerging both hands in the soapy water.

"I guess it's been a while, yeah," Molly says after a moment. "Things have been kind of..."

"Yeah," Kip agrees, breathing a flat laugh. 

"None of us have gone on a trip in a while," she says pointedly. "At least, not really, not purely for fun or for more than a single day."

"Yeah, but you guys like to go together, and maybe I'm wrong but both of you seem like you could use it. I mean, not as though I think you literally need it, but I think it would be good. Taking a break and getting away and...all of it."

"Why do you want it to be just us?" she asks. "Trying to get rid of us?"

"No. You don't have to have me around all the time, it not weird to do things without me."

"I know, but I'm just saying, you haven't gone on vacation in just as long."

"Probably not, but I..." He scrubs at a dish for a few seconds. "I feel like the routine is kind of helpful for me lately. I'd rather take a vacation when it's not. But you could use one now, and you guys have fun together. You should figure out something you want to do and just go ahead and go."

Molly doesn't answer and Kip glances over at her.

"Don't look at me like that," he says, laughing quietly. "You guys just have to let me worry about you too sometimes."

Now Molly laughs.

"Sometimes?" she repeats incredulously. "You worry about everyone and everything all the time."

Kip blushes.

"Maybe," he concedes. "But you guys—and you especially—I think you put looking after everyone else above looking after yourselves sometimes. So I think it could be a good thing if I worry to compensate for that a little."

He pulls the stopper from the sink drain and rinses his hands and wipes them off on his pants and sighs before turning towards Molly.

"I know you don't need to." He speaks softly but with emphasis. "But you should be able to just because it's nice, and it isn't cold out anymore, and things have kind of calmed down enough around here, and you guys more than deserve it."

He leans his hip against the edge of the countertop and rubs his shoulder nervously.

"I'm not trying to get rid of you..."

Molly scoffs and shoves his arm.

—

Kip indulges in a hot bath for a while, solely for the purpose of wholly engulfing himself in heat. He wraps himself in a towel as soon as he steps out of the water and gets himself into his bed as quickly as possible.

He tries not to think about the day as he waits to fall asleep, which means he has to suppress his train of thought at times when it curves in that direction. It's a cold comfort that both his sudden, debilitating recollection and his outburst seemed totally out of his control and unforeseeable—he at least doesn't have any instance of decision to replay and overanalyze endlessly in self-flagellation. Instead he can place the blame on latent and inherent weaknesses and flaws within himself, which may not be any more pleasant of an exercise but is at least familiar to him. 

He isn't looking to solve his issues with what happened that day or even dwell on them right now. He just wants to sleep. 

It's such a relief for him to feel himself start to drift off within the first five minutes or so rather than lying awake for an hour, body restless and mind refusing to settle.

He cuddles closer to his pillow, slowly takes in a deep breath, and lets it back out in a long sigh.

—

"Okay, I'm going," Kip says, laying his folded apron over his shoulder as he walks towards their front door.

"Alright, see you later!" Molly calls.

"Bye."

He doesn't leave by the front door. He knows it's mostly because he doesn't want to risk running into Ben again, but he's willing to allow himself that. The burst of stress after ending his botched meeting with Pascal settled quickly enough, but the run-in with Ben still sits uncomfortably in the back of his mind. He knows he'll have to decide what to do with the situation sometime, but right now his concerns about Pascal take precedence.

When he arrives at the café, he's pleased to see things seem to be going quietly and smoothly ahead of the usual swell of activity around lunch and in the afternoon. He and Kate exchange subtle smiles and small lifts of the hand across the counter as he heads to the back.

"Hi, Kip," Cuddy says, standing in front of a stack of boxes as she fills in a form on her clipboard. "How are you today."

"I'm alright," Kip says as he puts on his apron and readjusts his phone and wallet in his pockets. "Are you doing okay?"

"Yes." Cuddy gives him a slight smile before heading over into the kitchen area. 

Kip feels like he's doing well in terms of staying on top of things without getting stressed, which he supposes isn't too surprising in terms of how helpful a distraction the work is for him today. Getting a slight rush for lunch actually feels like something of a relief. A few times Kate actually shoos him away for chasing work so relentlessly he's bothering her, so after the crowd out front thins out he delegates himself small organizational and cleaning tasks that they don't do everyday—emptying out the containers for straws and sugar packets so he can wash them, inching forward the stand that holds the trash can and bin for dishes so he can reach around and scrub off the floor and wall behind it. 

"Trying to get promoted?" Kate teases as he wipes some cleaner along the picture frames hanging on the walls.

"Not even," Kip responds, fixing his glasses and belt. "I mean, of course I'm just in it for the money, but today I'm just... I'm just trying to, uh...I dunno. I just like the busy stuff today."

He starts focusing on the more everyday tasks and is hefting a full trash bag out of the can when the door suddenly opens beside him and he's momentarily struck speechless when he turns to see Wallace right in front of him.

"Oh, hey, Kip!" Wallace smiles brightly at him and Kip blushes and tightens his grip on the bag and inhales before giving a light laugh. 

"Hi—uh—hey, Wallace." He smiles back while stepping back out of the way, averting his gaze as he breathes out and tries to collect himself. 

He keeps his head down as he carries the trash into the back while Kate and Wallace chat by the register. He washes his hands and tries not to eavesdrop and tries not to get fixated on the fact that Wallace is around. His feelings for him, still being relatively newfound, tend to make him a bit lovestruck and nervous in his presence, at least before he has some time to settle down—and even moreso when he's unexpectedly confronted with Wallace's presence. 

"Do you need these put away?" he asks Cuddy of the small collection of cardboard boxes against the wall.

"Uh," she looks up, slightly distracted. "Sure, if you'd like, you can go ahead and do that." 

So Kip spends a while sorting the various ingredients and supplies and carefully putting them into place, trying to let himself daydream aimlessly as he does so. He finishes sooner than he thought he would and moves on to washing dishes and finishes that sooner than he expected as well. 

He ventures back to the front to bring some of the cleaned dishes up. A quick glance around the room shows Wallace sitting at one of the small tables along the wall, closest to the counter, typing on his laptop with a few papers next to a cup of coffee. His brow is slightly furrowed as he reads what's on his screen and it's cute and when Wallace bites at his lip and taps it with the end of a pen, Kip blushes and turns away to stop himself from just standing there watching the little things Wallace does unconsciously.

"Hey, did you change that other trash can out there or just the one?" Kate asks.

"Oh—" Kip says. "I forgot—I'll get the other, too."

When he finds himself beside Wallace's table, he ties off the trash bag and sets it against the wall.

"Glad you came to see us today," he says with a smile as Wallace looks up at the noise.

"Yeah," Wallace says, straightening up in his chair and returning a smile. "I was just gonna be working on stuff in my apartment for a while so I figured I'd try coming here, like you said. Usually I get started before I think of coming over, and then I get too focused to stop and move everything somewhere else... But today I was feeling especially pent up, I guess, and I thought about doing things someplace different than usual, and..."

"Here you are," Kip completes.

Wallace laughs.

"Yeah. Here I am."

Kip quickly analyzes the details of his expression, frowning a little.

"Are you okay?" he says quietly, trying to be discreet. "You look kind of tired."

"Oh, yeah," Wallace says, giving that verge-of-laughing smile and rubbing the back of his head.

Wallace always habitually touches the base of his skull, and it always makes Kip wonder if there's a scar there.

"I haven't slept great the past couple of nights." A trace of a grimace twitches at Wallace's mouth and Kip feels a slight twinge of worry. 

"Oh?" he prompts automatically.

"Yeah, but it's fine," Wallace says, looking back up at him with a small smile. "I just have trouble sleeping sometimes—I have for a while."

"I'm sorry," Kip murmurs. "That must be frustrating."

Wallace gives a short laugh that seems more genuine than nervous.

"It is. But usually it doesn't last too long, so I'm hoping to get a better routine soon."

He looks straight at Kip and his smile becomes warmer.

"Yeah," is all the eloquence Kip can muster as he looks back at Wallace.

He hopes his tendency to blush at prolonged eye contact isn't too obvious. 

"Uh—well—" he continues after a moment, "It’s good to see you. It, um...gets lonely here too sometimes, ha. It's nice to be visited or just...know that a friend is in the store with you. Not that I'm not friends with everyone I work with—" He punctuates with a light laugh.

"Right, I get it." 

Kip laughs again.

"Well, uh, I guess I should do some more of that work or something, but it's good to see you," he repeats. 

"You too," Wallace says, face colored with the slight blush that generally accompanies his genuine happiness. 

Kip picks up the trash bag and beams a smile once he's turned away, wringing the twist of plastic in his hands as he pulls it towards his chest and marveling again that he ended up in love with the human he used to think represented the worst threat possible to him and everyone he loved.

He collects himself and glances out at the café from habit, then freezes with a start to see Kate looking at him with enough bemusement to make him feel like his momentary silent outburst wasn't as private as he hoped. She raises her eyebrows and he flares into a blush and quickly takes the trash into the back with the other bag.

It's about half an hour filled with steady work and periodic glances at Wallace before Kate says anything to Kip upon crossing paths in the back.

"What was that about, huh?" she asks with just enough inflection to clearly imply "And I know you know what I'm talking about, so don’t even pretend."

Kip stares at the border of a tile on the wall as he deliberately sets down the rag he was holding.

"What," he says in a dulled tone. He wants to hear what she says, in case he can dodge this by virtue of her being unwilling to directly accuse him of anything.

Kate sighs at his stubbornness.

"What're you so worked up about Wallace for?"

As if he had a chance. He's already blushing and it's not getting any better. But still he doesn't answer.

"Do you like him or something?" Her tone is a bit low and hushed. 

Kip frowns. As familiar as he'd become with the notion, he'd never spent much time considering discussing it with anyone—save Eno, Pascal, and possibly Wallace himself. He's being jarringly reminded of how deeply personal and sensitive a subject it still feels.

"Hm. You do, don't you," Kate continues as she organizes stacks of saucers.

His anxiety surges at the realization she's going to assume this is true and there's a chance it's going to spread if he refuses to answer and it might make it back to Wallace himself in a form too direct to be misunderstood by anyone, even him. 

"Why ask if you've already decided," he says, and there must be too much of an edge to his attempt at casual sarcasm because she pats his arm with a mock slap.

"Hey." 

"Uh-huh."

"Don't get mad."

"I'm not.”

"Yeah, shut up. You're mad about it because I'm right, aren't you." 

"Quit it," he sighs. 

"Kip." There's exasperation in Kate's voice but it seems good-humored, and he obliges to look at her. She smiles slightly and folds her arms. "I'm not trying to bother you about anything, I'm just asking because you're my friend."

He sighs again and rubs at his shoulder. 

"You know I only mess with you because it's fun," she says after he stays quiet. "And so I won’t if it's not fun. You’re pretty hilarious when you're annoyed but not when you're actually upset."

He knows that's true, that she likes to get a rise out of him at times but never legitimately provokes his temper or hurts his feelings—not deliberately, at least. 

"Right," he murmurs, looking back to the countertop.

"I like both of you guys a lot," Kate continues. "So I'm just kiiind of interested if you actually have a crush on him or something. I'm not trying to hold it over your head or anything like that."

"...What about not telling anyone else about it," he mumbles.

There's a pause.

"Sure."

There's another pause. 

"Kip—" Kate puts her hands on his shoulders and he lets her turn him around to face her. "I'm not trying to force a confession out of you here. We don't have to talk about this anymore if you don't want. I'm just asking."

"...Yes." 

He stares at a freckle by the collar of her shirt as his face heats up. 

"Oh." Her touch lightens and he sees her straighten up slightly. "Yes, uh, as in you like Wallace?"

"Yes."

—

They have a longer discussion about it in the pauses scattered throughout the next hour or so. Kip can't help but be a little cagey, but he tries to be as honest as he can. Kate is obviously still enjoying the revelation, but at the same time seems to be treating it seriously, which he appreciates. Not to mention that he suspects part of him wants to receive judgment on this, which is helping push him to talk about it. They trade quick questions and answers while busying themselves with small tasks.

How long? I don't know, a while.

Have you told him? No.

Are you going to tell him? ...Maybe.

Well, have you told anybody else? Just Eno. And now you.

Are you keeping it a secret, or... Kind of. I mean, I didn't know how to feel about it at first. And I don't think I'm ready for everyone to know when I haven't even told Wallace, or—haven't even decided for sure I'm gonna tell him, y'know.

I mean, do you wanna go out with him? Well, it's fun to think about but...I'm not sure it's a good idea.

Why not? ...I don't know. Different reasons.

He's not already dating anyone, is he? I don't know. I don't think so. But, I don't know, maybe he's just really private about that kind of stuff. We've never really talked about it. It still really hasn't been all that long since we met that we've, uh, you know, been able to really talk with each other.

What are you waiting on, exactly? ...I'm just not sure that I'm ready.

You've never been sure about being ready for anything. I know.

He's super nice, and you guys are actual friends now, what do you think is the worst that can happen if you tell him?

Kip doesn't answer.

You've been single for a while, Kip. And if you've been getting laid at all you haven't been mentioning it to me, which would be rude because I told you the last time I hooked up with someone. And if I'm overstepping or something right now go ahead and let me know, but you've seemed lonely the whole time since you guys moved back here. It sure seems like you'd benefit from at least trying to start something up again.

Kip doesn't answer that either, face prickling with heat.

Can we talk about this later, he says.

Sure. Sorry.

No, it's okay. But...please don't tell anyone about any of this.

...Sure.

—

Kip's shift ends in the later afternoon, after the end of what's usually their busiest time of day. He talks briefly with Kate before heading out—they'd been planning to schedule a lunch together for a couple of weeks, and now he's provided an extra incentive to coordinate one. They always have something to talk about, but it's rare that it's anything particularly personal, even though Kip knows from experience that Kate is a deeply thoughtful person who's easy to talk to when the topic is even a little heavy. So he knows that even if any disasters occur in the next few days, he'll be comfortable confiding in her about it. And either way, their outings are always low-pressure and refreshing.

He stops by the table where Wallace is still sitting, apparently engrossed in his work as he frowns slightly at his laptop. Kip waits patiently for Wallace to notice him, and smiles when he does.

"I'm heading home for the day," he says. "But I wanted to say hey again before I do. It's been kinda fun knowing you're over here in the corner the whole time, keeping us company."

Wallace laughs. And then he stands up, and Kip blinks and seems momentarily incapable of movement as Wallace pulls him into a light hug.

"Oh—" Kip manages to gather his presence of mind enough to place his hand on Wallace's side before he pulls away. He grins and brushes his fingers through his hair and smooths the front of his shirt as he laughs a "See you later."

"Yeah!" Wallace smiles at him and Kip smiles back before realizing he's just standing there and needs to go and so he laughs quietly again and gives a tiny wave as he finally turns away.

"Bye, Kate," Kip calls as he sees her coming back up to the front.

"Bye!" 

They have a quick, standard exchange across the room of silent teasing insults and then Kip glances one more time at Wallace before going out the door.

—

Kip makes himself a hot cup of tea and heats up a small bowl of leftovers as soon as he gets back and brings it to his room, where he strips his clothes off and swathes himself in layers of blankets and flops back on his bed. He lies there for a while, eyes closed, breathing slow, gently pushing himself to quiet his thoughts as much as he can. Instead he focuses on the softness of the blankets against his bare skin and the warmth gathering within them and how nice it feels to relax his body in bed and do nothing after a work shift.

Eventually he sits up and eats, leaning against the wall and looking up at his ceiling. The tea lasts a while longer. 

He lies flat on his back after he's done. He closes his eyes and cozies up in the blankets and crosses his legs so that he can warm his feet by pressing them against his thighs. He's not sure if he'll even be able to fall asleep, even for a short nap, but he's willing to try, and he squints at his phone to set an alarm just in case.

For a while he's just keeping still under the weight of the blankets, trying to release the both the underlying mental and physical tension of work. But it starts to feel less like he's just lying there and more like he's embraced by the mattress and heavy blankets, and his thoughts slip into mostly visual concepts and scenes. By the time the alarm starts chirping at him, he's actually beginning to doze off. So he pushes the alarm another forty minutes away and tries to sink back towards unconsciousness.

He has an unusually simple, clear dream. He's in his old home, the one he'd lived in with his family in C. They aren't there, but he knows they'll be coming home later that day. There's the sound of thunder and rain and the lighting is the dim blue-grey of indoors during a heavily clouded afternoon storm. Kip walks the familiar halls and rooms, aware that he hasn't been in them in a while. He lies down on the big couch with the soft, thick cushions that support his body even as he sinks into them and listens to the rain drumming on the roof.

His view of the ceiling changes into that of his own room, and the couch becomes his bed. It's grown dimmer to the point it's difficult to see, especially without his glasses, but he looks around to see what his room is like and it looks like an amalgam of all the years he occupied the space. The books on the shelf include high school math textbooks and childhood favorite picture books. His old laptop is sitting in the corner of his desk. He has posters on the wall as well as taped up crayon drawings. There's the library books on local history and social programs and activist movements that he tried his best to make himself read from cover to cover and the 30-point font books on outer space and animals and the ocean from when his ever-changing ambitions included being an astronaut, a veterinarian, a deep-sea explorer.

He remembers that once for a handful of months he wanted to be a firefighter. Some vague reevaluation of his family's absence stirs in the back of his mind, and he thinks they might not make it back home today. He stares up at the glow-in-the-dark stars dappling his ceiling. 

"Here you go." Pascal's voice is warm and gentle. 

"Pasc?" His own voice is a little hoarse. He looks around to see Pascal sitting at the end of his bed, holding out a mug with a few wisps of steam flowing from the mouth. He has that expression he gets when he looks at Kip in moments of soft, achingly genuine affection, the one Kip mentally refers to simply as his Sweet Look. 

"This is yours, love."

Kip sits up and takes the drink; warmth radiates through his fingers up his arms and the subtle smell of chocolate hits his nose. 

"Thank you."

He takes a sip, and when he looks down at the cup again he sees he's finished it, so he sets it aside and lies back in the bed again. Pascal is watching him attentively, waiting for his permission. 

"Come here," Kip murmurs. He slides to one side to make room and Pascal lies down next to him and snuggles closer. Kip brings his legs in to touch Pascal's and lets Pascal put an arm around his side. Eventually Kip is resting his chin on the top of Pascal's head, slowly stroking his back.

Pascal's exhales wash over Kip's chest, warm and rhythmic. Kip remembers the rain and there's distant thunder for a while.

"Are you feeling better?" Pascal's voice is soft and quiet to the point Kip wouldn't have been woken up if he'd been asleep.

"Uh-huh." 

"We've always managed, haven't we."

"Yeah. We have."

"What's made you cry?"

Kip blinks and feels water streaming down his face to the pillow.

"Oh—"

He hears the sound of his alarm behind the thunder, and then he's opening his eyes to see the corkboard hanging on his wall.

—

He misses the imagined feeling of sharing a bed with Pascal. He brings up the memories of it, of Pascal cuddling up behind him and wrapping an arm around his chest to pull him back until their relaxed bodies were nestled snugly together. He indulges in the ghost of the feeling for a while.

He thinks about the times when he was the little spoon and the touches they traded were lingering and affectionate as they drifted off together, and then when they were awake again, Kip would gently grind back against Pascal and slowly get him hard until Pascal slipped the end of his arm down the front of Kip's pants to wrap smoothly around his cock and would hump his ass until they both climaxed. They'd lie there for a good while longer, laughing quietly between soft, lazy kisses, neither minding the mess in his pants or the sweat or disheveled sheets.

Kip feels no hint of embarrassment about his total lack of hesitation before reaching down to encourage the beginnings of his erection, palming himself with gentle, steady motion. He doesn't take long. His temperature rises enough for him to kick down the blankets before he cums on his front. It's nice, but it doesn't exactly sate his starvation for touch and kissing and sex—maybe even sharpens it. Kip traces little circles on the outside of his thigh with his fingertips and strokes his thumb across his lips with lingering tenderness to prompt his physical memories of brushing kisses. 

He lies there for a while. He thinks of a few times when Pascal came across his chest or face and Kip let it dry there so they both knew it was still on him. Kip would give Pascal occasional playful kisses and sly touches and teasing whispers throughout the day as well, and after hours of building up that tension between them Kip would lie Pascal on their bed and fuck him again. He'd try to stay focused on Pascal as completely as possible, be as selfless as he could manage. When Kip wanted to lead things or give attention without receiving it, Pascal would deferentially accept that.

But Kip knew Pascal always wanted to be attentive and could even feel a bit guilty if he wasn't actively trying to please Kip, even if Kip expressly said he didn't want Pascal to reciprocate. So Kip would do his best to overwhelm Pascal's senses enough that there was no room in his conscious thoughts for any such concerns. He would boldly and eagerly rub up and feel up all over Pascal's body and start a firm, deliberate grind between them while sucking a hickey below Pascal's jaw. He would let Pascal feel his body too and freely give the responsive moans and sighs that he knew turned Pascal on better than anything. He’d take Pascal's dick in his mouth to make sure he was as hard as possible. He fingered Pascal until he groaned and looped his arms around his own knees to pull them back against his chest. Kip obliged and slowly pushed into him, ensuring Pascal was settled into the position before sliding gently back and forth inside him, setting an easy rhythm. 

He'd take the time to stare at Pascal laid out in front of him: his stunningly gorgeous body shining with sweat, his heavy blush, his beautiful cock. And then he'd quickly locate the precise position to fuck Pascal and keep hitting quick, shallow bucks that required him to resist the urge to draw further out, instead relentlessly pushing in against Pascal's prostate. And once Pascal's composure had crumbled into a total mess and he was involuntarily moaning and twitching and rocking his hips, Kip wrapped his arms around one of Pascal's thighs and hugged it tightly for the leverage he needed to push into him even harder and faster. He'd squeeze his eyes shut for a moment and just listen to the rapid beat of their hips and Pascal's voice reverberating from his chest with the occasional hitched breath. And then he'd open his eyes again as he felt Pascal's body curving under a new tension, and he'd take hold of Pascal's dick and watch the expression on his face as he got caught up in the verge of his finish. Kip shoved his cock exactly where Pascal needed it and strained to give a few more shoves before holding still for the full duration of Pascal's orgasm, feeling his own breathlessness at the sight of Pascal lost in his euphoria, the look on his beautiful face as he experienced nothing but the pleasure Kip had given him. 

Only after slowing down to stillness would Kip become fully aware of his own ache, his own sweat and shivering muscles. He'd reach down to brush Pascal's thick hair out of his eyes and leave a few soft, lingering kisses on his lips. He'd pet the leg still in his arms, now holding up the heavy limb himself as Pascal's body loosened and sank against the mattress. Pascal's skin would be warm to the touch and Kip would hope his own hands didn't feel unpleasantly cold, but rather refreshingly cool as Pascal often said they were. Pascal would open his eyes to look directly at Kip. When he lifted Kip up and rolled them over, pinning Kip to the bed with an arm spiraling tight around his dick, Kip returned the favor and surrendered all control to Pascal. He always found incredible reward in that. 

He remembers times lying under Pascal, his whole body prickling with his want but being content to savor that sensation and bask in the moment, in the feeling of Pascal's full attention.

"I still remember what it was like to dream of this," Pascal had told him. "I wanted it so much that it hurt sometimes to think of it because I was so sure I could never deserve this, but it was so good to think of you that I couldn't ever help it."

Kip would wonder at the idea he could ever live up to anyone's fantasy, much less BE someone’s fantasy, but knew that Pascal wouldn't be telling him about it if he hadn't. And Pascal's look of adoration as he gazed at Kip's face and his body and touched his legs and stomach with almost halting carefulness told Kip he must be at least as good as Pascal had imagined him to be. 

"I could look at you forever," Pascal continued. "But to see you looking back at me..."

He leaned in and Kip met his kiss.

"I'd always want so badly to do this," Pascal murmured against his lips before beginning to plant soft kisses across his face, down to his neck and shoulders and chest, back up to repeat the tenderly deliberate process several times over until Kip was relaxed and breathing deeply as he soaked it in, let it into his bones. The time spent pressing each kiss into his skin lengthened and so did the pauses between them until it was almost half a minute before Kip pulled himself from his near-meditative state by the expectation of the next kiss, opening his eyes to see Pascal's expression aglow with the warmth of his smile. 

He remembers how his breaths would grow rougher until their edges became small moans melting out of his voice, and how the sound of that drew tiny answering whimpers from Pascal. He remembers how it felt to have his whole limp body scooped up effortlessly in Pascal's soft, strong arms and be held so close to his wide, warm torso. He loved how fantastic it was to orgasm while swathed in Pascal's embrace, soaked in contented bliss while being kissed with so much love and being bathed in such intimate affection throughout the deep tranquility of his afterglow.

He shifts on his bed. His cum is mostly dried but still feels slightly sticky against his skin. He fixes his gaze on the ceiling. He hates how much he misses Pascal; he knows how horrible and comfortless it was to truly believe he had forced the entirety of their relationship to end forever when, overwhelmed by the fears and anxieties he had about C, he thought they had to choose between separation and Pascal's ability to live his fullest life in safety—to live at all. He'd called the pain of the separation and the awareness of the emptiness where Pascal should've been and his grief for their relationship all nothing more than manifestations of self-absorption. He wants Pascal to be with him now, to know how much Kip wants to be together again. He wants him badly enough that he's willing to brave rejection rather than feel as if he was pushing Pascal away again. He wants him enough that he—

"Pascal," Kip whispers, and he sits up in his bed with a hand to his now-thudding heart. 

What he's been aware of without ever truly acknowledging is now a conscious thought. He'd felt ashamed over what he saw as his failure to meet the responsibilities he'd conferred upon himself to justify the decision to separate from Pascal, his failure to let go of Pascal in his heart and even to stop feeling love for him for Pascal's sake. And that shame had made him avoid the understanding of something he's been wanting to tell Pascal for months and months without knowing how to voice it.

The separation didn't just fail to diminish his feelings towards Pascal. Kip's love for him has grown because of it. 

—

After a quick shower, Kip fixes another cup of tea and fills up a hot water bottle to rest his feet on and brings them into his room and pulls out a notebook and pen to start arranging his thoughts. Even though the dinner is tomorrow, none of his concerns are about how the meal will go. He doesn't mean to impress Pascal, and there's no question about how he and Molly and Roy will get along—the only part that won't be familiar territory for them all is Pascal leaving for his own home at the end of the evening. 

Tomorrow he's going to tell Pascal everything, he's sure of it now, never mind his hangups and trepidation and uncertainty. But he knows something about himself that he should've factored in last time: that when he anticipates being intimidatingly nervous, he does better to have planned out what he could say if things go in a difficult direction. And in this case, there are so many important points he needs to make that writing them down will help prevent losing track of them. Not to mention he still needs to do some work tackling the issue of the knee-jerk reaction he'd had a year ago to the thought of Pascal dating someone who wasn't him, a reaction so strong it had made him physically sick. And he knows others would laugh at him for this kind of thing, but he sometimes tries to sort out overwhelming feelings with web diagrams and bullet points. He's not the worst writer and he knows how to organize his ideas into a neat, condensed, coherent format that anyone can understand. When his thoughts are the complete opposite of that, an attempt and forcing them into words and sentences makes him feel as if he's managed to tame them, even a little.

In the same vein, he has a decent number of letters he's written to his family, some short and simple and some long and intimate and some rushed streams of consciousness and some nothing but expressions of love as raw and earnest as he could find words for. He knows no one would laugh at him for that. But he keeps them folded up and tucked away, unable to read them over again without crying.

He flips through the lined pages until he finds the first blank sheet. He crosses his legs underneath himself and taps the nib of the pen against the top of the page, drawing circles there. It feels like he's pushing his thoughts to get going and they're just stalling or spinning their wheels. He puts the hot water bottle in his lap and takes a drink of the tea and decides to start simpler.

He needs to decide on a good place to talk to Pascal regardless of what is said or what direction the conversation goes in. It should be comfortable for them both. It shouldn't make Pascal feel trapped, it shouldn't even be an unfamiliar location for him in case Pascal wants to go home from there. Simply talking in the apartment complex isn't good enough; he writes it down so he can cross it off. He doesn't want to make it feel like they're on his territory, or have to worry about being overheard, or be somewhere so lacking in intimacy. He doesn't want it to be anything so secluded that Pascal feels obligated to keep Kip company, nor so busy that they won't have any privacy.

He scribbles down ideas for appropriate locations they could find, factoring in as well the assumption that it'll be somewhat late by the time this conversation occurs—the park, the waterside square, the bench just a block over. His pen quickly leads him to a street that's basically positioned on the way back to Berkley and is dotted with shops and restaurants and has plenty of places to sit and walk. Kip hasn't been there much, but Pascal probably has—and even if he isn't familiar with it either, they'll both be on equal footing and in a comfortable environment.

He looks down at the notebook at the enthusiastically-written and underlined street name. It feels like a victory despite that all he's managed to do is come up with a solid suggestion for where they could go to talk. He still finds it heartening that he's done even that.

He turns to a new page, cheeks glowing electric blue as he directs his thoughts to the more significant matters he has to sort through. He clicks the pen rapidly for a moment, chews on his lip, and then pulls the heat of the bottle firmly against his stomach and bends over the notebook with a drawn brow. 

About forty minutes later he tosses the notebook at the foot of the bed and flops back to the mattress, relieved to feel freer of the tightness long-settled in his chest than he has in a long time. He's gained no more certainty about how things are going to go tomorrow night, but he's figured out things about his own issues that make him feel vastly less like a selfish, undeserving hypocrite.

He's also glad to find he knew himself as well as he thought, having found success in untangling his thoughts by putting them to paper. There may be lines crossed out with frustrated thoroughness and a page or two spotted with a few frustrated tearstains, but he had more than one moment where he'd arrived at realizations that made him pause and stare at the words he'd written. 

He's already had the epiphany that being without Pascal for so long only made his dormant love stronger.

He's realized that he completely trusts Pascal to understand him and judge and treat him fairly. He simply has to be brave enough to be as unguardedly honest and open as he can with Pascal. 

Then there was what he struggled with the most but had finally gotten himself to confront: the unexpected breakdown he'd had over the thought of Pascal dating again. He'd always avoided thinking about it after his initial outburst, assuming the reason behind the violence of his emotions was simple enough, and concerned only with how to divert his thoughts from whatever distress might be summoned in the future. But as he'd found out just the other day, it was more complicated than he'd thought—much more. But his fear and shame had started softening as soon as he made the first rough stabs at breaking the matter down and began to see that his emotions had been more complex than he'd allowed himself credit for.

He'd forced himself not to avoid the memory of the pain but to focus in on it enough to analyze it, break it up into something more comprehensible than a hard strike across the face. And he found that what he'd been so disgusted with himself for—that the thought of Pascal being happy was what had upset him so badly—wasn't really what had shaken him up so much. It wasn't even as simple as being upset merely by imagining Pascal with someone else. He'd pushed further than that and realized what it really was; his concept of Pascal with a new boyfriend was just a specific vehicle for a broader implication which was what had really cut him. The implication that Kip had actually, truly been replaced in Pascal's life, that everything Pascal had once felt for Kip was now directed at something else and so the love Pascal had for Kip was gone—so entirely that Pascal had no affection even for his memory.

What had torn him up was the notion that Pascal had stopped loving him. If he had realized that right off, he might have also known sooner that the pain he felt at that was evidence that he still loved Pascal fully and was kidding himself with his efforts to stop doing so simply by making the decision to "move on."

He knows that to get past his fear of causing Pascal the same pain he'd felt about the matter, he has to feel prepared to give Pascal the kind of information that is comforting him now—that his discovery of his love for Wallace has nothing to do with his love for Pascal—hasn't taken from it, hasn't eroded it, hasn't diminished it. The development of his feelings for Wallace haven't drained any of his love for anyone else in his life. And the love he has for the two of them in particular is unique; they're not vying for a single place in his heart. His feelings for them are as different as his relationships with them, yet part of the same love he has. It's the same with everyone he loves. To think of them all at once isn't to put them in competition with each other or dull the strength of his love for any of them—it just makes him feel each love layered over each other into something brilliant. 

Whenever he thinks of his love for Pascal and for Wallace simultaneously, the feelings don't conflict. If anything, they're even lovelier to think of together. He wants Pascal to know that none of this has anything to do with being dissatisfied with Pascal or loving him less or feeling as though he has to love Wallace to find forms of fulfillment that Pascal isn't providing. He needs Pascal to know he loves him more than ever, that thinking about Wallace like this only pushed him to new and deeper understanding and appreciation of his feelings about Pascal. 

He won't have any way to prove this to Pascal. He'll have to trust Pascal to believe him.

And even after all that, he had one more realization—one that also felt like something he'd known but hadn't yet put to words even in his own head. It was the simple understanding that even if he could now feel that being with Pascal would be safe for both of them, he knew that at some point along the line, however soon or distant, every relationship faced some form of an end, a separation. Even if it wasn't certain to be permanent, the pain as if it was certainly permanent would still be felt. And he's willing to take that on with Pascal. It doesn't even feel like a choice, his want for life with Pascal and for their strengthened connection and their mutual support and love is all so powerful that it overwhelms everything. He loves Pascal so much he'll take on the loss of him; he feels like he couldn't possibly choose not to. 

And he'll let Pascal take on his loss, too. 

—

Kip has a sort of bright energy inside him. He's still nervous and a little scared but he knows he can do this as much as he knows he loves Pascal. The relief of being rid of this gnawing anxious, shameful guilt outweighs the remaining trepidation. He can look Pascal in the face without fearing he must not think Pascal deserves the same complexity and individuality Kip does, fearing that he has a possessive, selfish, controlling love that believes Pascal can only prove his love for Kip by how little he loves everyone else in the face of his boyfriend. Now that Kip's dug out what had been the real anxiety at the core of his panic over Pascal's theoretical new boyfriend, such worries seem a little ridiculous as it's now obvious how much those notions repulse him and how foreign it seems from Kip's real feelings for Pascal and his understanding of how he loved him and felt loved in return. 

Besides, a good part of the credit goes to Pascal—he's never made Kip feel insecure no matter how many people Kip was sharing Pascal's attention with. Pascal was so earnest with him that Kip felt no less loved by Pascal across a room of twenty other people than when alone in bed, kissing each other to sleep. 

He loves Pascal so much for that. 

—

The pleasantness of his mood is apparently lasting. He just rests with the notebook for a while, occasionally flipping it open to thumb through the pages and look with admiration at the boldly written and energetically circled sentences that signal an instance of discovery or deepened understanding. It's not often he surprises himself in a positive way. And it seems like it'll stay with him the rest of the day.

He knows he's going to spend a little time tomorrow self-consciously preening again, partly as a coping mechanism to keep his nervousness from focusing in on concerns much more stressful than having remnants of bedhead or smelling too much—or too little—like sweat. But that doesn't stop him from spending a while on several largely superficial grooming habits: he scrubs under all his nails and files them to perfect smoothness, he takes a pair of scissors and grimaces at the bathroom mirror while trimming the hair behind the backs of his ears so it doesn't lie out of place, he rubs lotion into his elbows and hands and knees entirely for his own benefit, he methodically shaves his face, and he rubs balm into his lips. And then he absolutely lounges around, not bothering to work on or even research a new blog post or clean or do chores or worry about tomorrow or anything else. He's genuinely relishing it and doesn't feel at all guilty about that. All he does is water his plants, spend a silent minute or two with the photograph, and wash his teacup and saucer before he settles on the couch in a luxurious recline with a blanket draped over himself and a light book. 

He's there for over an hour, at times simply letting the book rest in his lap while he closes his eyes or stares at the ceiling and lets his thoughts drift to the nice topics it seems to be attracted to. During one such interlude he nestles further underneath the blanket and relaxes his whole body with several sighs. He's so calm and comfortable that it takes an unusually short time to recover from the surprise of being awakened by Molly's touch on his shoulder.

He takes a minute to collect his wits, during which he's glad to find that slipping into an accidental nap didn't reset his mood to something worse or rouse his anxiety again. He picks the book up from where it had fallen from his legs to the floor.

"How was things? And where's Roy?" he asks when Molly reappears.

She turns back towards him after pulling a bottle of juice from the fridge. 

"Pretty nice, and he's on his way back to the apartment now. Don't worry." She adds the last sentence before his anxieties even get a chance to nibble at the back of his mind, and he can't help but smile at how well he and Molly know each other. 

"How've you been?" She returns the question as she pours her drink.

"Alright. I feel...surprisingly okay about tomorrow."

"Yeah, you do seem to be in a pretty good mood about it." She beams him a smile and he affirms her observation with a small smile of his own. 

"I'm excited." He can hear the restraint in her voice; she's trying to keep the tone mostly matter-of-fact for his sake. 

"Me too."

They share the quiet for a minute or two before Kip hears Roy's laughter in the hall outside, and he's momentarily bemused before the door opens and Roy enters the apartment with a grin, followed by the more subdued presence of Wallace.

Kip sits further upright on the couch and can't help staring for a second or two before pulling himself together. For a moment he wishes Wallace didn't keep surprising him, and then he reminds himself that there's never been a point in their relationship that Wallace hasn't. He watches Roy and Molly greet each other and embrace, and then they both hug Wallace, and then—

"Hi, Roy," he manages as his ribcage is compressed in a tight hug, Roy apparently not minding having to stoop all the way down to the couch to do so. "Hi, Wallace," he adds once he can draw another breath.

"Hello." Wallace, similarly rumpled from the hug he'd received, sends Kip a smile.

Roy and Wallace explain how they ran into each other and Wallace explains how he and Kip ran into each other, which Kip confirms.

"I thought Wallace might like to hang out a little after working all day, holed up in the café." Roy laughs at himself.

"If you're not sick of his face," Molly says. Kip sees the playful smile shot his way as she jerks her head towards him, and when Wallace's gaze is led to him by her gesture, Kip sees the human's soft smile too.

"I'm not," Wallace answers as he and Kip hold each other's eyes for maybe a whole second, which is a lot too long for Kip when he's being complimented like that by someone he has a crush on. Kip tries to make his laugh sound like he interpreted the statement as the same kind of affectionate teasing he's getting from Molly, then quickly pretends his focus is consumed with adjusting the slip of paper he's using as a bookmark and making sure the edges of his folded blanket are exactly aligned. 

"Yeah, that handsome face never gets old," Roy contributes, which does nothing to help Kip's efforts not to look like he's desperately restraining his blush. "Want to sit down?"

Kip busies himself a little longer with random things within arm's reach as Roy settles on the couch beside him and Molly pulls over the chairs from the table for Wallace and herself so their group can be in something of a circle. By the time the other two settle, Kip's mostly wrangled in his nervousness.

They chat easily, the conversational flow easily sustained by their familiarity and Roy's loquaciousness. Their shared tone is pleasant and light and even a little silly, which is why Kip is caught off guard when it all suddenly slows way down by Molly asking if Wallace feels less lonely in District C.

Kip quickly glances between them, suddenly reminded of the surprise visit he'd paid Wallace and the extensive conversation they'd had, touching on such personal topics as the one addressed now. 

"I do feel a bit more at home," Wallace says. "At least, a lot more than when I first moved here. And even if I'm not fully settled in still—" He rubs the back of his head. "I feel way more familiar with and...positive about everything here. I used to be so much more intimidated about things. I had no idea how unprepared I was for an environment different from A. Things were so different there, socially. And in a lot of other ways," he adds.

Nobody has anything to say to that. 

"I can never regret being sent out here," Wallace continues, looking around at each of them. "Not the way everything's turned out. And I really do like it a lot better here. I used to miss A a lot more and wish I hadn't been transferred, but at some point during everything that happened I stopped thinking about wanting to go back. This actually does feel like my new home."

He smiles and Kip looks at his lap, half his thoughts occupied with remembering how this topic had led directly to him telling Wallace about his depression, the other half feeling glad for Wallace and a little flattered on behalf of their home district.

"That's so great, Wallace!" bursts Roy. "I'm so happy you're comfortable here." His genuine enthusiasm and smile are audible. 

"Yeah, Wallace, everybody loves having you around," Molly says. "You totally belong here."

"Thanks, guys." Wallace smiles and looks down with reddening cheeks. And then he glances up and catches Kip's stare.

Kip is startled, but only for an instant. He lets all the softness and fondness in his heart bleed into a smile to silently communicate his agreement with his friends' sentiments. The pink stain of Wallace's face intensifies and Kip feels his own smile grow even a touch warmer at the sight.

The whole exchange can't be longer than three seconds but for once, Kip waits for Wallace to be the one to pull away from the moment. Wallace looks back up at Roy, and Kip looks down at the floor, now smiling only to himself.

The conversation picks up again and it's about half an hour before Roy offers to make some food and invites Wallace to stay for it. Kip watches with some amusement as the usual exchange unfolds: Molly immediately seconds Roy's invitation, Wallace expresses uncertainty, there's a chorus of entreaties, Wallace good-naturedly caves, and Molly and Roy cheer and hop up to get started on the meal before he can change his mind.

They all end up in the kitchen, Molly sitting at the little table, Kip helping Roy, and Wallace leaning against the counter. Kip is mainly focused on the cooking and Molly and Wallace are having a cheerful conversation which Roy occasionally chimes in on. Kip is fairly tuned out of the pleasant flow of voices as he grows somewhat engrossed in making a sauce, but he's suddenly wrenched out of whisking and fully into the discussion he hasn't been registering for the past few minutes.

"—Pascal over tomorrow evening, but he hasn't told us what he's going to make yet. But it has to be something special since it'll be the first time we've had Pascal over here."

"Oh, yeah?" Wallace says.

"Uh-huh, you know, the guy with the tea shop, tall, huge, gorgeous—"

"I know, I remember," Wallace interrupts Molly's description with a laugh while Kip blushes at it. 

"The three of us used to live with him, after—we moved out of C." Kip notices her microscopic pause and realizes just as quickly that she had redirected her sentence away from any mention of the fire. 

"Right, Kip told me that a while ago," Wallace says. "In that first week we'd all met, actually."

"Really?" 

Kip sees both Molly and Roy turn to look at him and he realizes he must look like a deer in the headlights.

"Yeah, the first time Kip went with me for my work we ran into... Well, I took Kip to Pascal's shop. That was before I'd known that—they knew each other." 

Kip notices Wallace's tiny hesitation as well. He has to guess that Wallace was avoiding describing his and Pascal's relationship in more intimate terms, but he doesn't know exactly why. He figures if it was him, he might not want to risk mislabeling other people's history with specifics like "exes" or "dated" or "boyfriends," but Wallace has never been as carefully tactful—and in fact has a bad habit of forging ahead on faulty assumptions when trying to be friendly.

"It's true," Roy says. "Tomorrow's gonna be the first time all four of us have been together since we moved back. I've been so excited ever since we made the plans..."

Kip takes hold of Roy's wrist closest to him and squeezes gently, and when Roy turns to look at him Kip gives him a soft smile, knowing how much this means to him and Molly and how it's all been for his own sake that it's taken so much time for them all to be reunited like this. How it's only out of their respect for his own unilateral decisions that Pascal was separated from their group in the first place.

"I might be the professional baker here, but I don't think I've ever known anyone who can cook as well as Kip can when he's really trying," Molly continues. 

"Aw."

Kip smiles at her too and returns to the mixing bowl, somewhat hoping the topic moves away from Pascal. The idea of talking with Wallace about Pascal isn't necessarily bad, but he's already stressed about tomorrow and to do so would only exacerbate his tension.

When they're all holding a bowl of the meal Kip and Roy put together, Kip has to imagine the scene tomorrow when he makes more room at the table and serves multiple dishes and Pascal is with them for the first time. It might also be the first time they've had dinner with a guest two evenings in a row—and with Kip usually working closing shifts, it's sometimes easy for even the three of them to go awhile without having a meal together more than once every few days. 

He remains mostly quiet, as he was when Wallace arrived, as he was when they all moved into the kitchen, as he usually is without the presence of those who tend to inspire his more outgoing side—Kate, Eno, and Pascal, mainly. 

And, on rare occasion, Ben. He feels a twist at that and quickly hardens it, choosing to set it aside and keep it there until thinking about it can do something besides tighten his nerves and temper. He doesn't want to spoil the best mood he's had in a while or his ability to fully appreciate the nice time they're all having right now.

It happens to have the effect of encouraging him to speak up more often in the interest of not only bolstering that appreciation of the present moment but also preventing himself from being able to brood over his issues with Ben. But he soon finds that his efforts to talk a bit more aren't taking an effort at all, and he's laughing with the others instead of being caught up in any self-consciousness, self-doubt, or self-loathing.

They talk for about another hour until Roy's phone beeps with a reminder that he meant to run a load or two of laundry, and Wallace says he'll head back to his own apartment and thanks them for the dinner, and Molly offers to help Roy carry the clothes down and points out that Wallace can make the trip to the first floor alongside them. 

When Roy and Molly go down the hallway to their rooms to gather up everything they need, Kip turns and enters the kitchen and stacks the bowls by the sink, then jumps to hear Wallace's "Hey" so close behind him. 

"Wallace," he says automatically, turning to face him.

"Good, uh, good luck with tomorrow," Wallace says, smiling and rubbing the back of his head again. 

"Thank you." Kip laughs nervously and feels his face warm up. 

Wallace steps forward into his space and Kip is immobilized as Wallace surrounds him in a hug. It's immediately different from the one at the café, less a casual hello-goodbye gesture and more intimate, deliberate. It's definitely much more physical—Wallace tucks his nose behind Kip's ear and his hands slide in across the small of Kip's back until Wallace's arms are looped around him there, gently pulling their stomachs together. Kip curves his spine towards Wallace to make the embrace fit more naturally, and realizes he's being held, and realizes that—right, he's holding his breath. His thoughts are scrambling so impulse is all he has to go on, which leads him to bring his hands up to Wallace's shoulderblades to return the embrace. Wallace's breaths are warm and gently blow against strands of his hair and when Kip finally draws in a breath of his own it pushes his stomach against Wallace's and then he thinks that if their chests were together too Wallace would surely be able to feel the thump of his heartbeat. Wallace draws a slow, deep inhale, tightening the hug slightly as he does, and then loosens it, but doesn't let go as Kip expects him to.

Instead, he puts his hands feather-light on Kip's waist, moves his face to the side of Kip's, and presses a kiss to his cheek. It's gone as quickly as it came, barely more lingering than a rushed peck, but it stops Kip's breath again. He brings his hands back to his sides and is so surprised that he still hasn't managed to enter his fake-composure autopilot mode before Wallace is looking at him and all he can do is stare back and know he must be blushing ferociously—the spot where Wallace kissed him practically burns. 

Wallace smiles at him so fondly that for a seizing instant Kip thinks Wallace is going to lean in and kiss his lips. Before he can decide how he would react to that, Wallace touches him on the side of his forearm and laughs softly.

"You really do have such a nice face," he murmurs, and Kip opens his mouth to give a reply he doesn't have, and then Molly laughs and Kip's heart suffers another lurch, this time from fear as he snaps his gaze over to see if she's seen them staring at each other while standing much too close and with what must be a thousand-watt blush spread across his face and Wallace is blushing too and his hand is still on Kip's shoulder after all, except he's just removed it and is moving and pivoting away. Kip is measurelessly relieved that neither Molly nor Roy have appeared yet to have caught that moment but he hears them walking back over and he turns back towards the kitchen sink and puts both hands on the counter, trying for deep breaths. 

"Ready?" Roy asks.

"Yep," Wallace answers, and any strain in his casual delivery is so slight that Kip can't be sure he isn't imagining it. 

"I'll get the door," Molly says. Kip hears her turn the knob and the soft drag of the door's base sweeping across the carpet. "Be back in a few minutes, Kip!"

"Okay," he says. He looks over his shoulder after a second and watches Wallace and Roy following her out, barely catching a glimpse of Wallace glancing back at him as well before the human passes out of sight and the door clicks closed behind them. 

Kip walks calmly back to the couch and drops onto it, leaning his head against the back cushion and staring up at nothing, distractedly touching his lips.

"Oh god," he whispers.

—

Kip stays in the kitchen washing a few dishes, waiting for Roy and Molly's return to help him shake off the feeling his head is spinning.

When they do, they immediately draw Kip back into conversation as though they can sense he needs it. And soon enough the topic turns to the next dinner.

"How do you feel? Do you feel ready?" Roy asks as he searches Kip's expression for clues to the answer.

Kip nods.

"I'm—I'm pretty nervous but it's definitely good that this is happening. And yeah, I'm a little excited."

"It'll be fine," Roy says emphatically, taking hold of Kip's shoulders. "Pascal is such a nice person, you know how he doesn't mind even if things go wrong. Plus, we'll be here!" 

Kip returns the comforting smile. 

"Thank you. Both of you," he adds over Roy's shoulder to Molly. "I know you this matters just as much to you guys but it still means a lot that you're gonna be here."

Roy sweeps him smoothly into a hug and Kip laughs quietly.

At the end of another hour, the laundry has been moved to the dryer and then brought back to the apartment, and Roy and Molly have started preparing for bed, both of them getting up early while Kip has the day off. He sets in to washing the rest of the dishes and by the time he's done, both the others have bade him goodnight and offered encouragements about the next day. 

His excitement about Pascal's visit is stronger than his apprehension about his planned do-over of their talk, and the thrill of what just occurred with Wallace is drowning out most other potential distractions. 

It feels amazing.

He knows there's a chance that by this time tomorrow things will seem awful and he'll be as proportionally crushed as he is exhilarated now. So he's going to enjoy this feeling as it's happening.

—

Kip had already been thinking about it before he ran into Wallace at the café, before Wallace showed up at the apartment, and before Wallace held him and kissed his face and then told him he was attractive, but all of that only provides even more encouragement for his plans to indulge himself again by imagining what Wallace might be like as his lover.

It's not as if his curiosity has only now been truly piqued, but he's still new to openly embracing the concept. And new to enjoying it like this, sprawled out naked on his bed and getting a little turned on simply by resting a hand on his own chest.

How could he not let himself fantasize about it, when he wants to take off as many edges as possible for tomorrow, when he'd been wanting to think about this even before Wallace had shown him how it felt to have their bodies curved so closely with their arms around each other and with Wallace's kiss on his cheek. 

Kip's mind had been racing too fast and the kiss had been too brief to give him a detailed memory of what Wallace's lips felt like, but he has a fairly solid idea that although the surface was a little rough as though slightly chapped, they were soft. His eyes slide shut as he imagines them against his own.

He does wonder what Wallace is like in bed, and how they'd be in bed, together. He knows he likes to think of pushing Wallace onto his back, pinning him to the bed by putting his hands on Wallace's shoulders as he leans over him, watching every twitch of his expression as he fucks him into the mattress. He cups himself at the thought and starts slowly rolling his hips. 

But he wonders if Wallace would want to try being the one driving things, and rolls over to imagine Wallace grinding on his ass, holding him in place, maybe threading his fingers into his hair and pulling his head back so he can bite Kip's neck as he fucks him. He wonders if Wallace would try being even a little forceful or rough with him, if either of them would enjoy that at all. He wonders if they would ever compete for dominance, or if Wallace would always let him control things at the first sign of even playful conflict. 

He knows he likes to bottom slightly more often than not. On occasion he has fantasies of being fucked by a large group, being in the center of things with a dick against his own and another in his mouth, another in his ass, one in each hand, held upright while being thoroughly fucked and feeling everyone else cum one at a time until he has to jerk himself off until someone else does it for him, hands and mouths all over him while he’s worked up to orgasm. He doubts if that would even make the list of situations he'd like to try in reality, but sometimes in the security and control of his own thoughts it turns him on.

But he'd definitely like getting fucked by Wallace and Pascal at the same time. He thinks of being between them, whether all of them are lying on their sides or he's on his hands and knees or someone fucks him in the ass while the other sucks him off or he's rimmed while giving a blowjob or he's the one getting his dick sucked while the other gropes and massages every inch of his body and kisses him deeply. He thinks about being cushioned on either side by a warm, naked body, someone pressed up against both his back and front, feeling their growing erections press against him, hot and hard.

Like most of his fantasies, he doesn't exactly expect any of that to become reality. But he can embellish it with the knowledge of how it feels to have sex with Pascal, and his fledgling familiarity with Wallace's body, and the simple ability to picture their faces, and that all makes it that much more consuming. But regardless of whether it could happen in the first place, he doesn't know if he could be as unguarded and fully vulnerable in front of Wallace as he is around Pascal, if he wouldn't feel the need to maintain a slight façade and restraint with the human rather than be fully exposed and completely, defenselessly trusting. And he doesn't know how Wallace would take to being in bed with Pascal, if he would enjoy the embrace of Pascal's arms or would find it repulsive. 

He shakes off the derailment of the scene—Wallace recoiling or cringing or refusing to be touched by a monster or—

Wallace isn't like that. His passing moments of discomfort around monsters, of wide-eyed staring or flinching or trembling hands, though recorded vividly in Kip's memory, are from the earliest weeks of Wallace's arrival. Never mind the genuine fear that Kip had sometimes sparked in Wallace when the temperature dropped and he bared his fangs as each syllable he hurled at Wallace rang with cold fury. It wasn't surprising; monsters largely had the involuntary ability to invoke fear, and Kip had a provokable temper. Never mind the extra cushion of space between them that Wallace seemed unable to breach afterwards, or how he watched Kip's movements like his life depended on it, and Kip had hated and deeply resented that he couldn't always just be angry, as humans could, without being seen as the human idea of a deadly, vicious, horrible monster.

The mood really isn't being helped by this mental detour. Kip bites his lip to refocus his attention and reminds himself that he's dealing with their present situation, not the past, and he knows Wallace isn't repulsed by him. He's just gotten triplicate evidence suggesting the contrary, after all.

He heaves a long sigh and imagines if their first time together might be careful and deliberate and sweet. If Wallace would be both eager and a little nervous to see Kip's body and would welcome the feeling of Kip's hands on his. If they'd kiss for a long time, if Wallace's tongue would touch his fangs, if they'd put their mouths on each other's bodies. If Wallace would want to cuddle him. If he could abandon self-consciousness enough to be noisy with Wallace, if Wallace made sounds of his own, what they might be like. He imagines they might be rough, small moans, a little urgent yet subdued in volume, as though he didn't entirely intend for them to be heard but couldn't help it. He wonders if he could coax Wallace into being louder. 

He wonders if he could be gentle and sweet enough to relax away Wallace's nervousness if needbe. He imagines holding Wallace flush against himself, rubbing his back, pressing his mouth to the base of Wallace neck and murmuring comforting words to him—

He's imagining them having just climbed onto a bed. Wallace is leaning back against the pillows and Kip lies beside him, partially leaning against him, hooking a leg in between Wallace's. He has a hand resting on Wallace's hip, pressing gently, with his thumb underneath Wallace's shirt, rubbing back and forth over his bare skin. Kip is planting light kisses across Wallace's cheek and chin and pulls back to look at him. How it would feel to hold each other's gaze, to be so close he could lean in and encourage the light blush across Wallace's nose by kissing it. To lie down overtop him, letting his own weight push their bodies together, and feel Wallace rest an arm across his back.

Wallace's hand sliding up into his shirt, or down his pants, or across his naked body, his hands, his palms, his—

Kip sighs and tangles the bedsheet in his fists. The stifling tension from the accidental detour of his thoughts is now mostly faded, the last remnants of it melting away as Kip imagines Wallace's fingertips ghosting across his skin. Swirling around his back, shoulders, chest. He rubs the tip of his erection and rolls his head back to expose his throat to the imagined Wallace, who has one hand firmly cupping his ass while the other scratches lightly between Kip's shoulderblades. The idea of such gentleness is turning Kip on a lot more than he thought it would.

He wonders if Wallace is one to use pet names, and how he might refer to Kip if he did. He almost laughs at the thought of Wallace calling him sweetheart or honey or babe—until suddenly he's imagining it being whispered into his ear as Wallace hugs him to his chest and pets his cheek with his thumb and murmurs reassurance and affection.

Kip exhales gradually; his heart is certainly beating a little harder. He strokes himself slowly, now thinking of lying on his back with Wallace lying on top of him, painting his throat with kisses while Kip slides and winds his fingers through Wallace's hair. He thinks of Wallace's mouth latching onto the side of his neck, leisurely sucking at him, teeth and tongue working against his skin. He sighs and starts rocking into his hand.

Being underneath Wallace must feel so different from being under Pascal. He's so much smaller, leaner, slighter—Kip wonders if he could actually lift Wallace off the ground if he got a good stance and really tried. Unless Wallace possesses some incredible wiry strength that's heretofore been entirely hidden, Kip doubts Wallace would have much more success lifting him up either, even though he's a little shorter. It’s pretty incredible that Pascal was so huge and strong that he could casually scoop Kip up off his feet and hold his entire body in his arms and even carry him around. He wouldn't particularly want Wallace to try replicating that. But he thinks about how he could maybe lift Wallace up onto a countertop or table. Surely Wallace could manage the same in turn.

If they were simply standing up, he could reach up and pull Wallace's head down onto his shoulder and thread their fingers together. He could bring Wallace to the bed and start things out slow and see what got Wallace worked up and tease him with that and finally let Wallace fuck him as hard as he wants—since, despite giving himself fairly regular orgasms, Kip's been suffering his own solid year of sexual frustration, and he really, really wants to be fucked hard and hot and desperate. He could push Wallace up against the wall and grind on him relentlessly until they both came in their pants as though it was a bathroom tryst. There are so many unknowns and so many things he wants all at once that his thoughts are jumping all over from one image and scenario to the next.

Back to the fingertips trailing over his body. Lingering at his chest. Wallace's mouth on his, chapped lips coaxing Kip's further open until Wallace flicks his tongue inside and Kip gasps and tightens his hold on Wallace's hips.

Then Kip is on his back, slowly stroking himself, exactly as he is now, but Wallace is sitting between his legs, watching. He tries to imagine Wallace saying anything but only wonders what his words would be if the scenario was real. And where on his body Wallace would touch first. He thinks of how he wants to touch Wallace—he wants to curl his hands around the human's wrists and slide them up his arms and rest his head against his thigh and kiss the very front of his throat and run his palms over his back and wrap his body around Wallace's and spread his fingers as they slip down to cup his ass. He wants to start grinding them together and he wants to turn Wallace's face so he's looking right at Kip and he wants to rub against him while holding eye contact, bodies warm and close and so much soft skin against his, he wants to see Wallace starting to fall apart, twitching and whimpering and clutching tighter at Kip while their thrusts get stronger and faster and it all becomes messily desperate but Kip keeps everything just steady enough to be able to lean in and catch every little sound Wallace makes during orgasm.

He accidentally lets out a fraction of a whine and bites down on his lip; he can tell he's getting close and just wants to cum—his mind is all over the place, and interrupting himself every time he jumps from one image to another makes it difficult to concentrate on reaching his climax. He wants so much more from Wallace than can possibly fit into one imagined encounter but he focuses in on a single scenario anyways.

Kip takes a few deep breaths, the roll of his hips sharpening into a steady, rapid rock. He's fucking his hand—Wallace's hand. Wallace is planting kisses across his shoulders that are so gentle he must consider Kip someone worth his love and care. Kip cradles Wallace's head against himself. Their chests are brushing together, their cocks are rubbing together, their fingers entwine.

Now he can feel his approaching orgasm—he thinks of Wallace's arms around his body and works his erection, teasing the base and head, rapidly bucking into his hand. 

"Wallace," he breathes. It's so easy to whisper, as though that's the only way his name should be said. Completely the opposite of Kip's name, which is just a little interruption of an exhale with another interruption right on its heels. Wallace's name is so soft, can be lengthened as much as one wants, drawn out into a tender sigh. "Wallace—"

He pushes himself just a little bit more and cums within ten seconds.

Among his first coherent thoughts is wondering if Wallace would want to watch that happen. 

He wants to make Wallace orgasm and see it unfold in front of him. He'd give Wallace a few seconds and then cuddle up to him, kissing his face and stroking his hair.

Kip runs his clean hand through his own hair, then gets up to wipe off his torso, slip into his pajamas, and wash his face and hands before setting his alarm and lying down for sleep.

He decides that, however things turn out, he needs to be fucked by somebody soon. 

—

Kip's nightmare is a surprising throwback, one of the simplest, but one that he used to have years and years ago, after his nightmares had morphed from breathstealing replays of the fire but long before the beginning of the nightmares leading up to and after the move back to C—ones where he wasn't losing his family, but rather already knew they were gone while he repeatedly failed to bring them back.

It interrupted a dream that had been banal and meaningless but not unpleasant, until suddenly he passed through a doorway into a space that was so dark he could detect no walls or ceiling and only knew there was a floor by feeling it under his feet. When he turned around to see what had happened to the light that should've been pouring in from the doorway, he saw that it had vanished into more of the same abyssal space. 

That was when he recognized what was happening and felt his heart plunge into frigid terror. He was alone and no one could help and nobody even knew he was gone and he was going to die there if he couldn't find a way out. His footsteps sounded dull, almost muted, as if the space was either too small or too vast for echoes. The air felt close and thick and he had to draw heavy breaths to get enough oxygen. 

It took all of his nerve to start taking the first few timid steps forward, his dread so powerful he was shivering from his fingers up to his shoulders. Eventually he achieved a cautious but steady pace, searching for any variation in the featureless darkness that seemed to extend endlessly in every direction. He could tell that in the back of his mind he knew how this was going to turn out, and that knowledge felt intensely important, but as hard as he tried he couldn't remember what it actually was.

Something horrible was going to happen, he knew that much. Something that would make him feel as scared and endangered and helpless and exposed as he ever had. He had to escape before that happened. Or else he was in some form of hell where he was going to he forced through that no matter what he did—where something wanted it to happen to him, which made his heart pound even louder in his throat and slowed his footsteps further.

Just when he was considering sitting down where he was and waiting for something to happen, he saw something he'd all but given up on. His eyes must have adjusted to what he'd thought was pitch blackness because now he could see an even darker shape a little ways ahead of him. He thought he could make out the silhouette of a head and he squinted until he was fairly certain it was a figure sitting down, huddled in on itself. And then just a little further away he saw another figure, this one sitting more upright.

For a moment he thought they must be like him, people who'd gotten lost and wandered until they elected to just stay put and wait. And then the thought occurred to him that maybe it was his family, and they were the ones who were trapped and in danger and he was supposed to rescue them.

"Hey," he said, before he could help himself. His voice was small, barely a murmur, yet it seemed to be the loudest sound that had ever existed in the space.

And in the precise instant he had spoken, he knew he had all but sentenced himself to death. He knew they weren't his family, they weren't like him, they weren't lost. They were waiting. And he had stumbled so close to them and just announced his presence and now they knew he was there, and they were going to get him, and they wanted to kill him and they wanted him to feel as much fear and pain as he could before they did. 

Kip was immobilized with terror. He stared at the still-unmoving shapes, knowing he had to run and he had nowhere to go. But the moment he made a move they were going to start chasing him. But if he stayed still they would eventually stir and advance on him anyhow. But if he ran he would have to turn his back on them and he would feel pure fear, even worse than the painful grip of horror that was filling him with ice that very moment. He was too afraid of that fear to move, to doom himself to increasing panic as he hurled himself away from the figures until suddenly hard, cold hands got him and yanked him back and he thrashed and screamed and then somehow he's already thrashing and screaming and suddenly his eyes open and he's awake.

His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his chest and he still has the fear, lying in bed staring up at his darkened ceiling, still struck motionless by the crushing grip of panic. His brain finally processes the observation that he's lying in bed and he knows he's awake but he still has this childish terror that tells him one of those things might be in his room, and if he moves his head to look he'll not only have to acknowledge that, but also risk letting it know he's awake. 

He's already ridiculously afraid when he has the additional idea that it might be right next to his bed, only a foot or two away from him, waiting for him to move, waiting for him to turn and see it right in front of his eyes. That scares him horribly and he has to concentrate hard on staring up at one exact spot on the wall and convincing his sleep-confused thoughts that he was only dreaming, he's only had a nightmare, now that he's awake it's over, of course there's nothing in his room, of course there's nothing that would have the sole motivation to Get Him, to scare him.

It still takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to work up the courage to reach out and find the tail of his string of fairy lights and carefully work the plug into the outlet. Their glow seems incredibly warm and bright and immediately lifts the dread upon him—though he still retains a tiny amount of trepidation when he finally glances out at the rest of the room to confirm he's safe.

It takes a while for him to breathe out the tension left from the nightmare and from replaying it in his mind. He remembers how he used to have it semi-regularly, how he'd be saved by Pascal, hearing his own name start to seep into the dream at the height of his fear when he was running as hard as he could but it wasn't fast at all and his voice was a hoarse whisper and he couldn't open his eyes and they had him in their stabbing grip and there were teeth at his back and he could barely struggle against it.

"Pascal—" His voice would come out a faint wheeze as he curled in, trying to stop one of the things from clawing at his stomach. Pascal's voice would seem so close, as though he was right next to Kip, and Kip would try desperately to answer, voice weakening even further as he lost even the strength to defend himself. But he'd then realize that he wasn't being attacked anymore, and he wasn't in the dream anymore, he wasn't anywhere—until he got some vague, indirect understanding that he wasn't awake and would finally be pulled into consciousness. Whereupon Pascal would be kneeling beside him and saying his name and would wipe sweat and tears off his face with one soft arm and hold tightly to the whole length of Kip's arm with the other.

He doesn't like being alone now, still unavoidably on edge. He's just nervous. It's simply a matter of fact that it's one of his most high-stress nightmares, the kind that would wake up those around him before it woke him up, that often made him struggle and cry out in his sleep even more noticeably than other bad dreams. The fear is so strong that, although imaginary, it's not just something that he can shrug off upon waking; he has to let it slowly ease away. It lingers with him. 

Pascal used to lie beside him, curled against his body, whispering in his ear and kissing his temple and stroking his chest until its rapid rising and falling abated into deep, slow breathing that moved his stomach instead.

His thoughts clear further as he remembers that those nights are solidly in the past and Pascal—

Pascal is coming over. 

For one nonsensical moment he's worried he's slept through the whole day and missed the dinner and now it's too late—until he checks the time on his phone to see its still the middle of the night.

He sighs and slips his hands up under his shirt to rest on his stomach, trying both to focus on his breathing and warm the chill in his fingers. If he'd had a choice, this wouldn't be part of the night before their dinner together. But he knows he has more than enough experience with ugly nightmares to usually be all but completely unaffected the next day. 

He closes his eyes and thinks of the notebook where he'd scribbled his thoughts and worked out some of his most intimidating and complicated feelings. No matter what mood he wakes up in, he's still in a much more solid place to talk to Pascal than when he'd made the prior attempt. 

But right now there's another problem—not unsolvable, but potentially very inconvenient. He's just nervous to go back to sleep. Instead of a familiar, private sanctuary, his room just feels like an isolating space. He feels cornered in his bed, vulnerable to the dream.

He thinks of what it'll be like to be waiting for Pascal, knowing he could arrive any moment. He knows that the anticipation is going to give him all the energy he'll need to get through the whole day and more. But he wants as much sleep as he can get while still having enough time to prepare for the evening without feeling rushed. So he sits up and starts gathering up the blankets.

He ignores a little shiver of fear as he slides his feet off his bed—with a momentary bitter recollection of every "monster under the bed" joke he's ever been subjected to—and takes his phone, covers, and pillow out into the living room, making the couch into his bed. 

He gives himself an extra half hour on his alarm and nestles under the blankets, shifting until his hipbone is comfortably supported and his legs aren't crowded. He looks out over the room, appreciating the little pieces of light scattered across the room: glowing streetlight easing through curtains, the bright, warm bar under the door, the blinking clock display on the stove. He tells himself not to be afraid of having another bad dream, and with that goal in mind, he draws a long inhale and closes his eyes. 

He thinks of Wallace's kiss. He thinks of Pascal's face. He thinks of a hot bath and the sound of rain and burying himself in one of Pascal's hoodies. He thinks of the familiar sound of the espresso machine at work, and how Roy's hands are always warm, the sweet scent of lilacs, the view from his old bedroom from over half a decade ago, where the window looked out through the leaves of a tree and he could look out and see birds alight in its branches. He thinks of listening to music on a walk, being hugged by his friends, and looking up at the evening sky and feeling completely in the moment. He thinks of bursting into laughter during a night out. He thinks of his family. He thinks of a fresh cup of tea on a cold day. He thinks of the softness of the blankets. He thinks of the pleasantly quiet hum of the refrigerator. He thinks of Pascal, deeply asleep. He thinks of his breathing. He thinks of his stillness. He thinks of his warmth.

—

He's awoken, but only just, by quiet noises that he recognizes as Roy even though he's much more asleep than not. He hovers just above the surface of complete unconsciousness but nothing wakes him up any further—though the loudest, most conspicuous person Kip's ever known and sometimes erring on being obtrusive, Roy is also incredibly sensitive to others and can be subtle and silent when needbe. Kip can barely distinguish the sound of speech from movement and though he doesn't process it, he gets the feeling he's heard his name. 

He's not sure what he mumbles against his pillow but he's dimly aware of a gentle touch stroking across his hair. And then a door softly closes and the room is still again and dreams bleed into his thoughts.

When his alarm sounds, he rouses almost immediately into clear-headedness, yet is a bit glad to sense that he'd been in a deep state of sleep. And probably had been for so long prior that Molly's departure for work, though only about a half hour after Roy's, didn't seem to have woken him up at all.

Within seconds it hits him that Pascal's going to be in his home today. Today. It gets him upright and moving at once.

—

It doesn't matter how the conversation afterwards is going to turn out. He's going to be seeing Pascal in the most intimate context yet since their breakup, and nothing can extinguish his excitement for that.

—

Kip fixes himself a light breakfast and then opens his bedroom window to feel the temperature outside—it's a bit humid and feels hot even to him. He puts on one of his few pairs of shorts and a tank top and after brushing his teeth spends about eight seconds in front of the mirror, wrinkling his nose at his reflection as he hastily brushes his hair into place.

He's moving quickly, but his energy doesn't feel too nervous. His thoughts are quick and focused but aren't jumbling up—they orbit a mental image of an itinerary for the day. He's already on track, not having overslept or skipped breakfast or forgotten to water his plants and move them to his windowsill. He arms himself with his wallet, keys, and phone (which he keeps glancing at) and goes out the door, down the hall, flows down the stairwell and out a side door.

His steps are quick and sure and it takes no effort to keep his head lifted and his eyes fixed on the horizon line. He's always had a slightly stiff posture compared to others, but when he's focused he has a formal carriage as though he's royalty—he developed it early, in part to seem taller and more mature when walking with his brother and in part to fake confidence when he really felt anxious or out of place. Now it's simply natural whenever he feels conscious of his own body, whether in a positive or negative way—though at times his friends tease him for it and tell him to relax a little, it seems to give him a bit of a protective bubble around strangers. Maybe it's because of that or maybe it's because his concerns are elsewhere, but he doesn't notice anyone staring at him or doing a double-take as he goes by.

He feels just as purposeful at the store, giving a little extra attention to the fresh produce he's selecting. He doesn't want to give the impression he's made anything fancy or is trying to impress Pascal, but rather wants to make the dinner seem like an easygoing, everyday thing, as though Pascal has already been in their new home scores of times—but he still wants to ensure the simple meal is as good as he can make it. And that means taking the time to make sure the colors of the peppers he's getting look good together.

Collecting the packaged ingredients he needs is a quicker task, though he has a momentary shakeup when he sees boxed sets of cutlery and realizes he hadn't considered that the edges of their flat-handled ones would press uncomfortably into Pascal's soft arms. He takes a moment to pick a certain color of rounded plastic handles—sage green—and tucks a small set into his basket.

Then his phone buzzes and his whole body twitches. He slips it quickly from his pocket and sees it isn't Pascal—it's Kate.

"Just heard about your big date," her text read. "Tell that guy to come visit you at the café sometimes too because i only got to meet him a couple of times and that was years ago. Also try to have a good time or something."

He can guess she'd want to add "and try not to fuck this up" if they were talking in person so her tone could strike that perfect balance between joking and genuine. 

He quickly sends a response: "Thanks. I'll tell you about how it goes later. but texting at work? i can't believe you." He and Kate have about a dozen ongoing games they play to help buoy each other's mood while working, all absurd and all ignored by Cuddy. They pretend to be intensely focused cooks during a rush at a busy restaurant when there's only a handful of customers in the café. They act like saboteurs trying to impede each other in ways too tiny and childish to have any real effect, such as Kate nudging his writing hand while he tries to label a paper cup, or him simply untying her apron with a casual tug. They pretend to be longtime girlfriend and boyfriend when any customers get a bit too friendly. And, like he's invoking now, they pretend to be fierce competitors vying to replace the other and exchange any criticism they can invent.

He hasn't even put his phone away before her text arrives.

"darling. i would never."

He shoots a wry smile at the ceiling as though it's in on the joke and slides his phone back into his pocket. He remembers how just the other day Kate became the only person he'd informed of his crush on Wallace, barring his therapy appointments. He supposes he has updated news for her now—not to mention an explanation or two about why he confided a crush to her right before she found out he was having someone else over for dinner. And he knows he should—and maybe even can—finally let Molly and Roy know about it as well. But he wants Pascal to be the first person he really, fully discusses it with. And he wants to keep it between just them for a bit.

—

He keeps getting little fluttery kicks of energy in his chest while he walks home. He takes the steps up two at a time despite the moderately heavy bag on each arm and even the difficulty of opening the apartment door doesn't break his flow. He puts the bags on the counter and has everything organized and put away within the minute. 

Then he starts cleaning. He starts with the countertops and stovetop and tabletop. Then he mops and vacuums. He cleans the bathroom, including the shower and cleaning off the mirror and wiping the floor down and changing all the towels. He runs the vacuum over the couch. He rubs some oil into the desk. He scrubs spots from the walls and dusts flat surfaces and ends up generally being a bit more thorough than he intended, but he just tries to make sure he doesn't do anything that might make him sore and doesn't worry about it beyond that. He has plenty of time before Pascal arrives.

He takes a break after he finishes cleaning and cracks open his window for warmth while he lies back on his bed, putting a pillow under his lower legs. The room is periodically bathed in a breeze flowing through, once or twice carrying the scent of his flowers to him. 

He can't help running a finger along the edge of his phone every now and then, waiting for it to hum with a text or call.

After a small lunch he starts preparing a few ingredients for later, cutting up peppers and mixing together a simple sauce and setting out some of the bowls and pans he anticipates needing later. He makes himself relax for a bit again, sitting with his laptop as he steeps a cup of tea.

He cleans some more when he finds he feels like he ought to be busying himself with something and decides he wouldn't mind wiping down the baseboard that runs around the perimeter of the room. Then he stares at his phone until he convinces himself the fact that it's mid-afternoon makes it reasonable for him to send a text.

He types a little nervously—he'd never texted Pascal before moving into C, and it's unfamiliar—and writes out a greeting followed by the question of what time he expects to be able to come over, and then with slight unavoidable tension he carefully asks if Pascal would have time for the second attempt at the conversation, making sure to add that he understands if it's not a good time for it and is more than willing to make sure whenever it takes place is at Pascal's convenience. He forces himself to stop needlessly editing unimportant word choices and send it off.

He waits a few minutes and then picks up the bedding he's left on the couch and carries it back to his bedroom. While there he decides to take care of another thing: trying to further blunt the part of his sexual frustration related specifically to Pascal. He strips off all his clothes save his underwear and quickly decides on what he wants to think of to reach orgasm; he wants to focus on his attraction to Pascal, but not in a way that will encourage him to think about their sexual tension all evening, just as something to burn off so he can set it aside more easily. So he quickly decides on a memory involving him and Pascal spontaneously having sex one afternoon, when they were both turned on to begin with and simply dove into it. It was relatively brief but it was fun and good and ridiculously passionate.

An erection is beginning even before he starts touching himself. It's easy to run through the memory of the encounter's rapid initiation—Pascal had arrived home and barely took a moment to strip off his jacket before sweeping Kip up into an embrace, greeting him warmly as Kip giggled and buried his face in Pascal's chest while tightly hugging his waist. Both were more than ready for the reunion, Kip having spoken with him when Pascal called during a break, having made a comment about wanting the pleasure of his company and getting a response that said Pascal had been thinking exactly along those same lines. They basked in the anticipation until Pascal returned and they drew together so immediately they might as well have been magnetized.

Kip straddles the corner of his bed and draws the blankets toward himself until they're heaped underneath him, then sinks down onto them. He takes his pillows and hugs them to his chest as he remembers their kissing escalating with mutual eagerness until within seconds they were making out deeply and laughing during the quick pauses for air. And just as quickly they were touching each other all over, feeling and groping and shoving fabric aside. Kip had undone the front of his pants to give himself more room, somewhat clumsy in his haste to return his hands to Pascal's body, and then, while holding Kip firmly against himself, Pascal had moved one foot a few inches forward so that his leg slid between Kip's.

And in a hot and ebullient rush towards climax Kip had worked at Pascal through his pants while humping his thigh and kissing him and licking his tongue and pushing his shirt up to his armpits as he dragged his fingers all over Pascal's torso and massaged his chest, feeling up his waist and hips and back as well, sometimes gripping his ass for leverage to shove his hips harder against him. And in the midst of a rapturously messy crescendo Pascal pushed an arm down the back of Kip's pants and in not twenty seconds Kip had tipped over the edge.

He nuzzles his face enthusiastically into the pillow, not even caring that he has to gasp for breath. He saturates his thoughts with the memory of the climax and grinds hard against the mattress and blankets until he jerks forward, choking out a few sharp cries. 

Even after the tension from his buildup fades into the soft glow from his orgasm, Kip remains still for a bit, sucking in deep breaths and lying flat on his stomach. Then he slides off the bed and removes his underwear, wiping himself off with them and then taking them into the bathroom. He runs bitterly cold water from the bath and soaks the cloth with it, scrubbing them, wringing them out, and repeating the process several times more.

He's shivering from the chill of the water eating into the warmth he'd gained from when he'd worked himself up and came, and he hurriedly turns the knob from the coldest temperature to the hottest and diverts the water overhead. He switches on the vents and climbs into the shower, turning in place for several minutes to let the warm water flow thoroughly over every part of him. Then he scrubs himself off head to toe and rinses off the soap before working shampoo into every strand of hair and letting it soak in as he rubs soap over his whole body a second time, a little less exhaustively than prior. 

He feels clean when he dries off and stands on the mat on the floor, letting himself absorb some of the steam hanging in the air. He gets the blowdryer from the shelves and directs it up and down his body a few times before doubling over with brush in hand to work his hair into a warm, fluffy state of perfect dryness that has no risk of looking like bedhead or worse. Then he wrings out his underpants again and aims the dryer at them for a few minutes until they're only faintly damp, and tosses them in his hamper when he walks back into his room.

He puts on deodorant, remakes his bed, and sits on it, leaning against the section of wall beside his corkboard, looking over his room. He decides that maybe he should consider getting a decorative rug to lay in the middle of the floor, and spends a little while mentally picturing combinations of various sizes, shapes, colors, textures, and patterns. His room was never so bare when he was sharing Pascal's, which was already cozy and lived-in before Kip abruptly ended up in it too. At that point Kip had so few possessions—his brother's folder, some clothes he had bought and the pajamas he'd been wearing during the fire, his framed picture of his family, and a toothbrush—that he didn't add anything to the room at all. There was room for both of them on the mattress. It took minimal reorganization to give Kip space to put his things. And though he added to his wardrobe in the following months and years, he didn't really take on many more possessions. He didn't want to; he didn't feel he needed to. The space around him never felt empty. Pascal's bedroom was warmly furnished and he added to it for Kip's sake, and the apartment's four residents soon filled any empty corner it had. Kip never had to notice how little was personally his until moving to C and barely having anything to put in his modest-sized bedroom. 

He doesn't quite mind it, still. But it does look a little emptier to him than it used to. A few minor additions would be okay. But in the meantime, he figures he might be embarrassed if Pascal sees his room. It practically looks deserted compared to the memory of the bedroom they'd shared, or the few times Pascal was in his bedroom in his family's home. He's glad he at least has his fairy lights and plants to fill the space with a bit more personality—both of which he realized he liked having in his bedroom thanks to Pascal introducing them to their shared space. With that thought in mind, his lights and plants look like weak echoes of what he'd had in D. But he likes them anyhow.

Reminding himself yet again that impressing Pascal isn't important tonight, he slides off his bed and runs his hands from his chest to his thighs, assessing how much he's dried off, and then starts looking through his drawers for what to wear. He slips into old yet comfortable underwear and puts on a dark pair of jeans and then a plain tee that follows his shape but sits loosely, the soft fabric a light tint of vivid blue touched with grey, like a cloud during sunset. He can't help going to the mirror to look at himself, or smoothing his hands over his thighs and ass to feel the hug of the denim, or combing his hair back into place. He likes the way he looks: good, but casually so.

—

When he picks up his phone again he sees Pascal sent back a text. Biting on his lip, he opens it before he has a chance to put it off. It's just a few sentences but he tries to read it so quickly that he stumbles amongst the words until he manages to slow down to process it. It's straightforward and kind, saying that he should be over by 7:30 at the latest and sure, he'd be glad to talk afterwards. Kip paces in front of the couch as he writes his reply.

"Ok, thank you, let me know when you're heading over and i'll meet you out front. im really looking forward to it"

Just a few minutes later: "me too :)"

—

Kip manages not to feel nervous until Molly arrives home, which makes it feel as if a countdown has officially begun.

—

"You had a nightmare?" she asks him suddenly.

"Uh, I did, yeah," Kip answers.

"It must have been pretty bad."

He blushes.

"It made me pretty nervous," he says, "but it was an old one. I just figured I'd be able to get back to sleep a lot faster on the couch. I didn't have any more trouble after that."

"Oh, that's good," Molly says, pulling off her shoes and socks. "I wasn't sure if I heard anything last night, but when I saw you on the couch when I left for work I figured you must've had a nightmare."

"Yeah." Kip stretches his arms overhead and arches his back slightly. "But it's fine. How are you?"

"Pretty well. And excited." She grins at him. "Do you know what time Pascal is going to be here yet?"

"Probably between seven and seven-thirty."

"That's great!"

"Yeah, and, uh..." Kip rubs the side of his index finger with his thumb. "I asked Pascal and—well—I have some stuff I wanna talk with him about, and I think before he goes home we're gonna do that."

"Oh—" Molly blushes slightly. "So, do you...uh..." She seems to be fumbling, and Kip catches on after a few seconds.

"Oh, no, I wasn't gonna do that here. I was thinking of walking down to Bay? It's got places to sit and it's essentially between here and Berkley."

"You were the one saying you didn't want to be alone with him, that this 'isn't a date,' remember?" Molly accuses, laughing. "And you're gonna steal him away to take him to a nice little restaurant on Bay Avenue?"

"No..." Kip drags a hand down the side of his neck. "It's—I have stuff I want to talk with him about before we talk about dating or anything, so it's...it's just gonna be a talk. I figured a bench out there would be private enough for that and still be a good place to sit for a while."

"What do you need to tell him before you guys can talk about going out again? We all lived together for so long and you two were dating even a while before that. And you two were reintroduced just after meeting Wallace, so...what doesn't he already know?"

Kip sighs as he blushes deeply. He hesitates, and hesitates again.

"There's just something he has to know about first," he says quietly.

Molly quirks an eyebrow at him and he half-heartedly shrugs. 

"I...I'll explain it eventually. But the explanation is gonna involve what Pascal thinks, and..." And maybe what Wallace thinks. "And it just might take some time to really come together."

Molly rolls her eyes.

"You're a real handful, Kip."

"And so worth the effort," he says sarcastically.

She shakes her head at him and pretends to punch him in the arm. Kip bares his fangs and retaliates with half of a hug, which she turns into a whole.

—

Pascal's face intrudes into his mind increasingly over the next hour. He occupies himself with small tasks but even as he focuses on them he's imagining Pascal standing right beside him, bodies only a few inches apart, or behind him, about to slide his arms around Kip's waist. It makes his face burn and his thoughts scramble and his hands falter and pause.

When Molly leaves to meet with Roy at the end of his workday, Kip runs a hand through his hair before biting his lip and striding into his bedroom. He shuts the door and strips off his clothes, laying them on his pillow. Then he sits on the foot of his bed and tries to let the distraction towards Pascal flow freely. He'd much rather take care of this now than try suppressing it and risk making it even harder to ignore.

He takes the thought of Pascal standing so close to him and easily blends it with memories of such moments. Countless times Pascal has approached him to touch his shoulder and bend down and kiss his cheek or temple or jawline. Pascal standing behind him and asking him to talk about what was weighing on him, gently trailing his arms up and down his back as he listened, eventually pushing his arms up into Kip's sweater to glide soft and warm across his bare skin. 

He licks his palm and strokes himself, starting out slow and increasing the pace gradually, steadily. 

There's the times Pascal was beside him in a public place, standing so close that Kip blushed, and would unexpectedly seduce him. Leaning in close, that sweet, low voice warm in Kip's ear. Even though he'd be covered up in plenty of layers, scarf around his neck over a coat buttoned over a sweater over a shirt, Pascal would be telling him you look so good I can barely look anywhere else, I wish I could fuck you here just like this but the only way you'd look better than you do right now would be if I took you home and got to take everything off—

The difficulty Pascal has in undressing him whenever he's wearing anything more secure than a t-shirt and sweatpants means that the process is slow and caring, buttons and zippers and belts are worked open with focus and precision. The anticipation builds nicely. Kip will almost start shivering at the end before his boxers are slipped down his legs and his body is held against the heat of Pascal's and he's melted with a deep, long kiss.

So many times he's been fucked so beautifully that his grip on himself wavered like unsteady footing, and he let himself slip and fall, being overtaken completely by the experience until he came so hard he could only collapse where he was.

Catching his breath while Pascal worked a hickey into his chest and trailed one soft arm up and down his stomach while the suckers of the other attached along his side.

Pascal standing behind him, hugging him around the waist and pulling him close, leaning in to kiss behind his ear.

Feeling Pascal drawing near, turning towards his approach and putting his hands on Pascal's face, kissing his smile.

Kip tilts his head back to look at the ceiling; his hips jerk forward a few times and he cums.

He lets himself rest for a minute. He thinks he feels more relaxed than he did before. And hopes that the last couple of hours will be busy enough to keep him from from dwelling too long on Pascal—on the thought of being around his overwhelming attractiveness and undeniable sexual draw. 

As soon as he recovers he digs out the pack of tissues from his bag, wipes himself off, reapplies his deodorant, slips back into his clothes, goes into the bathroom, washes his hands, washes his stomach, washes his face, and again combs his hair into place. 

He looks in the mirror, staring his reflection in the eyes. He thinks he looks a little tired, but he's not sure he doesn't always look that way and is only now critical enough to notice it. His cheeks are still a little flushed; he knows he looks better that way and is a little glad to know he's all but certain to blush when Pascal is with him. He touches his lips. They're soft and smooth and drag slightly under his fingertips. He looks at his teeth, the bright blue of his gums and of his tongue swiping across his incisors. He flosses and brushes them just to assuage his nerves.

Sure enough, when he looks at the clock and realizes that soon they'll only have about two more hours to go, he can't daydream about Pascal anymore. His anticipation is meeting his fear that this is all going to go wrong; he'd be happier with just his pleasant imaginings than with the irreversible reality of what's going to happen. 

—

Kip is staring out the window when he turns at the sound of the door opening.

"Hey, Kip!" Roy says.

"Hello," Molly's voice singsongs behind his greeting.

"Hi, guys." Kip turns to face them, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "Glad you got back okay."

"Yeah, it's—uh, do you feel alright?" Molly takes a step towards him as though to study his face better.

"I'm fine," he answers. "I'm just starting to—to get a little nervous. I'm still looking forward to it, but I just—I can't help being nervous too, and..." He gives a slight grimace and a shrug.

"It'll all be fine," Molly says. "C'mere." She opens her arms. "C'meeere..."

"Augh." Kip covers his face with his hands. 

"Yes!" Roy's fist shot into the air, coming within a few inches of the ceiling. "C'mon, Kip, hug time!"

"Augh..." Kip repeats under his breath but he starts to laugh when he feels their arms encircle him; he can't help it. 

They always hug him until they can feel him relax, and then hug him some more.

"Your hair smells good," Roy says. 

Kip chirps a laugh and they both squeeze him tighter before releasing him.

"You look great," Roy adds.

"Yeah!"

Kip turns his smile towards the floor.

"It'll be fine," Molly repeats. "It's just the waiting around that's the worst part."

"Yeah..." Kip smooths his shirt and pushes his glasses up. "Yeah, I figure when I actually see him it'll be okay..."

Roy touches his arm.

"It'll be fine."

—

Molly works on making a cake that should be out of the oven and cooling by seven; to Kip it feels like a countdown. She tells him to find something else to occupy himself besides pacing and hovering, and he tries to find a sense of security in his room. He turns on the string of lights and takes out a book and sits on his bed and just reads and waits, trying not to tune in to every tiny sound or feel as though his phone is about to attack him at any instant.

In the last half hour before seven, his anticipation and nervousness both reach a peak, and he's jittery and eager and a little overwhelmed by the idea of what could be about to happen. In an effort to calm himself, he picks up his photo and looks at the smiles of his siblings. They would tell him he would be okay, he can imagine it, he can remember it. The softened voices they had for him when he was afraid, the arms put around his shoulders or waist, the hands squeezing his, the boundless patience and gentleness and love they always had for him, the knowledge they were always going to be there for him even if everything else went wrong.

"It'll be okay," he murmurs to them, as they would tell him and he would repeat. "I can do this. I can get through this."

He tries to smile back at them. 

They were there the first time Pascal visited Kip's home, after all. Back when their relationship was new and Kip had told his family about a new friend, because that was the only word he had for it. And after that Kip just referred to him as "Pascal" and they didn't press him for details, not even when Kip began staying overnight when visiting Pascal's apartment in D. By the time Pascal came over to their home in C for a visit, it had to be obvious, Kip was head-over-heels already and glowing in the newness of it all. But they didn't make Kip say anything.

Not that he hadn't. I like him so much, he had told them, blushing and smiling. I really, really like him. 

He hadn't needed to explain, because he knew that surely they knew. But the way he felt about Pascal became so important to him that he was finally moved to provide that outright explanation. That he’d been dating boys for the past few years and that now he was dating Pascal and he was really someone special. And he knows that at least they got to glimpse the truth in that. Before he was suddenly alone.

They should still be here, of course. Of course he wishes they were here. He lifts the picture and kisses the frame before resting it against his forehead. Of course that doesn't make sense since everything that's happening stemmed from the fire, but of course that doesn't stop him from missing them.

But Pascal had comforted and supported Kip through an experience so much worse than anything he'd been through before. He'd been a steadfast for Kip, completely unflinching and unhesitating in the face of all of it. Even in the ways in which he wasn't able to be comforted, Pascal was still there for him, never trying to avoid any part of him. Even when Kip wanted to be left alone and Pascal had to keep out of his own room to accommodate that, Pascal still found ways to help Kip and still wasn't driven away at all. Pascal was trying to make sure Kip was okay while Kip was miserable and in near-constant pain and it must have been wretchedly hard for Pascal, yet he never got upset with Kip. Not when Kip got angry, not when he isolated himself, not when he woke them both up at odd hours from the violence of his nightmares, which were so horrible it took half an hour or more to melt away his tension, sometimes helped along by comforting things such as a cup of hot tea and a long embrace and a handful of tissues and soft, lingering kisses before he finally got back into bed. Pascal never drifted from him. And when Kip got to a slightly more stable point, when at least he could usually hold off crying until he was safely in the bedroom—seemingly by virtue of having to suffer through so many instances of bursting into tears at inopportune moments in a paroxysm of grief, in the middle of conversations or public places, unable to stop it, until it felt like he had abruptly gone from an unbelievably endless supply of tears to having cried himself out—Pascal was as close to him as ever, and Kip found that his own love for Pascal had not only remained, but grown and sweetened as well.

Pascal had always made him feel safe, just as his family had. And after five years of living together, Kip had been nearly as secure in Pascal's love as he had been in his family's. He never gave Kip anything to be afraid of. He always treated Kip with the most kindness, with the most understanding, love, and appreciation.

And maybe his safety with his family had been annihilated. Maybe the relationship in which he'd found utter security had been ended. But he's still finding ways to draw from his family's love for him. And Pascal is coming over for dinner in less than an hour. 

If anything, he knows for certain that Pascal has always brought out in him the version of himself he likes best. He can be less afraid of his own mistakes. It will all be fine.

—

He steps out of his room, pushing his keys into his pocket and biting the tip of his tongue. His face must tell the story because Roy immediately stands up from the table upon seeing him. 

"Is—did—" Roy starts. In just a few strides of his long legs he's standing in front of Kip, a hand tentatively hovering between them.

Kip impulsively takes Roy's hand and grips it tightly. He looks up at him and nods, letting out his breath in a quick sigh.

"He said he's on his way," he says quietly, squeezing Roy's hand harder as he does. 

"Oh, Kip—" In a second, Roy is hugging him tightly, prompting Kip to return it as he's bent slightly backwards. "This is so, so great—"

"Yeah," Kip agrees breathlessly. 

Roy releases him and he quickly straightens his shirt and smooths his hair.

"Is there anything I'm forgetting that makes me look like a total mess?" he asks. 

"You look extra cute," Roy says with a grin. 

Kip wrinkles his nose but blushes and Roy calls over to Molly to inform her of the news, and there's a clatter as she presumably sets down everything she was holding to rush out, towel draped on her shoulder and flour smudged on her nose, to hug Kip as well and offer him a couple quick reassurances.

"Go ahead and go out and wait for him," she says. "The cake'll be done in about five minutes and I'll take it out and we'll make sure everything's ready and go on, go!"

The growing excitement in her voice sparks his own, and he laughs and she prods him in the back.

"Go get him."

"Yeah, go on, Kip!" Roy backs her up.

Kip gives them a smile and murmurs his thanks and steps into the hall.

—

He alternates between leaning against the wall and slowly pacing the sidewalk, trying to look as though he's taking a casual and calm walk for fresh air instead of patrolling the front of the building, anxiously glancing all around him at every sign of movement. He does find something to help him relax in the way the light softens as the sky's blue deepens and mixes with warm purple and gentle peach.

He finally settles for standing on the sidewalk in front of a tree, giving up on trying to avoid checking the time on his phone every two minutes. He laces his fingers together behind his back and taps his heel against the ground and runs his tongue back and forth along his teeth, heartbeat growing stronger as time goes on. His glances at everyone who enters his field of vision no longer have any subtlety; it's impossible not to immediately look in the direction of every little movement or sound. He starts consciously controlling his breathing and stills all his fidgeting save for occasionally twisting his fingers. 

The minutes pass. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He forces himself not to start worrying about the possibility that Pascal doesn't show up and it's because something bad happened to him. He looks at the ground or his phone whenever someone passes in front of him. He knows he must have an unfading blush across his face but he knows just as well that he can't help it. His pulse is slower now but still beats strong.

His heart starts to leap at everyone who appears down the street. 

He's checking his phone every minute now.

He's running his hand through his hair and tracing his collarbones with his fingers.

He sees Pascal, and all effort at seeming cool and collected drops at once.

"Pas!" he cries out immediately, turning towards him. Pascal looks right over at him. "Pascal!"

"Kip!" 

Kip can see Pascal's smile even at the distance between them—a distance he's looking to close as quickly as possible. Pascal lifts his arm in a wave and he looks so, so good, with his dark hair just long enough to touch his shoulders and an almost-blue-grey shirt that's beautifully fitted across his broad torso and dark grey pants and the colors look lovely in the cast of the nearly-twilight sky and make the warm peach of his skin stand out and he just looks so good and Kip is blushing and trying to take it all in, an outfit he's never seen before and Pascal looking so happy to see him and they're finally able to do this when Kip understands that he doesn't need to feel guilty for wanting this and he can stop trying to convince himself they shouldn't.

He's walking fast but doesn't slow as they approach; he just strides determinedly towards Pascal, who seems to have the same thought he does and opens his arms just before Kip wraps his arms across Pascal's shoulders and hangs onto him with a hug.

"Oh gosh—" Pascal's arms go around Kip's waist and lift him up off the ground so his weight isn't dragging them down. "Oh, Kip, I'm so glad to see you—" His hold tightens and he laughs.

Kip squeezes his eyes shut and pushes his face down against Pascal's shoulder and presses his hands harder against his back.

"Thank you so much for coming," he murmurs, and loosens the hug, prompting Pascal to lower him carefully back down to the ground.

"Of course," Pascal says. "I'm so happy to be here."

Kip can hear in his voice how much that's true and then he looks up and sees it in Pascal's face as well. His smile is so real and his cheeks are flushed and the way he's looking right at Kip with so much unrestrained love—

Kip grins with a quiet laugh and holds his hand out for Pascal to take. The soft limb spirals around his forearm and Kip flexes his hand to let the end wrap around his palm; he closes his fingers around it. 

"I'm so glad," Kip murmurs, and he closes his eyes and steps towards Pascal again, turning his face to the side and laying it against Pascal's chest as he gently presses the front of their bodies together. He sighs as he slips his arm loosely around Pascal's lower back, and Pascal mirrors him and slips his free arm around Kip's back.

They stand still in the pose, as though they had been slow-dancing and suddenly stopped and closed the distance to simply hold each other gently. It's a hug; Kip can feel his own heart grow stronger as the seconds go by and can feel Pascal's pulse against his cheek. But this hug doesn't hold his exuberant happiness at being here with Pascal, but rather the deep, deep contentment that would let him comfortably pass an hour simply holding Pascal to himself like this. 

He has his first spasm of nervousness telling him to let go, and he ignores it and relaxes his body a little bit more, as though he plans to fall asleep here, standing up in the middle of the sidewalk. He has his next nervous moment of doubt, telling him he shouldn't ignore the first one. He ignores it too.

They don't move or speak for half a minute, and stay silent when they part. Kip holds Pascal's arm tighter, and looks at him and smiles with the slightest tilt of the head to send him a kiss without words or touch. Pascal's smile twitches wider and he blushes and looks down at the ground as though he's actually shy—Kip laughs and pivots to let Pascal fall into place beside him.

"So this is our building," he says needlessly. "C'mon. We're on the fourth floor."

And he leads Pascal inside.

—

Kip becomes flustered as they draw nearer to the apartment, yet not unpleasantly so. His speech is stumbling and stilted but interspersed with laughter and the weight of he reunion that's about to happen is suddenly pressing on him harder than ever, but at the same time it's pushing him through the motions, keeping him from hesitating. He slips his hand out of Pascal's hold to retrieve his keys and unlocks the door and gets out of the way.

It's surely nothing like it would've been if they hadn't ever seen Pascal since D, but it's still a spectacular welcome, and Kip hangs back to gather himself as they provide Pascal with a brief tour of the apartment. 

He's made it here, and that's so unbelievable he doesn't even try to work out how it managed to happen.

—

"How's it going?" Molly whispers as she stands beside him in the kitchen. "Are you still nervous?"

"Yes, a little," he admits, rinsing a pan. "It's okay though. You guys are great."

As if on cue, Pascal's warm sweet laugh sounds underneath Roy's bright voice. 

"Are you glad you did this?"

"I think so. It's...it's a lot, it's intimidating, but...but not really in a bad way, if that makes sense." 

“Okay. Good.”

She gives him a small smile, he returns it, and she pats him on the shoulder before rejoining Pascal and Roy in the next room.

Kip puts both hands on the counter and takes a few deep breaths and then dedicates himself to finishing up the last of the cooking.

—

At one point he's standing in front of the stove, patiently waiting for the peppers to finish, and for a second it's like a flashback to the previous night.

"Hey."

He turns to see Pascal on the other side of the threshold, arm against the doorway's frame, the Sweet Look on his face as Kip meets his eyes. 

"Hey, yourself," Kip says quietly, his smile all but involuntary. "I just have a couple more—I just have—I'll finish cooking in a minute and then I can—and then I won't be all the way over here," he stumbles.

Pascal smiles.

"It's fine." His voice has such tenderness. Kip misses it deeply. "I promise I’m not gonna stand here behind you the whole time. I just wanted to see you for a second."

Kip blushes. He can't think of anything natural to say, so he just stays still and lets Pascal look at him. 

"I really love being with all of you guys again," Pascal murmurs, shifting his weight as he runs the end of his arm across the back of his neck and down his shoulder. Kip knows Pascal must really feel wonderful to have a smile so lovely. He pushes down a twinge of anxiety about what he needs to tell Pascal. All of that is for later.

"Yeah, it—I don't know, it feels normal already," Kip says. "Like we never stopped."

"Yeah!" Pascal's laugh is bright. "Yeah, it feels that way to me, too."

"I meant it about us being able to do this all the time," Kip says. "With...how crazy things got, we weren't really able to do stuff like visiting back and forth between friends all the time like we used to... I mean, I haven't invited anyone over for dinner in ages. And I really ought to. But—anyway, you should feel as welcome here as you do at your own place. Because you are."

Pascal blushes and smiles at the floor. 

"Thanks. I'd like that. A lot."

Seeing Pascal looking so flustered and happy over something so simple as the possibility of more evenings like this gives Kip a feeling which seems to set every atom in his chest and stomach shivering. Pascal looks so handsome with his cheeks flushed a deeper red and his hair spilling a little into his face and his gorgeous body leaning against the post of the doorway, and it's just so good to be in this small moment that Kip just stands and times his breathing to his heartbeat as he looks at Pascal.

Pascal lifts his head and their eyes meet and Pascal glances away and back with a soft smile. Kip smiles back and turns off the burner on the stove as if to demonstrate he's capable of slightly more than just standing silent and motionless while blushing vividly.

"I'll let you get back to what you were doing," Pascal says, sweeping his hair to one side. "Thank you for making all this for us."

"You're welcome," Kip murmurs, glancing down at the pan. "It's nothing too fancy, don't worry."

"All the same," Pascal says. "I really appreciate you—you cooking for us. You're always brilliant at it."

Kip scoffs.

"Flattery." And then he blushes deeper at the realization he's flirting with Pascal. "Go back to Roy and Molly," he says, waving Pascal away. "I'll be finished soon."

"Okay," Pascal laughs. Kip looks over in time to catch one more smile from Pascal.

—

Everything goes together simply and easily. Their seating arrangement is spread comfortably around the room, just close enough for the meal to feel intimate without being too formal. Most of the conversation is directed to Pascal; Molly and Roy prompt him to go into detail about subjects they probably never got to talk about in any conversations held at Pascal's shop. Most of it's already known to Kip from the few tentative meetings they've had to try catching up and figuring themselves out, but those were always a bit careful and sometimes awkward, and hearing Pascal talk freely without nervousness is so enjoyable. Kip lets his gaze travel back and forth between the other three, generally following the flow of the conversation, but his eyes are drawn to and linger on Pascal. Pascal catches Kip looking at him about as often as the converse occurs.

In about a quarter of an hour their dynamic already feels almost exactly like it did when they all lived together. It's clear to Kip that they're all having fun, and so is he. He can't forget that every passing moment moves him closer to having to tell Pascal something that might ruin all of this, but even that knowledge can't ruin this.

Nobody tries to pressure him into speaking up more, but although he's again the quietest one, he doesn't feel at all uncomfortable when he does choose to talk. He laughs a lot more than usual. He feels comforted by how good everything is, by how happy his friends are. He can't possibly regret this now, no matter the outcome. 

They all talk for at least an hour even after they finish the food; Kip primarily listens, but it's what he wants to do. He went so long without hearing Pascal's voice at all, and they hadn't been spending nearly enough time together before to meet the levels he now knows he wants. Pascal's presence is so beautiful and satisfying and strong while utterly gentle—Kip wants that knowledge that the presence isn't going to leave him, that fulfilling certainty he used to have. 

There's a momentary break when Molly gets up to cut them all a slice of cake. When Roy follows her to help carry the dessert, Kip has to look over at Pascal, and finds him already looking back. Kip blushes and smiles and feels flustered and nervous but doesn't even glance away. Pascal smiles too, and Kip curls his toes and can't help his smile baring his teeth or his blush spreading to his throat and ears, because Pascal's face is so lovely and displays his sweetness so fully. He has to press his hands flat against the top of his thighs because he'd stretch out his shirt by wringing the hem; if he had a piece of paper to hold he'd likely be shredding it.

He almost flinches when Roy enters. He barely manages not to stumble on his thanks for the plate handed to him, and compliments Molly on her baking, and pretends not to notice the knowing smiles both she and Roy send him for his exceptionally glowing blush.

—

It takes maybe another quarter of an hour to get to the topic, but when Roy talks about how much he missed this group being able to be together, there's just enough of a tiny hint of heaviness behind his words that renders Kip temporarily unable to look anywhere but his plate. He uses a tine of his fork to trace patterns in a smudge of frosting instead. He knows everyone present is understanding enough not to blame him, but he also knows that the fact the four of them were separated was based purely on his own decision, and he knows that all of them have been hurting because of that. And he couldn't fully be there for Molly or Roy because they confided only in each other to spare him the guilt. He has no doubt that they're perfectly capable of looking out for each other without him, but he can't avoid feeling bad for being the cause of his friends' pain and being unable to help them with it. 

Pascal, meanwhile, had gotten no support from him at all. Kip knows Pascal has and had friends outside this four-person group, but oddly enough for someone so universally sweet and kind-hearted, he's always been slightly isolated. And Kip left him and took his other roommates. He knows if the three of them had struggled with the void of Pascal's absence, Pascal himself surely was horribly lonely. 

He reminds himself he could fix that.

Then he reminds himself it's already being fixed. Pascal has been building his own life here for months. And here he is, with his old roommates of several years and ex-boyfriend, clearly enjoying himself in their presence. It just matters that they're all together right now. He sighs quietly. He looks back up. 

—

He starts getting a little antsy. He wants to have at least an hour to walk over to Bay and sit and talk, and it's a little after ten, and he doesn't want Pascal to be exhausted if he has to get up too early in the morning. He keeps trying to tuck his hair behind his ear or sweep his bangs to the side, a nervous, now useless habit remaining from when his hair was longer. He doesn't feel bad, but he's tensed with the knowledge that now it really is time to talk to Pascal about everything.

Luckily, the pace of conversation is relaxing, as though everyone can sense this. But nobody's made any move to end it, and he suspects this could continue for hours. 

"Um," he says, and his tone doesn't quite fit and everyone turns to look at him. "I—um. The... What we—it's..."

He grits his teeth and cuts off the failed start and then looks at Pascal. 

"It's getting kind of late," he retries. "And...I was thinking...if you still wanted to talk..."

"Of course." Pascal's response is immediate. 

Kip blushes.

"Right," Molly says, a determined look appearing on her face from nowhere. "Yes. You two should do that." 

And then almost too quickly, the scene has shifted from relaxed chatting to wrapping things up. But the warmth and laughter even in their goodbyes is proof enough for Kip that this part of the day has been a powerful success. 

He slips away to get a light, loose jacket from his closet while Roy and Molly spend one more minute with Pascal. He checks that his keys and phone are in his pockets, he reties his shoes, he paces around the floor of his room. He picks up his notebook and squeezes it as if it's what's in need of reassurance. Then he goes to his picture. He doesn't speak or even touch it, just stares at their faces for a few seconds. 

He sighs and goes back out.

—

"That was pretty great," he says as they head down the stairwell. 

"Yeah," Pascal agrees. "Yeah, it really was. You guys have a great place."

Kip laughs. 

"I know it's really empty," he says. "I just can't fill it out on my own or convince Roy and Molly to do it without me."

"No, it looks fine," Pascal says. "Sure, you guys don't have a ton of stuff, but there's nothing wrong with that. You all made your mark on that space anyway, I could see it."

Kip smiles to himself. 

"I'm really glad we did this," he says."

"Me, too."

—

It only takes just short of ten minutes to get to Bay, and they make quiet small talk along the way, which makes it easier on Kip's nerves. 

When they make the turn onto the softly glowing street, it's just as Kip had hoped—enough people are around to keep them from feeling self-consciously alone, but it's peaceful enough to give a sense of privacy. They settle on a curved bench beside some trees, which allows them a compromise between facing each other directly and sitting parallel. Kip sighs as he sits down and winds his hands together, staring at the sidewalk. Pascal casually crosses his ankles, but doesn't speak when Kip fails to.

Kip's heartbeat isn't much elevated in speed, but it's a lot harder, spreading down into his stomach and up into his throat. But he has to do this. He's not only resolved to do this for Pascal, but to stop prolonging and exacerbating his own misery.

"So," he says in a voice smaller than he intended.

He feels a brush at his elbow and looks over to see Pascal offering him a gentle smile. Pascal softly rubs his forearm a few times before withdrawing his touch. Kip manages to smile back, his anxiety agitated enough that he has to partly force it. He turns his body slightly more towards Pascal, but faces forward as though his shoes will be easier to talk to.

He takes a few deep breaths. This isn't just about things he's been holding back about Wallace—he has things that have been eating away at him since they decided to move to C.

"There's something that happened the month we moved here that—that sort of reminds me of what I've been wanting to tell you," he starts. His voice sounds hesitant and weak to his own ears.

There's a long pause. Pascal waits for him to speak.

He has to. He can't stay in the safety of ambiguity and avoidance forever, at the cost of anything better. He can't keep everyone else in the dark and expect to have this part of his life develop. He has to trust Pascal.

He trusts him with everything.

"I had almost as hard a time adjusting moving back here as when we moved to D," he says quietly, rubbing a thumb along the seam of his pants. "Coming back here was scary, and it was intimidating, and it felt more like we'd left home than returned to it, and...and of course I missed you. I—I'd broken my heart over you, and I know you had it even worse. I mean, I had Molly and Roy with me. But I still missed you all the time, and sometimes I'd cry, especially at night, because—you know—I really thought I'd left you for good."

He swallows and bites at his lower lip. 

"I missed you so bad and it hurt a lot, but I was thinking that I had to learn to move on as soon as possible. I think I could tell that you were still as important to me as you'd always been, but I was worrying I was gonna be stuck forever on someone I'd never see again. And—and one weekend I was closing with Kate and I was in a bad mood and she convinced me to go out with her. Really, I had convinced myself, because I was staying in all the time and just stressed about everything and I thought if I actually tried to enjoy myself it might happen. And...and I did go out, and we went to this place that wasn't too busy but had a lot of people, and..."

He bites down at his lip again.

"It was kind of fun but I hadn't been out like that without being with a bunch of friends, and, y'know, I hadn't ever been out like that while single, and...it was still kinda fun but just...I had no idea what to do when people started flirting with me. I mean, it just felt like it was happening too fast. And I just kind of ended up in the corner and it was kind of dark and this guy said hi and it startled me so bad I almost dropped my drink, and don't worry, because it was fine and he was nice and we just—he asked me what I was doing by myself looking nervous and I just told him that I was trying to get over this guy I loved who I'd been with for years and I just didn't really know what I was doing. And he said..." 

His blush has reached a fierce burn. 

"He—offered to kiss me," he gets out. "I mean, I'm not trying to show off or make you feel weird or anything, but he offered because he said he figured I was uncomfortable with the idea of diving back in and he was willing to just kind of—let me try it out a little without getting involved in anything else or being over my head and—and I said okay, because he was cute and he really did seem nice, and I figured—I figured if I went home after hiding in the shadows all night I just might hide forever. And I thought, maybe this was all I needed to do, and I... And we kissed."

For a moment, his speech halts; he struggles not to feel ashamed to tell this to Pascal. He can't bear to let a pause hang between them after that, and so pushes himself back into the story.

"And it wasn't that much, we kind of made out but I was keeping it slow and he was following my lead, and—and it was kind of nice, he was a nice kisser. And, you know, he was kind of holding me by the waist, and you know I like to be held, but there—there got to this point where he put his hands right against me, and was kind of feeling my back and my sides, and it wasn't bad, and he wasn't pushing me, but I had never had anyone touch my body like that except for you for ages and ages, and...suddenly it went from feeling nice to where all I could think about was how—how this wasn't you touching me, and how much I wanted it to be. I just got hit with how much I missed you and it suddenly felt terrible. And it was okay because he stopped as soon as I froze up and when I pulled away, it was fine, he was understanding about it, and just... I just didn't bother with anything but having a couple more drinks for the rest of the night before going back home."

He does pause then as a small group of people walk past them, chatting and laughing.

"It just..." He sighs. "It all caught me completely off guard, because I'd gone out on the assumption that I was going to start moving on from you, and that's why I wanted to try kissing someone, except—kissing somebody was what made me realize how much I still wanted you."

He needs a few seconds before he can keep going.

"At the time, that really hurt, because I thought I was just going to be hung up on past issues forever and I'd never date anyone again and I'd always be wishing I was with you, and I... I'd go out with friends again sometimes, but I'd never let anyone touch me or even flirt with me because I just...I knew I wasn't ready. And I worked really hard in those few months after I moved to try to...to both give myself the time and space I needed to let go but to also push myself. I—I mean, it was just so strange that I had kissed someone because I was thinking I could just choose to be over you, and that showed me that I definitely wasn't going to be able to—to be over you because I wished I could be."

He sighs and crosses and uncrosses his legs. 

"I still knew that was true by the time I ran into you. And that just proved to me even more—I mean, it was a complete shock, and I was just caught off-guard and nervous with Wallace there and everything, but when you came out to talk to me, and when I went home, and when I thought about it for days after that, I knew I...I knew I was still in love with you."

He dares a glance at Pascal, who is looking at him with a blushing expression that seems caught between sad and wondering. 

"...Just because I told you that doesn't mean I ever expect you to tell me if you were with anyone else after we broke up, because I meant what I said about how I thought we should go ahead and be with other people if we found someone, and it's not my business and I don't need to know," he says, and then looks away again, back at the sidewalk. "But that, um, that kind of relates to something else I wanted to explain. About how—you remember how last time I tried to talk with you, I ended up just backing out?"

"Uh-huh," Pascal murmurs. 

"Well, mostly what went wrong is—I thought I was ready, but—but what it was is that on my way over I remembered something else that happened after we moved here. I was at work, and I just already felt terrible, and then—then I just suddenly had the thought of you dating someone else. And it—it felt awful," he admits. "And I couldn't get it out of my head and I was just suddenly almost panicking because I was thinking about how you could be with someone else right then while I was thinking of it. And I just—it was too much and I was freaking out on top of feeling like shit already and then I was freaking out about freaking out and I—I couldn't really do anything about it; I pretty much had this little meltdown for half an hour or so and had to have Cuddy come in and save me." He laughs flatly. "And I felt awful because it was a bad day and because I was having an anxiety attack and because I fucked up at my job, but also—also because I was so upset at imagining you with someone else, even though I had really meant for both of us to move on and be happy. And I felt like such shit because I thought I must not have meant it and I just...I thought the only way to deal with it was to force it down and just keep distancing myself and so I never really dealt with it and when I remembered it on my way to meet you, all at once it was so stressful that I was worried I was gonna turn into a mess again if I tried to talk about us and—and even more than that, I felt like such a hypocritical, selfish jerk."

He stares down at his knees.

"I had to actually face that moment and figure out why I was hit so hard by something I'd knowingly brought onto us," he murmurs. "Before I could talk to you like this."

"Uh..." Pascal breaks in softly. "Wait, so is this—"

Kip looks over to see Pascal staring off in front of himself, his brow creased in thought.

"Is this all about that guy you kissed?" Pascal asks, voice tinged with confusion.

"Oh—n-no, it isn't..." He rubs the hem of his shirt between his fingers. "That was just...something related to this."

"To...talking about us...?" Pascal trails off.

Kip sets his jaw and stares at a tiny crack in the sidewalk where a few blades of grass have grown through. He focuses very hard on them, marking them mentally as his source of comfort, the detail to turn to as distraction from anything that ends up being too much.

"I had this dream a little while ago," he murmurs. His heart is beating very hard, thudding under his jaw, practically audible to him. It becomes difficult to interrupt its sledgehammer rhythm with his own increasingly weak voice. "It made me aware of something in my life that I hadn't been. And thinking about that made me realize ways I felt about you that I hadn't managed to figure out yet."

This time, though Pascal doesn't interrupt his pause, Kip almost wishes he would. Because there's nothing left to say other than what he's been hiding away from everyone in confusion and a little shame. And his heart is really thudding so strongly that Kip feels his pulse in his knees, his stomach, his wrists. He can't look right at Pascal, but he looks at the edge of the bench right beside the end of Pascal's arm. 

The quiet between them is going on so long. It could go on forever. If he didn't tell Pascal, didn't say anything, what would Pascal think? What guesses are already forming? What is he expecting?

Say it.

Say it.

Tell him.

Tell him.

Tell him.

Just tell him.

Tell him. 

Tell him.

He takes a deep breath and drops his head slightly. He can't back out now. He couldn't do that. And he couldn't stand to. 

Just tell him.

One more deep breath, and a glance at the grass, and a thought of a hand on his shoulder, a long-gone voice telling him he can do this, he'll be okay. It's fine for him to be this nervous. He can say this.

"I..." he starts. "Um, I realized..."

His knees are starting to shiver. Pascal seems to realize this, and shifts his own knee a few inches over to rest against Kip's in support. This just makes it harder, but all Kip can do is ignore that. All he could blame himself for now is not telling Pascal the truth.

"I realized I have a crush on Wallace."

He's frozen in place. He stares at the grass and doubts he could look anywhere else.

"And when I was realizing that, I'd already figured out I'm in love with you." He manages to scrape his voice out. "And then a while afterwards I realized that I really wanted us to be together again, like we had been."

He's glad for his jacket; his temperature is lowering incrementally.

"You... You wanted?" Pascal repeats beside him in a voice just as small. "Did...do you still...want that?"

Kip turns and looks right at Pascal and he has no idea how he does it, he just follows his impulse. 

It's so like that night when Kip said he ought to move away, the look on Pascal's face is nearly just as shaken, just as close to seeming almost afraid. Kip's heart lurches but he lets Pascal have his eye contact.

"I do still want that," he says. "I've been wanting it more and more each time I think about it. But I—I can't just tell you that without telling you that I've been...I've been realizing I love Wallace. And I love you. And I couldn't—I can't tell you how I feel about you if I was hiding that. I need you to know that. I need you to know how I feel without hiding anything."

Pascal still seems just as shaken, but that look of borderline-fear is now borderline-pained, as if at any moment he's about to wince or turn away from him. Kip realizes their knees are somehow still together. He keeps looking at Pascal. He can't turn away now.

"I—I never thought I'd have to think about loving more than one person," he says, voice louder now, if a bit tremulous. "I never assumed I would. When I realized I had a crush on Wallace, and that maybe I have for a while, I was so confused because I had no idea how I could feel this way but I did. I do. I've been thinking so hard this whole time about just trying to figure out these feelings, and all I realized about both of you was that I loved you more than I thought. When I started to think that this crush I'd gotten on Wallace might not just go away, when I thought that maybe it had started a while ago and I was just realizing it now, I also realized that even though I felt that way, I still loved you just as much as ever. I love you, and it's just as strong as it would be with or without any feelings for Wallace, Pascal. And then when I knew I love you, I thought about Wallace again, and those feelings were still there too. I don't know, Pascal, I don't know, I know that when you—when you realize you love somebody else it's supposed to mean that your love has left the first person or it's less or now you have to figure it out so you only love one of them, but...Pascal, it just isn't that way with this. These feelings for both of you aren't in competition. It doesn't feel at all like loving one of you makes me love the other any less, or like it means they're less important, or I have to push one of you away or... I mean, hell, thinking about how I loved you both only made me feel more strongly for each of you," he says, passion rising in his voice as though attempting to provide evidence.

He takes a few quick breaths, clenching a hand into a fist.

"Last time we met I was wanting to tell you this, and I remembered that time I got so upset about the idea of you being with someone else that I threw up, and I felt so guilty because I thought I must be being so selfish, wanting you to understand me loving another person too when I couldn't handle the thought of you being with someone instead of me. And I knew I had to figure it out, because I couldn't give you that same feeling I'd gotten about it, and so I went and I faced it until I realized that what I was so hurt by was just thinking that you didn't love me anymore, that you'd replaced me so that you didn't even want to have that love for me anymore, and—Pascal—" 

He turns closer towards Pascal. He wants to touch his face, but knows simply meeting his eyes is just as helpful, if not moreso. Pascal's face is so flushed and he's so still and quiet.

"Pascal, all I wanted was to know that you still cared about me, that I still meant something to you, I just—Pascal, my feelings for Wallace don't mean I was missing anything with you, or my love for you was too weak or not real or you didn't love me enough or I wasn't getting something or I needed someone new or different or whatever, whatever—it isn't anything like that! My love for you and the way I feel about you is still here, just like before, and Wallace doesn't take away from that at all. It's like how—how my love for Roy, or Molly, or Eno, or my family, none of that means I have less love left to give to you, none of that means you're less important to me or I want you in my life less! I mean—I've been a lot closer to Kate than I used to be when I first lived in C, and it's not because Roy or Molly aren't good enough somehow, or I don't need them, or now I love them less because I love Kate better, and it feels exactly the same with Wallace. I know it’s supposed to be different, but it feels like it’s the same. I—I love him and I like him and I care about him and I want to kiss him and be close to him and—" 

All at once he's tearing up but he presses on.

"And absolutely none of that has anything to do with how much I love you or not," he says, body tensing. His knee is now shoved against Pascal's. "And I love you so much. I keep my feelings for Wallace when I think of you, and I keep my feelings for you when I think of Wallace, and before this I wasn't sure if being in love with you was the right thing but ever since I've had to figure all this out I know—I know that I love you, and I've loved you since I met you, and I never stopped even when we broke up, and I—maybe I needed to move but that doesn't change the fact that it was stupid to think we had to split up, but I know nobody could have convinced me otherwise at the time—maybe I had to go through all this, go through our split and miss you like hell and try to move on and realize you were back and realize I still want you and now realize I like Wallace too, because, you know, going through all that just brought me here, where I don't feel guilty about wanting you or scared of loving you, and—you know what?" He sniffs and draws a deep but shaky breath.

His eyes are brimming so much that he can hardly see any distinct forms. His blink rumbles and sends tears spilling down his cheeks. 

"I know neither of us needs each other," he says. "If we wanted to we could go without each other and it would be so hard but we could do it. We could move on and we would live our lives. But I don't want to. You're here, and I love you, and out of all possible ways my life could go, if I have any choice, I want the one where I can be with you. I want us to be together. And when I was trying to figure out all this mess I realized that being away from you had just made me realize how good it's been to be with you for years and how good you are and how much love I felt for you every day, and...and I realized that the love I've always had for you has only gotten stronger and deeper since I left, Pascal. I didn't know that for sure until all of this came up."

He takes a few breaths, blinking out more tears. He doesn't want to call any more attention to the fact that he's crying by wiping his face—he wants Pascal to ignore it, so he will too.

Pascal leans back against the bench, face deeply flushed, and looks down at his lap.

"I'm not telling you about how I feel for Wallace because it's affected my feelings for you, or anything," Kip says quietly. "I'm not saying something's wrong, or I don't want to be with you. I just... When I knew that it wasn't just a crush that was going to go away after a week, I already knew that I wasn't able to just wish away my feelings for you either. And so I—I couldn't tell you how I felt about you without telling you that I have feelings for Wallace. Because it would be keeping something from you and I don't want that. I want you to know everything that I've been thinking about and I...I didn't want to have any conversation about us where I couldn't be totally open with you. I just want to be honest about everything. And—and, I don't know—you know how even when there's stuff I don't want to talk about, I just say that I don't feel like talking about it, I don't have to try pretending it doesn't exist or hide it or anything like that."

He sniffs quietly and takes a slow breath through his mouth. The end of Pascal's arms are curling in on themselves, one like a fiddlehead and the other like a soft-serve helix. His whole body seems slightly curved in on itself too, back bent forward with his head bowed towards his lap. It manages to make him look almost small. 

Kip wants to touch him, but instead he discreetly wipes his face and softens his voice. 

"I've never told Wallace about this," he murmurs. "He doesn't know how I feel. I wanted to talk to you about it before anyone else. The only other people who know are Eno, because of my appointments, and Kate, because she guessed. But I told her it was private. I...didn't want you to feel pressured. Nobody else knows."

Pascal doesn't quite look outright upset, but he's so tensed. He seems unable to speak, and his face is so thoroughly tinged red, and he's so removed from that easy happiness he had when they left the apartment. Kip tries not to start thinking that he's ruined all of this. That won't do anything for either of them.

"I don't know what I want with Wallace," he says. "Because I've never even told him. I know the stuff I think about, but I have no idea what would happen in reality. If I went up to him and asked him out he might just turn me down and that would be it. But I know what I want with you, Pascal. If I could choose how my life goes, I'd always choose a version that has you beside me because I want us to be together as long as we can be, as close as we'd like to be. But I...I know it isn't all about what I want. I want you to be able to choose too. So I had to tell you this first, because you deserve to know in case you...aren't comfortable with it. And I don't mean that to say you have to be comfortable with me telling Wallace this, because...I want to try figuring stuff out with you before anything else. I'm not—I can have the same interactions with Wallace that I've been having without ever needing to tell him how I feel. It would be fine. I just..."

He sighs.

"The way I feel about him is real. So you deserve to know about it, so that you're able to tell me how you feel and what you want. But just because I have more love for him than I used to doesn't mean that's taken away from the love I have for you at all. And I've been feeling more strongly about Wallace since I first knew I liked him, and while that was happening I was feeling more strongly about you, too. I promise those two things aren't in conflict inside me, and they're not in competition with each other, I don't need to compare them, they're just...two feelings at the same time."

He presses his lips together. 

Pascal looks so shaky. He seems so unsure of what to do that Kip immediately wants to step in to take care of him.

"Listen, Pascal..." he touches his arm. "I'm not going to do anything or tell anyone anything until you decide how you feel about this, okay? And I want you to just be able to tell me fully honestly how you feel, and don't worry, I'm fine. I'll be fine. I just wanna know how you feel. If you aren't okay with this...I want to know that too. Whatever you think."

He slowly caresses Pascal's arm as another tear tips over the brink of his eyelashes. Wanting to look after Pascal is making him regain steadiness much faster than he could otherwise.

"I needed a long time to figure this out, so you can take as much time as you need to understand what you want to say," he tells him softly. "I want to hear when you do. Don't worry about needing to be nice, I just want to know everything you think."

He stills his hand on Pascal's arm and looks at his face. 

"I love you so much, Pascal." His voice is almost as gentle as Pascal's sometimes manages to be. He gets the mild burning behind his nose that leads to a few new tears pooling in his eyes. "I won't do anything that'll hurt you, okay? I won't hurt you. I love you. I never could stop loving you."

Pascal exhales and turns his head to look at him and Kip takes his hand away and quickly wipes his face, giving a small smile. 

"I'm fine." His voice is almost a whisper. "Don't worry; I'm fine."

Pascal gives the slightest nod. Kip smiles more broadly and touches his shoulder briefly. 

"I know you're not ready to give me an answer now, so don't worry about that. Don't try. Take as much time as you need. Okay?"

"...Okay," Pascal answers quietly. He looks a tiny bit more steadied. Kip keeps looking him in the face, regardless of whether Pascal can look back at him or not.

"...Wanna head home for tonight?" Kip suggests. "I'd be really glad to walk you home if you want."

Pascal seems to be about to speak, but it gets caught and turns into a sighing exhale.

"I..." he starts again. "I guess so."

Kip bites his lip. He stands and offers his arm to Pascal. 

"C'mon. I'll take you home," he says.

Pascal looks up at him and manages a weak smile. After a moment he spirals his arm from Kip's wrist to his elbow and stands as well. A full head above Kip, and he still seems smaller. 

—

Although it's a brief walk, Kip is comforted that Pascal holds his hand all the way to the door of his building. Kip breathes through his teeth as they approach it, feeling the wrap of Pascal's arm loosen on his own. 

"Thank you so much for coming tonight, Pascal," he says as their steps slow. "It made me really happy, and Roy and Molly too, and I'm really glad you liked it too. I mean it that you should be able to come over as often as you want. We'd all really like that."

"It was really great being with you guys again," Pascal says, letting go of Kip's arm to turn slightly towards him. "Thanks for that—all of you guys being so cool to me."

Kip looks up at him and smiles. 

"Thanks for listening," he says, clenching a hand as he does. "I'm sorry I took so long to tell you that, and I wish this was all simpler, but...I wasn’t about to keep all that to myself."

Pascal smiles back at him, and Kip is so glad to see it, because it's one of Pascal's warm, soft smiles, barely strained at all.

"Take your time, okay?" Kip murmurs. "And if you want to ask me questions, that's okay, and if you wanna talk without having any definite answer, that's fine. Just whatever is comfortable for you."

"Right," Pascal says quietly. "Thank you."

Kip glances down at his feet before looking back up to lock eyes with Pascal. 

"I love you." He tries not to make it sound pleading. "I love you. I know I have no way of proving it to you, but I'm not lying about any of the stuff I said, I promise. And I really do feel—I really love you. I promise. I love you the way I always have. I promise, I..."

"Hey." It's the gentlest interruption. "I've known you for so long, Kip. I know you’re telling the truth. Don't worry."

Kip smiles.

"...I love you so much, Pascal,” he says quietly.

"I know." Pascal has the Sweet Look and it's beautiful. "I love you too, Kip."

Kip's breath becomes a light laugh of pure relief. 

And then that breath is caught, because Pascal is touching his face and leaning towards him. 

It's a short kiss, barely over two seconds long, but it's soft and so familiar and so intensely missed, and Pascal still holds it long enough to absolutely melt Kip and leave him staring speechlessly when they part.

"Text me when you get home, okay?" Pascal says, stepping towards the front door.

Kip nods weakly.

"Goodnight, Kip." 

"Goodnight."

Kip sees the blush and the soft smile on Pascal's face as their eyes meet one more time before Pascal slips inside. The door shuts behind him, leaving Kip to feel his departure.

Kip stands there, lips still warmed by Pascal's, face still sticky with almost-dried tears. 

About a minute later, he finally turns away and takes the first few steps towards home.

—

Immediately after sending both Roy and Molly a text to inform them he's heading back home, he messages Kate, asking if she's still up.

A minute later he gets a reply, a "cool!!" from Roy. And while he's reading that, the notification for Kate's "yesss whats up" intrudes on his screen. 

"can i just tell you about this thing i just did. i feel like telling someone and i know i only just told you the other day about the wallace thing so its kinda weird and annoying to throw you this stuff at random but youre kind of almost the only person who knows about it except for eno and my appointment tomorrow is way too far away."

"oh god...what did you do"

"no, don't worry, it wasn't horrible. but so i guess molly told you we had pascal over tonight, right?"

"yeah. i was kinda curious about that. interesting timing"

"tell me about it. so ok, long story short, i was still trying to figure things out with pascal when i realized i had a crush on wallace, so i spent ages figuring both out and it was a mess, but basically what i finally worked out was that i definitely want to get back with pascal, but i still like wallace too. in a way where i kinda want to date him."

"whoa."

"yeah. so i've been trying for a while to just make myself tell pascal about everything. that i like wallace too but i want to be with him again. and tonight i did that. like we went on a walk and i told him and im just heading home after dropping him off and i think im getting delayed adrenaline or something here"

"oh my god? how did it go??”

"i mean, he didnt get mad or anything. i think he was just, you know. really surprised. and probably confused. but i swear i really tried to explain everything well and i just told him to get back to me on it whenever he wants to. i mean, he kissed me for a second before he went inside. on the mouth and everything. and he said he loves me, so i think that's a good sign, right? i don't know...it wasn't perfect and it was really hard to do and we both got a little shook up but at least it feels like he's not gonna stop talking to me forever. i think. oh god what if that was a kiss goodbye, not just a kiss goodbye. i dont think it was??"

"ok dont start freaking out about that, we both know he's never going to just dump you like that. even if you did tell him youre in love with another man"

"oh god"

"im joking, take it easy. you said you havent talked to wallace about all this, right?"

"right...im not even going to think about it until pascal tells me what he thinks about this. im not gonna tell anyone until then. please dont even tell roy and molly or anyone...i'll tell them but not before pascal can think it over first."

"yeah i get it, big ol kip secret. ive kept it safe all this time so im not gonna slip up now. and what if pascal isnt sure?"

"i dont know. i guess we might just have to figure it out as we go along then"

"what if youuuu....talked to them both at once? like in the same room and everything"

"maybe at some point if we get there. right now i dont know what im doing or what any of us is doing. but at least i finally told pascal and im kind of terrified but im glad he doesnt seem to hate me, you know?"

"please. he loves you as much as anyones ever loved anyone. just keep talking to him. and probably eventually wally too."

"yeah. you're right...god it just feels crazy right now. its like this whole secret thats been messing me up for forever. i almost can't believe i finally managed to tell him"

"sounds like its a good thing you did manage it then. congratulations on that and your hot date."

"thanks. and thanks for letting me throw all this shit at you."

"you know i’m always here to have shit thrown <3"

"see you for like an hour tomorrow?"

"about. can't wait. don't stay up all night worrying and overthinking ok? go get some sleep."

"alright, for you. goodnight then"

"niight"

—

Kip enters the door that leads directly from the outside into a stairwell and texts Pascal "I got back" as soon as it closes behind him. He ascends the steps slowly, feeling a little tired but moreso mentally and physically fogged up. It's quiet and he doesn't see a single person, but once or twice he hears a door shut or a blurry voice down a hallway. 

He sighs as he puts the keys in the door and barely makes it all the way inside before Roy sticks his head into the room.

"Kip!" he says, brightly yet quietly enough that Kip can presume Molly has already turned in for the night. "How did it go? Did—"

Roy cuts himself off with a twitch of his brow as his gaze moves all across Kip's face with strangely intense focus. Kip blinks and holds himself stiffly under the sudden scrutiny.

"...Roy?" 

The other monster's expression shifts to one of deep sympathy. He walks closer, requiring Kip to tilt his head further up.

"Roy, what is it?" Kip asks weakly, bemused.

"Kip..." Roy's voice is soaked with pathos. "You've been crying."

"What?" Kip is genuinely surprised; he'd stopped crying over twenty minutes ago and had made a decent effort to clean up the evidence.

"What happened?" Roy asks. "Is everything okay?"

"It's fine," Kip assures him quietly. "Roy, it's fine, don't worry."

"What happened?" Roy repeats. He moves closer and Kip blushes, glancing away.

"It's nothing. I...I just had to talk about some stuff that was really difficult to say and I got stressed. Nothing happened."

"You...you guys are okay? I mean...did you fight?" Roy almost whispers the last words, seemingly embarrassed.

"No." Kip laughs flatly. "Pascal's fine; I walked him home. It just got emotional, but it wasn’t a fight."

"You're okay?" Roy repeats.

Kip smiles with a small nod. 

"Good—" And Roy swoops forward and hugs Kip snugly against his chest.

It only takes a minute for Kip to gamely bring his hands to Roy's back. Then Roy's hand is above his nape, at the base of Kip's skull, softly stroking his hair. Kip's exhale is a little strained but he allows his forehead to rest against Roy's chest. Roy moves his other hand to the small of Kip's back and holds him; Kip keeps still, almost breathless, finding the experience slightly overwhelming in his current state. 

"I'm glad you're alright," Roy murmurs, resting his chin atop Kip's head and lengthening his strokes from up by Kip's scalp down to the border of his hair.

"Mm-hm." Kip's hands twitch and he closes his eyes. 

The embrace feels really nice, better the longer it's held. It's making it easier for Kip to relax. He leans a little bit into Roy, who's so much taller that it doesn't shift them off balance even a bit.

"You're so sweet, Roy," he mumbles against Roy's shirt. "You're always so sweet to me and I hope you know how much I appreciate it."

"Aw..." Roy squeezes him tighter.

They hug until Kip twists slightly in Roy's arms to put a hand to his chin and kiss his cheek.

"Oh—"

Kip smiles softly with a glance at the pink spreading across Roy's face. He presses another kiss to his jaw, lingering longer. And places one more peck to his cheek as he gently places a hand on the side of his shoulder. 

"Thank you," he says as he shifts his weight back to let Roy straighten back up to his full impressive height.

Roy is smiling warmly, looking at Kip with a fondness as though he loves the very sight of him.

"I'm glad everything went okay today," Roy says. "I'm really happy we can all hang out like that again and you guys get to see each other again. You two are so good together...it's so easy and nice to see how much you love each other."

Kip blushes and smiles at the floor. 

"Thank you," he repeats softly. "I'll...I'll tell you guys about what's going on as soon as I can, okay? I promise it's nothing bad or—anything you need to worry about, but it's—uh—it's very personal, and I want Pascal to just have it to himself for a bit until he's figured out his feelings about it. And it's just...hard to talk about. I think I'm ready, but it's still hard."

"...Okay."

"I'm sorry for being so cryptic." Kip laughs dryly and rubs at the side of his neck. "I just haven't been able to talk about it."

"That's alright!" Roy assures him quickly. "You don't need to push yourself. We want you to feel comfortable about telling us whatever you want to tell us." 

Kip smiles at him again.

"That's not all that's been bothering you though, is it." Roy's expression drops a little. "Not with all the times you've had bad days lately."

Kip meets his eyes for a moment and then looks at the wall, sighing quietly.

"No. But that's just usual things. Old stuff, and...bad days, and both at once. There's nothing terrible going on."

Roy reaches out hesitantly, hand hovering in the air between them. Kip takes it and strokes the back of his hand a few times with his thumb.

"You have to get up even before we do," Kip murmurs. "Go ahead to bed. I think I'm gonna take a quick bath and then I'm going to bed, too."

"Okay," Roy says, curling his hand around Kip's. "You'll be alright?"

Kip feels a flush of affection at how much earnest concern Roy has.

"Yes. Thank you. I love you." Roy is too high up to kiss his face without tugging him down, so Kip raises their clasped hands and kisses Roy's knuckles.

"Oh, gosh..." Roy sounds almost breathless, face lit up and glowing pink. "I love you too, Kip."

And Kip is pulled forward into another tight hug, returning it immediately. He squeezes Roy's torso before they release each other.

"Okay." He smiles up at Roy. "Goodnight, Roy."

"Goodnight." Roy smiles back, and bends and kisses Kip's forehead. 

Kip grins and pivots away, retreating to his bedroom with a soft smile. He physically relaxes just at the sight of his bed and tosses his keys and phone on the blankets. He pulls some sweatpants and a soft tee from a drawer and takes them into the bathroom, where he runs the water for a minute to its highest heat and quickly fills the tub just short of halfway, then strips his clothes off and lowers himself in. 

He just wants the heat, not a second chance in the same day to wash himself, so he simply lies still in the water and keeps his head above the surface, though he cups some water in his hands to let it run down his face. He soaks in the warmth for about ten minutes, then lathers a bit of soap and casually spreads it on his face and throat, works it under his arms, on his chest, his legs. He rinses it off and opens the stopper of the drain before stepping out and wrapping himself in a towel. 

He gets into his pajamas after drying off and peeing, washes his hands, brushes his teeth, and carries the day's clothes tucked under an arm on the way back to his room. Less than a minute later he's nestling under his covers. He takes his phone to set his alarm and sees that he's gotten a response from Pascal.

His heart thumps at the sight; he opens it immediately.

"Good. Ps: im not mad at you, i want to make sure you know that."

Kip texts back: "ok. thanks pas. goodnight”

He sighs deeply as he puts the phone aside, sinks back into his mattress and pillow, and looks at the ceiling.

Kate's words come to mind, telling him to try to sleep instead of spending hours overanalyzing everything and being kept up by his anxieties. He closes his eyes and dedicates his thoughts to following her advice.

—

His alarm wakes him out of a sound sleep. The dull feeling that something is off confuses him—and when he remembers what happened the night before, he isn't sure it's real. But his phone shows the documentation via his texts. 

He shoves on his clothes while wondering how Pascal felt when he woke up and how he's feeling now. He has a quick bowl of cereal and heads out for an early shift at the café.

Molly is pulling trays out of the oven when he arrives and he greets her warmly if breathlessly as he ties on his apron and then gets to work preparing the front, tills, and coffee bar for opening.

Transitioning into work mode is second nature; unless his mood is exceptionally horrific he can always front a collected, vaguely amiable demeanor. Which is true even when his mind wanders, as it's tending to do now. Fortunately, it just means he's a little distracted and liable to an occasional second or two when he stops what he's doing and stares hard at a random point in space. Otherwise he shows no signs of being preoccupied by wondering what Pascal's current thoughts and feelings are.

The store keeps up a mild, steady flow of customers with a few periods of increased busyness. He can repeat a cycle of activities to keep everything together, and time doesn't drag too badly, though he has moments where his thoughts start to race and he has to shake it off.

Kate arrives before he expects it. She grins at him with a nod and his usual smile and wave have a hint more timidity than usual. He feels a low blush rising and busies himself with cleaning up the coffee bar as he hears Kate and Molly's muffled conversation and laughter. When she joins him up front she asks how he's holding up and pats his shoulder. 

The last hour of his shift slips by, and it's only when he's halfway home that some anxiety rises to the forefront of his mind in the absence of distraction. The solitude in the apartment doesn't feel peaceful as much as threatening, so once he gets out of his work clothes he slides into bed and tries for a nap to pass the next half hour or so. 

It's something of a success—he drifts in and out of a light sleep, and the physical relaxation soothes his mental agitation as well. The blankets feel soft and warm against his skin and the quiet becomes welcome. He's dozing when his alarm sounds.

It takes less than ten minutes before he's dressed and has everything ready for his trip to B. He hitches the strap of his bag into place, checks his keys, phone, and wallet, and heads out the door. 

The sense of routine is comforting when he's in the station, waiting for his train to arrive. As always, it becomes slightly less comforting once he crosses into B, but he works hard on ignoring it and only feels slightly drained by the increasing sense of tension in his proximity. 

It feels like it's been so long since he's last seen Eno's door. He's twenty minutes early, but although his appointments aren't always on the same day of the week, Eno always has at least an hour cushion before his appointments and none scheduled afterwards, so there's no worry of anyone else being around. Sure enough, there's no sign of anyone when he walks inside and deposits himself on a padded bench. He's grateful for the feeling of sanctuary in the quiet and familiarity.

He doesn't see or hear any indication of Eno's presence, but he calls out to inform him of his arrival nonetheless, and then sinks against the wall, closing his eyes and heaving a sigh. He remembers one time he fell asleep on this bench. Though there's also been a few times in the years he's been coming for appointments when Eno would leave the room for a minute to retrieve something and Kip had been so exhausted all day that be dozed off on the chaise.

He feels exhausted now too, in a very different way.

—

"Well, I've been kissed more in the past week than I was for basically this past year, so."

"Oh. Well, then."

He lowers his bag to the floor and then himself to the couch. 

"It's been...a little bit of a mess, Eno," he adds with half a smile.

"You holding up?"

"I think so." He laughs. "I'm a little worried I'm going to burn out or crash at some point here, but so far it feels like I'm at least kind of...supported by momentum right now."

"Wanna tell me about what's been going on?" Eno perches on the chair behind his desk.

"Ugh." Kip leans back and puts his hands on his face. "Okay. I'm just going to give a list and worry about coming back to parts when I'm done."

"Okay."

"Okay. So after I left my appointment last week I ended up inviting Pascal to our apartment for dinner with the three of us, and he said yes. And we both said 'I love you.' And then I visited Wallace on a whim and we just had a long conversation while hanging out and it was really nice. And then all of a sudden I woke up to a couple bad days and Roy and Molly took me out once but I was still nervous about it messing with the dinner we'd planned because I was nervous enough already. And I was trying to meet with Pascal beforehand to tell him about Wallace, but like right before I got there I remembered this time I had gotten really super upset just from imagining Pascal dating someone besides me and I backed out, and Pascal was understanding but it sucked. Oh, and then I ran into Ben and half-lost my patience for a second and I still haven't apologized for that. And I tried writing stuff down about why I'd felt all guilty and hypocritical about telling Pascal everything, and it actually helped me figure out a lot about it, and Wallace showed up at my work and I ended up telling Kate I liked him because she asked if I did, and then Wallace came by our place for dinner and that was cool and then just before he left for the night he hugged me and then he kissed me—not on the mouth, but just beside it—" He puts two fingers to the spot to clarify. "And then he compliments my face and then Roy comes back and they both head downstairs. And then yesterday was the day for Pascal to come over and it actually all went really well, and we all liked being together again, and I'd told him earlier I wanted to talk afterwards and he said okay and I took him out and I managed to tell him about Wallace and tried my best to explain everything I thought I needed to and I don't think I forgot anything important, and I know he was really surprised so I told him to just take his time coming up with whatever he wanted to say or do next, and I don't think he was mad, and when I walked him to his building we said 'I love you' again and he kissed me, on the lips, and he texted me to make sure I knew he wasn't mad, and that was last night and I'm kind of impressed I haven't fallen apart way worse at any time during all of that."

He takes a few breaths, gazing steadily at the ceiling.

"...Wow."

"And that brings it to today. It's been alright, although I have to try not to be on edge about waiting for Pascal to get in touch with me. I mean, for all I know, it could be weeks, and I don't want to feel disappointed just because it ends up taking a while."

"Mm. But maybe you want to keep in touch with him and just don't want to go a month or two without seeing or speaking to him? Do you think either you or he plans on associating with the other only if you're dating?"

"Well...I'd rather not go without him, and he's one of my best friends, and...he's Roy and Molly's friend, too. I just don't want to seem like I'm trying to pressure him, you know? As though I'm trying to give him attention to convince him to go along with whatever I want. Because it's only just this week that we've been in touch and seen each other more often than just...casually, every week and a half or two."

"Right." Eno puts his hand on his chin and taps his index finger to his philtrum. "I'm not saying I think this is necessarily more likely, but isn't it possible that avoiding contact with him entirely might pressure him as well? If he thinks that he won't get to see or speak to you at all if he's not agreeing to have a conversation about you two dating, you know?"

"That's probably true, ugh," Kip groans. "...I guess I could wait about a week and then think about getting in touch if he hasn't already? I feel like that would give him some time without being an unusually long separation or anything."

"Are you worried about it?"

"...A little. I just...I don't want to risk spoiling this. I mean, I guess I'll be alright without him if he doesn't want to be with me, but I—I'm pretty invested in him, and I get more stressed than I'd like if I start thinking about this falling apart."

He sighs.

"I mean, he did tell me that he was worried about a similar thing when he moved here. That I'd be angry with him, and I wouldn't want to be with him, and I wouldn't even want him so close to me. And he just said he knew he would rather risk living with that than feel like he was letting go of any chance to have each other in our lives."

He folds his hands in his lap, rubbing one thumb over the other.

"So I suppose I don't have to worry about him not even wanting to be friends. But I... For a while I actually was upset and even a little bit angry sometimes. And I couldn't even be certain until just recently that I wanted to date him again."

"But you're not angry at him now. And you want to be with him."

"Yeah. He just had to wait about a year and hear that I'm interested in someone else." He manages to keep almost all of the bitterness out of his dry tone.

"He told you he wasn't angry."

"...But he might've felt hurt. He looked upset. And, I don't know, that was last night and we were together and maybe after waking up to another day and not having me standing right in front of him, he feels differently now."

"Maybe. And maybe he doesn't. You'll just have to wait and see what he has to say. In the meantime, you two were together for years. Remember how much he cares about you."

Kip sighs again. 

"I know... I know that's true..." He bites his lip. "I just get so nervous sometimes."

"Just remind yourself. Focus on specific memories and feelings, strong ones that can pull you out of a loop."

Kip looks right above himself at the ceiling and nods. Eno lets the pause linger for a few seconds before offering another question.

"What about Wallace?"

"I haven't told him anything. I don't think I want to talk to anyone about it until I know for sure what Pascal wants."

"You think you'll tell him even if you're not going to date him?"

"...I might. But I'm not sure. I might just tell Roy and Molly in that case. It's not like it's exactly put a strain on the relationship I've already had with Wallace. I just...I want different things too, but if that's not possible, I can accept that. I don't even know that he'd be interested anyways."

"You did, um, mention him kissing your face."

"That did happen." Kip blushes. "But to be fair, I kiss my friends on the face sometimes when we're close enough. For all I know, Wallace might do that too. I mean, we've known each other a good while now, but I feel like it's only been in recent months that we've had the time and energy and opportunity to try to get to know each other properly. There's still plenty of things I haven't asked or told him."

"Do you feel any differently about it now that you've told Pascal?"

"I don't think so. It's been pretty much the same since I became aware of it." He doesn't much care to elaborate on such developments as consciously choosing to fantasize about sex with Wallace while masturbating.

"What if Wallace talks to you first?" Eno asks. "If he thinks something like, I don't know, he's worried he overstepped a boundary by kissing you. Do you know what you'd do if something were to happen such as Wallace asking you to share your feelings towards him?"

"Oh—" Kip's blush brightens. "Well, I... I don't want to lie to him. I guess I'd just tell him I'm not upset with him, but I'd have to wait to discuss the details of how I feel."

"And if he told you he wants to go out with you?"

Kip exhales slowly; his heart has sped up slightly. 

"I...I guess then I would have to..." He sighs. "I'd probably want to tell him everything, but I...I don't know if I shouldn't just give the same answer. That I'm not upset, but I can't talk about it yet. I wouldn't want to, I don't know, give him false hope by saying I like him too, even though that’s true, and have to tell him afterwards that we can't even start dating."

"Would you tell Pascal if Wallace approached you first? Do you think it would be as easy to avoid a different relationship with Wallace if you both told each other you want to be together, even if you said it was off-limits?"

The heat in Kip's face stops being a pleasant warmth and becomes a burn. He pushes himself partway up to look at Eno.

"I won't cheat on Pascal!" he says sharply. 

"I know you wouldn't, Kip." Eno's voice and expression are both soft, almost tired. He brushes some hair into place. "I don't mean it like that. I just mean that in that scenario, it might be very draining to be around Wallace, and you might find it more manageable to spend less time alone with him, or around him at all."

Kip's chest feels tighter; he knows Eno is probably right. He looks away and then nods.

"I suppose," he says quietly, slowly leaning back down. "I know I don't have any actual control over what'll happen. I'm trying to keep reminding myself it's possible I could lose both of them, but it's hard. It's already so natural for me to always assume disaster from the start that I'm trying to balance it out by hoping for the best, but...I still know that wanting some outcome more doesn't make it any more likely to occur. I don't know."

He wrings his fingers.

"I don't know," he repeats. "I can't really regret this or anything, and I didn't exactly choose it, but it's not like I don't wish it was simpler."

He wishes he had a warm drink.

"I mean, when Wallace kissed me, I know I liked it. But I wasn't expecting anything like that, of course, and it still...it's confusing. I mean, looking back on it, even before I started thinking of him like this, we had a decent amount of moments together that were..." He searches for the right word. "Intimate. And I think they were a little charged, at least on my end. I'd kind of get this intense feeling in my stomach for a second, but at the time I wasn't really recognizing it as anything in particular, much less...really liking him. So, I don't know, maybe it's been mutual, but...I just don't want to entertain anything that I can't follow through on, I don't want to be—I want to be honest about how I feel, without having my feelings be pushing them in any direction or another. I want it to be about how they feel about everything."

"But anyone who cares about you is going to want to take your feelings into account, too, Kip. Even if you just present them as factual bullet points, your feelings might not be interpreted as objectively as you present them."

"...Yeah. I guess."

"It's just that...you won't necessarily be able to predict and prepare for every scenario. Things might happen in a way you haven't even considered yet. Do you think you could deal with finding yourself in a completely unexpected situation with this? Or if things go beyond what you can control and you don't wind up happy with the end result?"

"I don't know," he murmurs.

"Just..." Eno inhales deeply. "I know that feeling like you have your thoughts in order and that you've planned for a variety of scenarios helps you feel more comfortable in potentially stressful or intimidating situations. But this is dealing entirely with emotions and relationships that are already historied and complex, and it's basically impossible for you to be able to be ready for every possible development."

"I know." His voice is quieter. He's getting slightly drained.

"Are you afraid of what might happen if that's the case?" Eno is softening his voice as well.

Kip pressed his lips together.

"I...I'm not worried about what it will be like experiencing the interaction if things don't work out one way or another," he says. "I know they're both kind and sensitive and they won't be cruel to me or want to upset me, but...it's the idea of the aftermath that worries me. If I damage either relationship, or hurt either of them. If I end up feeling upset and guilty and lonely all at once. It wouldn't be anything I couldn't handle, but I always dread that kind of thing no matter how often I encounter it."

"You couldn't truly numb yourself to that even if you tried," Eno says solemnly. "I'm not asking you all this to suggest you need to feel nervous or consider it more likely that things will go badly. I just want you to be prepared to take care of yourself. It's very clear you've been thinking a lot about how to handle Pascal and Wallace's needs and are taking it very seriously. And that's a good thing. But you shouldn't forget about yourself. You need to be sure to pay attention to your own needs while waiting for any discussion, and during it, and afterwards. Have you been noticing your own emotions this last week, even those not directly involving everything that you told me was going on?"

"I think so," Kip says slowly. "I mean, things were kind of a mess and I was thinking about things with Wallace and Pascal pretty much multiple times an hour, but I tried to distract myself and focus on other things sometimes, because I knew I might get too stressed. And...it might not be the most impressive example, but when I was having a bad day or two, I could tell that was pretty separate from all the worrying; it was more of...just depression. And I had a nightmare that didn't have much to do with anything that was going on. It was just an old one. Though I guess that might've been caused by stress." 

He sighs. 

"That's good you've been aware of yourself, and it seems like you found enough ways to make it through everything you've had going on," Eno says. "I know you'd seem much more tense than you do if you were feeling genuinely terrible right now. I think it's a good idea to keep in mind ways to maintain that if needbe. It's much more plausible for you to be able to go into a situation prepared with a few reliable ways to cope if it goes awry than to be able to keep the situation from going south no matter what happens. Even considering the complexity and uncertainty of how things will turn out, you could probably do yourself a favor by preemptively deciding on what you can turn to if you need a source of comfort."

Kip has no response; he gives a silent nod.

"You can talk about other things if you'd like." Eno laughs quietly. "I hope it doesn't feel like you came here to be lectured. I want you to remember to pay attention to what's good for you during everything that may happen."

"I do things for myself when I'm getting upset," Kip says. 

"That's good. But you still have needs even when you're not upset. Try not to lower the importance of your own feelings in comparison with others'. No matter how well or how badly it's going. Conflict can be necessary, and doesn't necessarily always damage a relationship, and one should avoid feeling guilt or shame or fear over initiating anything they feel will cause conflict. To totally avoid it requires silencing yourself, and collapsing communication will stagnate and potentially destroy a relationship."

Kip nods again, blushing. 

"I keep telling myself I have to be honest with both Pascal and Wallace," he says. "But it can be so much harder to be open."

A moment passes.

"I suppose it makes sense that I never really got the chance to really focus on this stuff earlier, back when everything was happening...but it sometimes makes it seem like things had just been settled down long enough for safety to feel normal, and I had only just been able to recover and relax before I started to worry about all of this. It..."

He folds his arms across his chest in something of a hug.

"Sometimes I wonder if I've ever really been able to know myself," he says. "And I don't like to think it, because it seems so melodramatic. I know that to many extents I do know myself, really well, but I—it can feel like who I am is just always someone playing into a role. I mean, moving here meant that, at least in part, I had to embrace people's idea of who I was. And when I was in D, I thought I didn't have to worry about those expectations anymore, but I still felt this guilt for wanting to abandon even the potential for that life. And of course I didn't know who I was after...moving there for the first time. I still recognized my thoughts and feelings the same as I could still recognize my face, but I just couldn't even possibly thing about what I wanted for the longest time. And when I could, things seemed...fine. I'll always be glad for how quiet things were, and living with my friends, and just being like anyone else. I didn't like being so far from you, or that I had no choice but to keep my head down, or that what had happened to my family was...the way it was, but I figured that knowing I liked the quiet, and that I loved being with Pascal, and getting to see friends every day; all that was great. But I'd known those things already. I couldn't come up with anything I could be sure I wanted from the future except more of the same. And I mean, before all of that, before it happened, you and Kent and Yumi were already working by the time I was starting to have any serious thoughts about what I wanted to do as a job, but more than that, just what kind of person I wanted to be. And I wanted to do what you guys did, and I wanted to be like Kent—it almost didn't seem like a choice. And that was what I had to go on, and of course now I'm here, and...I still know the obvious facts about myself and the same old stuff that's always been true, but it's like I have to try on a role for ages to even tell if it appeals to me or if I just...am trying to force myself to do what I want myself to want. I don't know—there's so much about my situation here that's great, but it's like every now and then I get this...spasm of worry that maybe I'm unhappy and just avoiding it? Or I'm going to become unhappy because I don't know what I want? I get afraid that I've never known what I want, and I've never known who I am. Or maybe I already know myself, but I don't know it yet. I don't know. Like I said, it just seems so melodramatic. I mean, I'm in a good situation, I'm in a good place. Even with having bad days, or a bad week or two, I'm in a pretty good place. I don't know. I guess I just never know what to do with myself."

He's been worrying at his lip enough that it's starting to feel worn and sore. He's trying to stop.

"I guess it's part of me wondering how I'd feel if I don't date either of them. I know I'd be okay, because I've been single and it hasn't killed me or anything, and I love my friends, but it gets me thinking if I'm just defined entirely by my relationships with people. Relationships of all kinds. I know it's okay that they're a huge part of who I am and my life, but sometimes I think of if I'd even know myself when thinking of myself independently of those relationships. I guess I do. But I'm not sure."

He takes his bottom lip out from where he's pinned it between his teeth and presses his lips together and looks up at the ceiling, trying to redirect his focus from the feeling of his raw lip to the pressure of the cushions beneath him against his weight.

"You're unsure about your identity, then. Do you think that's become more prominent because of this new situation with how you're experiencing your relationships?"

"A little. But it's always kind of been there. Even when I was with my family. But then it was just a tiny doubt. Afterwards it would eat at me all day. It usually doesn't quite hurt to think of now—at least, not in that way. But I guess I'm...I'm wondering if there's other things about myself that I have no idea about."

"Of course there are."

Kip blinks and looks over at Eno.

"You, uh... You know something I don't?" he asks bemusedly.

"No—" Eno laughs. "I only mean that everyone is continuously developing as a person, and you've experienced multiple episodes of dramatic change within a few years, and even if you hadn't, you're in a period where most people are in the midst of trying to learn about themselves—and invent themselves. It's perfectly normal not to feel familiar with yourself, or like you don't have a solid identity. There's no goalposts anywhere. You have so much time and opportunity to explore your identity and grow with it. It's not any sign of failure or issue that you don't feel like you're there yet."

A pause.

"Does it frustrate you?" Eno asks.

"...A little. Sometimes." Because having doubts about himself and his life tends to feel like he's let his family down. "It can feel disappointing."

"There's no need to feel as though you have to have yourself completely in order and figured out at any time in life," Eno says gently. "And you shouldn't stifle yourself in an effort to keep from being confused about your identity. ...No one would expect or want you to feel as though you have nothing more to learn about who you are or what you want."

Kip looks over at the bookshelf against the adjacent wall, face warming. Eno seems to have the ability to sense when he's thinking of his family.

"It's not a failure that you were caught unawares by a new aspect of yourself. It's a normal experience. You're in the process of discovering something about yourself, and you'll be able to know and love yourself better by the end of it."

"I'm not sure I always like myself better," Kip murmurs.

"Maybe not short-term. Change isn't always welcome."

To say the least.

Kip sighs and tries to think of something to say.

"I try to be nice to myself," he says quietly. "When I can."

"That's good."

"I think I like myself," he adds. "At least, I know that I'm not a bad person, and I care about other people, and try not to hurt anyone. And—and things have been hard. So I try to be understanding of that."

He glances over at Eno, who smiles.

"That's good, too."

Kip manages to smile back.

—

He throws himself into trying to stay connected with everyone and trying to keep his life and routine normal rather than feeling like he's consumed by waiting. Work helps; he tells Kate a longer version of the story of his crushes while they close together, and they make overdue plans to hang out when they both get an afternoon off. He tries to cook meals when he can. He writes two new blog entries in quick succession and makes a document of notes and ideas for future posts. He even gets lucky with receiving some additional distractions—one day he joins Molly to pick up Roy from work to help carry home supplies from a special project he put together for the kids, the next day he's Molly's accompaniment to a fabric store, helping her pick out materials for a new sewing project she wants to try. 

When he's alone, he's still okay. He doesn't worry too much when his thoughts gravitate to Pascal or Wallace or the inbox of his phone, but he does try to distract himself. He runs errands, walks to the store when they've run out of something. He visits the library to try to pick out a few books. He takes himself out to eat a couple of times. He cleans when the whim takes him. He lets himself daydream about Pascal and Wallace. He gets himself off before showering.

He leaves work at one in the afternoon and the sky is completely clear, it's warm, and there's a breeze. When he's home, he changes into a loose tank top and a small pair of exercise shorts and puts on one of his only pairs of sandals. A quarter of an hour later he's in the park, lying on a towel by a tree, arm lying across his eyes to shield them as he feels the sunlight and air against his skin.

The sounds around him keep his thoughts from growing too loud. He rolls over onto his stomach for good measure, letting that side get some direct sunlight too. A bird perches in the branches above him and sings loudly. He remembers park visits with his family, from when he was very young up to the week before their deaths. He listens to the distant sounds of conversation and laughter and music. He lets a tiny beetle struggle its way through the hairs on his forearm.

Alternately swimming through the flow of his thoughts and ignoring them completely to focus on everything about the environment around him, a couple of hours go by. When he decides he's ready to go back to the apartment, he sits up and looks around himself for a few minutes more before gathering everything up and walking back towards home.

His mind is wandering freely but his body is on autopilot, and he's only startled into paying attention when he sees an unfamiliar shop window on the corner of the street he just crossed. He quickly looks all around, and spends a moment completely confused before being stunned by the realization he'd been taking the old way home. A path he hadn't walked in over half a decade: the one to Berkley. 

His face floods with heat and his heart rate jumps and he's utterly immobilized for several seconds. He's never walked this way once in all the months he's been back in C—the few times he's been to Pascal's store, he was deliberate in choosing a route that overlapped with any of his old ones as little as possible. He didn't even know this was still preserved in the back of his mind. But here he is, barely five minutes away from his old home. Which isn't there anymore. He doesn't know what's in its place. He's returned there before, and he's not going to now.

A little rattled, he immediately retraces his steps and easily puts himself back on his actual route. They don't live too far from where he used to—the detour probably took an extra fifteen minutes in all. He smooths the front of his shirt and lifts his chin a little higher and strides along the sidewalk with a little more confidence than he really feels. 

But even that slight front falls away when his building comes into view and he sees Ben just past the steps to the front door, standing with his back to Kip and apparently looking up at the sky, wisps of smoke folding up over his right hand and arm.

Kip's pace slows to a stop and he rocks his weight over his back foot; for half a moment his instinct is to double back and take a side entrance. But he quickly overrides that as ridiculous and continues his approach, slower. He's not scared of Ben. He doesn't hate Ben. He doesn't want to back himself completely into a corner of avoiding him fully. He wants to hope that they can have as unburdened a relationship as they used to—being liked by Ben has a lovely quiet warmth that Kip wishes he could ever give off too.

Ben just makes him so self-conscious sometimes, for no apparent reason at all. Maybe it's because he can be so quiet that Kip's own quietness can't hide in the background. Maybe it's just the intensity he has. Maybe it's just his habit of noticing the kinds of little details Kip would rather went overlooked. There's a good chance it has to do with the times he expresses disappointment with Kip, but doesn't temper it with affection the way his other friends do. But whatever it is, Kip knows he doesn't want it to keep him from being on friendly terms with someone he's known for so long, someone who went out of his way to help them coordinate their move to C and have everything go as smoothly as it could.

He waits until he's standing by the steps, but Ben shows no intention of looking over to see who's coming by.

"...Ben?" he tries quietly.

Ben glances over; Kip sees a moment of bemused curiosity in his expression before it settles back to a usual dispassionate neutrality.

"Hey," Ben answers, cooperatively turning till he's mostly facing Kip.

Kip blushes, clutching his rolled-up towel a little tighter. He wishes he could've run into Ben when he was wearing something a little closer to his average style, and when he wasn't as sweaty and almost short of breath. Ben, on the other hand, looks completely put together and is wearing jeans and a soft, light blue t-shirt that Kip must not have seen before because that color looks so noticeably great on Ben that he's sure to have remembered it if he had, and now instead of speaking like any reasonable person he's just standing there and blushing even harder. 

"Uh, I—" Right away he's talking too fast, too nervously. He tries to quiet it down again. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry for—when I snapped at you a few days ago. It was—I was just stressed out and not paying attention but I shouldn't've—you didn't do anything. I'm sorry. Maybe I should've said so sooner, but I was nervous and I thought it might be weird to come after you—"

"Kip." 

The calm interruption stops him at once. He stops glancing anxiously around and looks at Ben, whose expression seems wearied.

"You don't need to apologize."

"No, it was really rude of me—"

"Kip."

Kip is a little taken aback at the firmness of the second interruption.

"Don't worry about it. I didn't care."

Kip wasn't quite expecting this. He's not sure what‘s meant to be happening.

"I shouldn't have done that to you," Kip repeats with more emphasis. "You didn't—you don't deserve that."

"Don't worry about it," Ben says flatly, lifting the cigarette.

"I—I have to apologize," Kip persists bemusedly. "I treated you really unfairly."

"It doesn't matter," Ben sighs, taking a brief draw and looking off across the street. 

Kip's eyebrows twitch. He knows that Ben doesn't exactly have sky-high self-esteem either, but as far as he knows it isn't so low that Ben should be acting like the kind of unmistakably harsh treatment Kip gave him isn't even worthy of apology.

"It does," Kip argues quietly. "I was—I was just...mean to you. I shouldn't treat you like that even if I am in a bad mood, and I at least should've said something then, instead of just leaving."

"I didn't really care." Ben still looks decidedly away from Kip; his voice is still impassive.

Kip is left with neither words nor any sense of resolution. He simply stands there, looking at Ben, feeling stupider than ever.

The other monster finally spares him a glance, and some evidence of discomfort comes over him, which at least turns his apparent indifference into something slightly more emotional.

"Look, Kip—" He brushes his fingers through his bangs. "It's like you said, you were in a bad mood, who cares if you were impatient with me. I've had worse. I can handle myself. I'm an adult. Don't worry about that."

"...I know you can handle it," Kip says. "But that doesn't mean what I did was okay. I...I should treat you better than that."

"Why." 

Kip is too bemused to even nervously fidget anymore.

"...What?" he asks weakly.

"You don't have to like me, Kip," Ben says, his tone suggesting he's explaining something painfully obvious without wanting to. "We don't have to like each other. It's fine. It doesn't matter. I can handle myself even without being your best friend."

Kip's face is suddenly burning. 

"But...I do..." His protest is clumsy. "I do like you—"

"It’s fine. Not everyone has to be your friend." Ben looks right at him. "It's okay if not everyone likes you. Just deal with that. It's not hard, trust me."

That time the deliberateness of the barb and its bitterness is so much more upfront. Kip stares back for a moment out of nothing but wounded pride, not even caring about his bared legs or ferocious cerulean blush or the fact that he never even managed to land his apology. He keeps staring even as Ben turns away again and indicates his exit from the conversation by holding the cigarette in his mouth. 

"...Okay." His own voice has dropped significantly lower. "I'll see you later."

He's shoving his keys into the lock by the time he hears a bewilderingly unaffected "Bye" from behind him. He pushes through the door and propels himself up the stairs with similar impatience.

He throws everything down onto his mattress one by one: his keys, his towel, his phone, his wallet. He stands there glowering down at them. 

"Fuck this," he hisses through his teeth.

He puts some water on the stove and sits down on the stool to wait on it.

He forces himself to cry just to burn off the stress more quickly. It takes just a few seconds of effort to bring tears to his eyes, and he only cries for about a minute before he feels like he's done. It's replaced by a cooled frustration, partly towards Ben for making a fool of him, partly towards himself, because he feels like Ben's right.

He ought to be able to feel perfectly fine about a scenario where he and Ben don't regard each other with any particular warmth. It's probably why he's been noticing such seeming distaste from Ben—if he expects to be liked by everyone, a simply neutral reaction is going to feel cold. Maybe he's been too accustomed to being treated warmly by strangers on the street. Maybe he's been sheltered all his life, first by the constant love of his family, then the love of his unshakably loyal friends. Maybe he's been unknowingly closed off to the possibility that anyone might not like him. Or maybe he's been so arrogant all this time that he expects to be loved by everybody he meets.

He blows his nose and wipes his face clean and then pours his tea. It doesn't matter. He already feels almost cold, almost indifferent towards Ben. Simply not being friends will be easy enough—he already wanted to avoid him, so he'll just continue doing so. According to Ben's own wishes this time. They can both handle it. 

He'll be able to handle going through life one relationship fewer. He can survive such deprivation. Take away another relationship; he'll still make it. Take another. He can handle it. He's grown since his teenage years. He's been through worse.

But he doesn't need to worry about any of it to drink a hot cup of green tea.

—

Within the hour, his shame and anger cool. He knows that it was his fault, that Ben has clearly been growing more and more disinterested in him, and he was the only one who'd been needlessly pushing at it. He was the one who lost his temper with Ben, and it's only to be expected that Ben might be impatient with him in turn. He was the one who was naïve. 

He's kidding himself if he thinks he's been a good friend to Ben. Or if Ben's given any signs that he ever wanted anything from Kip in the first place. To try to force an apology on Ben now would be nothing but stubborn selfishness.

All he needs to do—all Ben is asking—is to leave it alone.

He makes himself a sandwich and he lets himself heave sighs over and over and then he decides to just move on to something else. 

He showers off his sweat and tears. He lies down with his eyes closed for a little while; when it's apparent he's not going to be able to nap, he picks up the book he started from his bedside stand and props it on his chest.

By the time Molly and Roy get home, he's still a little gloomy, but there's nothing he needs comforting about.

—

"You've had a busy week," he murmurs to Roy. He's not exhausted, but he's tired enough that it's just comfortable to rest his head back against the couch and keep his eyes closed and not move at all—save to put an arm around Roy when he leans over to put his head on Kip's shoulder.

"A little bit," Roy laughs. "It's been great, though. I love to do as much new stuff for the kids as I can."

"Mm." Kip tightens the arm around Roy.

The quiet is relaxing until it goes on so long that it feels unnatural. 

"...Roy?"

"Uh-huh?"

"You can talk if you want."

"Oh—" Roy laughs again. "It's okay. This is nice."

"Okay."

Kip pets Roy's hair and leans further back against the couch.

—

Kip picks up his plants from the windowsill and carries them back to the shelf, positioning them evenly to flank his photo. Sitting in sunlight caused the tiny blue flowers of the forget-me-nots to face the same direction, and he rotates the plant so that they're turned out towards the room. He carefully waters them and then wipes dust from the border and glass of the frame with a tissue.

He paces slowly around his room for a minute, glancing at family's picture a few times. He wishes they could be here to talk to him, and to see the kind of person he is, and know the messes he's dealing with, and—just know him.

He sheds his clothes and puts on pajamas, then works socks and slippers onto his feet. He leaves his phone on his bed and goes out to sit at the table and try writing a little more on his laptop. It goes moderately well. He feels okay. A little lonely, and a little sad, but it doesn't feel like it's going to drag him down below the surface.

Everything going on seems to be tiring him out a little, because it's especially easy for him to unwind for a quarter of an hour or so before bed and then fall asleep quickly after lying down. He doesn't really mind sleeping alone by now. He's gotten used to it, same as he'd gotten used to sharing Pascal's bed. It wasn't even necessarily like that hadn't been more for practical purposes than preference—it was already a feat to force two more personal spaces into Pascal's fairly modest apartment before they moved into a slightly larger place, and it simply made sense for Kip and Pascal to share a bedroom. They were dating and had already spent a decent number of nights together, and Kip had next to no personal possessions to add to the room. Just himself, a few pieces of clothing, his glasses, a folder, and a photograph. 

The bad news was that Pascal was so tall and wide that he didn't have a lot of extra room on his mattress. The good news is that he liked cuddling just as much as Kip did. One would fold his body along the other's and hold on with an arm or leg. Pascal warmed Kip in the winter, Kip cooled Pascal in the summer. The companionship during Kip's worst suffering in the wake of his loss, when lying awake and alone did anything but benefit him. When he had agonizingly bad dreams more often than not. When he was having a difficult time feeling like he was really still alive, that life was really still continuing. He had Pascal to hold on to, warm and soft, to kiss and talk and fall asleep with. 

The opportunity for sex was a pleasant factor as well. And Pascal's afterglow cuddling was a masterpiece of affectionate physicality. That skill was mirrored brilliantly by the times Pascal initiated sex by simply holding Kip, slowly feeling his body, soft strokes turning to groping massages turning to an arm teasing his fast-growing erection by sliding over the front of his pants while the other crept up underneath the hem of his shirt and Kip's arching back pushed his head against Pascal's shoulder and his ass against his crotch. The burst of chill Kip emanated during orgasm would cool their sweating bodies off even as they held each other close. Sometimes, if he came especially hard, there would be some difficulty when his hands froze to whatever they were touching—his own chest, Pascal's back or shoulders, the headboard, the blankets, the pillow. Sometimes spiraling frost bloomed across his skin. Sometimes it was Pascal who had trouble getting his suckers to detach from Kip's body, and for a little while afterwards Kip had a trail of blue spots wrapping around his side and up his back. 

It was lucky that they both enjoyed sharing a bed that, really, hadn't even been big enough for Pascal alone. It was lucky that Kip had found someone who had liked him enough and for long enough that he wanted Kip to move in with him—not only on extremely short notice in the midst of a life-altering crisis, but with just as much welcome for two friends who had refused to leave Kip's side. What had originally felt unfortunate had turned out to seem like one of the luckiest things of all: that Pascal lived in D.

But he wasn't always glad that Pascal shared his bed with him. In the early weeks, there were plenty of times he was ashamed of nightmares that woke Pascal up at unpleasant hours, times an unavoidable crying spell resulted in him trying to stifle his sniffs and occasional sobs and roll over as slowly as he could so he could slip out of bed as slowly as he could so he could finish crying in the bathroom and clean himself up before going to bed. It was largely useless to try holding back the tears and felt overwhelmingly miserable as well. But it could be so awful to feel Pascal stirring beside him and try to keep him from realizing he was crying and know he was failing completely. Even though the comfort Pascal provided him was so loving, and Kip knew so surely that Pascal never resented him for interrupting his sleep. But he still wished he could keep his little explosions of grief to himself—especially when they arrived at the worst times to get in the way of his friends simply trying to take care of themselves.

But despite the increased privacy of having his own room, it had felt so strange after years of sharing one with Pascal. The first few nights especially just felt wrong. Too still, too quiet, too lonely. He had to rediscover his routine for falling asleep. Waking up was disorienting. The fact that his room was so empty felt like unwelcome symbolism.

His room is still so empty. It's his space, and he's become comfortable with it, but he hasn't felt any desire to fill it up. He has the furniture he needs to hold his things, and a few details that make it a little more lived-in, but he doesn't want to add anything else. He likes the uncrowded feeling. 

Yet everything going on has consistently gotten him thinking of being held every time he gets into bed. He's feeling Pascal's absence again in particular. Despite having slept alone for so long now, he suspects it'll feel lonely all over again if Pascal decides against dating him. 

Nothing about the way his life is now will change if Pascal doesn't become his boyfriend. But it would hurt anyways.   
It would be its own heartbreak. He'd get through it, of course, because he'd have to. But there wouldn't be any way to avoid it.

Before going to bed for the night, he checks his phone. It shows him nothing new except the time. 

—

Kip takes the pressed lilac from the letter Pascal had given him and holds its stem between his fingers, carefully rotating it. He brings it up to his nose and inhales; it still holds traces of its sweet, heady scent. 

—

It's getting a little easier every day to wait. But he has an internal countdown until a week will have passed since the dinner. He has a vague plan to ask Roy or Molly or both to come along on a trip to his store to see if he's there—just a quick, casual visit, where the presence of a third party relieves the pressure of any expectation to discuss personal matters.

He knows he's getting more accustomed to the idea of having Pascal be an everyday part of his life again, because his thoughts of such a visit don't include worrying over what kind of outfit would be best to wear or how to look as put-together as possible. It's not as though Pascal hasn't seen him at his least dignified plenty of times. And hopefully Pascal will gradually get to see every piece of clothing he owns, and he doesn't have to worry about showcasing the most impressive ones first as if he's going to run out of chances to be around Pascal.

It's a bit intimidating wondering how to make conversation with him now that they've already extensively discussed their histories in the months apart from each other and talking about their relationship is off-limits until Pascal decides he's ready to talk about the Wallace issue. It's not as though they've never made small talk, or Kip has ever felt anything but completely comfortable with sharing any of his thoughts about anything with Pascal. But the thought of having such an elephant in the room, of there being boundaries against even acting like they might have intimate feelings for each other or referring to such a thing—it's easily enough to make him debilitatingly self-conscious. They can only talk about work for so long.

Still, in a couple of days he's going to do it, just like he and Eno had discussed. If Pascal hasn't reached out to him yet, he's going to show Pascal that he wants to be around him, even if they haven't yet figured out whether they can kiss each other. 

—

Kip finishes another post for his blog. The writing is coming so quickly—maybe he's too distracted to go overboard with self-criticism, maybe he's just found a flow after writing so many entries, maybe it's simply a coincidence and it's easier than usual for no reason at all. Whatever the cause, he's enjoying the feeling that he's doing well with it. It's nice to sit in warm and comfortable clothes with a hot cup of tea, sometimes with a blanket around his shoulders, and simply sit and write for a while. And everything that goes into his blog—the research, the notes, the editing, the formatting, even the occasional groundwork—has absolutely nothing to do with him personally. He doesn't need to think at all about any confusion over his love life or personal worries or how he feels while he's writing or what anyone thinks of him—because they won't.

His blog doesn't need his personal voice, and so doesn't have it. Its version of him is one without a personal life, one whose only relevant background is as someone familiar with the forces at work in the region, who grew up in C, who suffered the loss of his family in the way that so many others did—only his loss was public, was outright murder rather than a disappearing, was an example to other monsters. The fact that he had survived was simply a fluke. All three were supposed to die. And everyone knew that he had been carried out of the ashes alive.

Of course, even though most everyone knew the fire had been arson, for years there had been no evidence that it was started on purpose. It was officially deemed an accident. And everyone referred to it as such, because it didn't feel safe to say what they really knew. It was the fact the everyone knew the fire had been set that kept them from speaking of it. 

But everyone knows. And now there's no need to say it. Everyone knows why Kip writes this blog, and that's all they need to know. After his first few posts, he'd get some questions about what had happened to him years ago, as if he was going to report on that in exactly the same way as any other subject. He just ignored it. That part of him wasn't ever involved here. He just works with information around him, not information about him. And it doesn't matter what he's like as a person beyond someone who cares about this and wants to help others know more about everything going on around them and affecting them and their home.

The Kip who writes these short articles and updates isn't affected by things like being in love with two people or wanting to spend a night out with friends or feeling lost in the face of his future. The only thing that affects his blog is when he doesn't have the time or energy or desire to write. But he's always kept his posting schedule open and flexible enough to allow for breaks. Several posts a week isn't much more noticeable than a week of radio silence. 

In this space, there's an arm's length between who he is as an individual, and the adopted role of acting like a reporter. And he takes some comfort in knowing that no matter what happens in his personal life, this persona will remain available to him whenever he wants to use it.

—

"Are you okay back there?" Kate repeats.

"Uh—a little backed up, but I should get through that in a few minutes," Kip answers, deftly stirring strawberry flavor into a drink with one hand while picking up an empty mug with the other.

Kate continues at the register and Kip keeps his own pacing quick but steady—they're in the middle of a slight rush, and the vast majority of demand is for drinks, which is currently Kip's operation. But it's nothing new, and normally doesn't stress him out too much if everything else manages to go smoothly. He's only a little rattled now, as it's unexpectedly early for them to get busy, a couple of hours before the white-collar crowd leaves work. 

He concentrates on taking the orders one at a time so that he doesn't feel overwhelmed by the whole of them and end up slowing himself down. It's always just a matter of feeling like it's all a part of his own zone, where he knows he can handle everything, and that it will all settle down before long.

It's practically a dance, memorized movements of his arms and head and feet, quick and graceful sweeps to the counter and back. And the crowd starts to thin out. And the list of orders starts to resemble something manageable.

A regular thanks Kip as she takes her drink from him.

"You're welcome." He returns her smile, and turns back towards the coffee bar. 

He does a sharp double-take and freezes in place as he stares at Pascal. He feels his face flood with a blush, and for several seconds he can't move. 

Pascal smiles all but shyly and lifts his arm and takes a step back, closer to the wall. 

Kip blinks and breathes and remembers to turn back towards what he was doing, but he looks at the orders without processing why he's doing so; all his thoughts are swirling around the knowledge that Pascal has come to see him and he's trying to figure out exactly what that means and what's going to happen. 

For several more seconds he just stands there, tossed back-and-forth between reminding himself what he was doing and forgetting it completely because his focus has been entirely caught up with Pascal. Finally, he forces himself to walk forward and stare at the orders until it finally makes sense to him again. He starts walking himself through the routine again, trying to be totally unconcerned with whether Pascal is watching him or not.

It definitely slows him down a bit; he can't maintain that quick, efficient pace when it's a constant effort to keep his thoughts directed towards the task at hand. Luckily, it's just a few more minutes before Kate joins him and everything starts getting done twice as fast.

"Did you see—"

"Uh-huh." Even his voice sounds more tense.

"Sorry I couldn't give you a heads up," she says. "I was stuck with a few more orders to take."

"I know—it's okay."

He starts to get a little more into the flow of things, but then the thinning number of people inside the café makes seeing Pascal with every glance across the counter unavoidable, and he grows more flustered again.

"Don't be so nervous." Kate encourages him with a pat on his shoulder. "I'm going to replace the paper in the receipt printer."

And with that he's left to tackle the last couple of drinks by himself.

The last person takes their to-go drink with a nod and Kip is left standing by the counter, watching them walk back out the door. And then he's just looking back out the window because the only other thing to do is look at Pascal—

Which he has to do. 

So he does it.

Pascal is blushing, looking at the floor, and then he glances up and sees Kip looking at him and blushes about twice as much. Kip wrings the hem of his apron as Pascal walks over.

"Hey." Pascal speaks softly, standing right up against the edge of the counter. "I wanted to come by to see if you were here, if you wanted to talk..." He seems nervous as well as the ends of arms keep winding together and unwinding.

"Sure," Kip says immediately. "Are you busy? Can you—"

"Do you close today—"

"If you can wait, I—"

"I can wait however long, or—"

"I'll be off in a few more hours."

"I can wait. Can I wait?"

"Sure. Of course."

"Will I distract you? Should I go somewhere else?"

"I'll manage. It's fine, you can stay, don't worry."

"Okay, I'll—I'll be over here."

He gives Kip a smile, and Kip smiles brightly back at him. He takes a pivoting step away when Kip lifts a hand to stop him.

"Pascal—" He looks up to hold his eyes for a moment and tries to put what he's feeling into his tone. "Thank you."

Pascal gives him a small smile and blushes even deeper. 

—

Thankfully for them both, Pascal had brought a book, and Kip finds it a little easier to avoid stressing about whether Pascal is looking at him or not. 

Still, time drags at first, with Kip unable to keep his thoughts from rushing every five minutes or so. But things pick up as their usual uptick in customers begins, and then Kip suddenly feels like the end of his shift is already looming right in front of him.

—

"You're done, c'mon, there's nothing else I even need right now," Kate says, nudging him in the back. "Go talk to your boyfriend."

"We're not boyfriends yet..." It spills out automatically and his hands shake a little as he unties his apron. He's breathing too hard to blame it on anything but his nerves.

"But you might be, if you go talk to him," Kate says, a teasing note in her voice. 

It makes Kip's heart jump to hear his hopes voiced like that. It feels like his blush blooms down to his sternum. 

"You do want to talk to him, don't you?" Her tone turns completely serious.

"Yes," he says, rolling his apron in his hands. "I do, really badly, I'm just also really nervous."

"Okay, well, if you want I can drag you over by the ankles."

"I think I can probably make it without that," he says. "But thanks anyway."

"Then just go for it and stop making yourself even more nervous. Go do your stuff somewhere so I can do my thing here and then update me whenever you can."

"Okay," he sighs. 

"Go. Shoo.”

—

He gets butterflies as he walks to the front and Pascal looks up at him and smiles warmly. They're both clearly a little flustered, fumbling with the brief words exchanged before they head outside, where it's a little warm and growing a little overcast. Kip takes a lot of comfort in the fact that Pascal seems pleasantly nervous and prone to smiling, that he doesn't seem completely miserable. Kip vividly remembers how it felt to try telling Pascal he wanted them to live in different districts and not be a couple anymore. Pascal doesn't act like he's weighed down by something like that. 

Pascal takes him over by the library, where there's a little garden on the side with a few benches beside a tiny artificial pond with a fountain providing gentle background noise. It's a quiet spot, set far enough from the sidewalk to seem peaceful, and in the warmer months the air carries the subtle scents of plants, soil, water, and flowers. It's while lowering himself to sit on one of the benches that Kip realizes Pascal must have put some thought into where they were going to have this conversation.

Pascal sits down next to him. Kip self-consciously watches a bee crawling up a petal until he realizes he desperately wants to look at Pascal. 

So he does. He turns and looks Pascal in the face, and he doesn't shy away when Pascal looks back at him. 

"So, uh, thank you for being patient with me," Pascal says, punctuating it with a quiet, warm laugh.

"You were the one doing me a favor," Kip returns. "And it wasn't long at all, don't worry about that."

His pulse is heavy; he's more than a little nervous about what the conversation could hold. But it holds the chance that he can reinitiate an intimate relationship with Pascal, so there's no way he isn't going to dive into it. He just wants Pascal to be the one to lead it; he wants Pascal to be as comfortable as possible.

"I'm kind of glad I had to think so much about how I thought of our relationship," Pascal says slowly. Kip keeps watching his face. "Because there's a lot that I've always felt, but trying to work out how to put it in words helped me understand it even better."

Kip smiles.

"Yeah, I actually ended up writing some stuff out to try getting a better handle on it," he says. "It helped a lot."

Pascal's laugh is soft. He moves his arms from his lap to the bench on either side of him. Kip glances down, noticing how small a movement he would have to make to reach Pascal's arm.

"Look, it’s all basically down to...just that I want to be with you, Kip."

He turns and they lock eyes and Kip's heart is banging against his ribs.

"I—if you want to be with me again, I want us to be together, too."

Kip opens his mouth; for the first couple of attempts he can't speak, he only exhales.

"I want to be together," he finally breathes. 

His knees start to shake from the sheer burst of happiness that's flooding his body with energy. He hooks his ankles together and grips the edge of the bench to anchor himself. Pascal is so beautiful and lovely and the expression on his face as he looks at Kip holds such softness.

"How do you...feel about everything?" Kip asks carefully.

"Well, I...I just realized that all I need to know is that..." Pascal looks down at his lap, face coloring slowly. "Just that you want to be with me. I don't want to be with you out of some expectation that—that our future has to turn out some certain way, like if it doesn't then none of this is worth it. I want to be with you now. And just keep being with you like that. I love you. I don't need to feel like I have control over you. I don't want to, I don't want that to be what our relationship is like, I want us to be able to change and grow however we want, I..."

Kip is so in love.

"I know you, Kip," he continues. "I know you wouldn't be telling me you want to be with me if you didn't. And if you love me, I never need that to mean that you can't love everyone else you care about. Or they have to matter less to you. I don't—I want this to be something that I know makes your life better because it adds to it, not because... I don't want it to be where I know you're with me because you have to be. I know you're with me because I know you want to be, because I know you love me, and I trust you."

There's no way. There's no way Kip can't reach out and take the end of Pascal's arm, and he does. His pulse is rising in his throat to be cared about so much and to be worth this thought and effort from such an incredible person. Pascal's hold wraps around his hand and squeezes a little. 

"I want to have my life be a part of yours," Pascal says. "I want to be around you and love you and help make things better when I can. That's all."

"Pasc," Kip murmurs, stroking his smooth arm with his thumb. "I love you. I love being with you. I—I just know for certain that I like it better when we're together. I really would choose, whenever I could, I'd choose to have my life go with yours, too. I know you're still always your own person and I'm still mine, but I want to just...have my world added to yours. And to be able to know that we're together, and carry that with me all the time, just being able to know that we can see each other and talk about anything, and know that you know that too..."

He bites his lip and feels the urge to touch Pascal's face.

"It's always felt so good to know we're together, and know that we have each other, and love each other and—and I love you so much, and I'd be—I'd be so, so glad to be with you again." He places his other hand gently overtop Pascal's arm as he speaks.

"I would, too." Pascal speaks so softly.

Kip is almost overwhelmed by the hope diffusing through him. His heartbeat is practically vibrating in his bones, but he doesn't much notice it. He's too focused on Pascal, and on working up the nerve to ask the question he needs to ask.

"Can we..." Even his slow exhale is halting. He meets Pascal's eyes. "Could we be together?" 

"Yes," Pascal answers quietly.

"Today?" he asks tentatively. "Right now?"

Pascal smiles. Some hair falls in front of his eyes as he dips his head.

"And tomorrow, too," he says.

Kip is hugging him tight before being aware of making the decision to do so, clutching the back of Pascal's shirt, shoving his face in the crook of Pascal's neck. A moment later both Pascal's arms are snug around his back, and they hold each other. Kip keeps readjusting his grip as though he can draw them together closer, he feels his pulse caught between his chest and the side of Pascal's where they're pushed against each other. He squeezes his eyes shut, he has to remember to inhale, he keeps breaking into laughter that he muffles with Pascal's shoulder.

He keeps repeating himself against the side of Pascal's neck—thank you, I love you, I love you, thank you, I love you so so much, I've missed you so badly, I've wanted this so badly, thank you I love you I love you I love you—

He presses brief kisses to Pascal's jaw and the familiar feeling of the short hairs against his lips and the scent of Pascal's skin is an incredible comfort beyond even his imagining of this moment.

Pascal's warm, low laugh makes Kip laugh too, and he leans back to see his face. Pascal is looking at him like he's wonderful, soft arms slowly rubbing up and down Kip's back. Kip sweeps his fingertips across Pascal's forehead, brushing some hair aside, and then slides his hand down to cradle the side of Pascal's face as they hold each other's gaze.

Their faces haven't been this close for this long in almost a year—for months Kip thought he might never see Pascal in person again, much less hold him as close as this—his eyes are drawn to every little detail, Pascal's lips and scruff and flushed cheeks and nose and every tiny line and freckle—and despite the fact that Pascal seems equally fascinated by every square inch of Kip's face, their eyes keep meeting.

"...Can I kiss you?" Kip gently asks, though the answer feels overwhelmingly obvious. 

"Yes, please." 

There's not even a half-second between the words being spoken and Kip bringing his lips to Pascal's.

Several long, warm kisses later, Kip is resting his forehead against Pascal's, fingers tangled in his hair.

"It's funny." His voice is just above a whisper. "It seemed like ages since we were really together, but now it feels like we've just...picked right back up."

"I know what you mean," Pascal murmurs. "It's like there's both been this really long break and one that barely existed."

Kip moves further away again, and they're sitting side-against-side and their arms are over each other's shoulder and resting on each other's leg and they're looking at each other's faces like they have to memorize the sight.

It's such a light feeling to be sitting in Pascal's embrace, feeling so good and so lucky and so relieved. There's no anxiety or dread or background noise of stress—he just feels so solidly, completely secure in this moment. 

He leans his head against Pascal's shoulder and they sit quietly for a bit. He keeps looking over at Pascal's face. At his boyfriend.

His boyfriend. 

"God, I’m so happy," he says, needing to voice the feeling. "Pascal, I'm so glad we—that—I'm so glad—"

Pascal turns and Kip is almost lifted off the bench by the hug. 

"I know," Pascal whispers against his temple. 

His boyfriend kisses the bridge of his nose—and then he's suddenly swept up into the air and he gasps, then laughs loudly as Pascal spins him around once before drawing him into a breathlessly close hug.

—

He probably kisses Pascal at least two dozen times before they leave the small garden to walk further down the street. They both reach for each other and Pascal's arm spools around Kip's forearm until it loops around his hand, and Kip curls his fingers around the gentle hold. They walk side-by-side, almost shoulder-to-shoulder.

It feels so beautiful to finally, really, fully be together. To have finally regained what they've both been pining for, slipped back into this way of loving each other that had made them both so happy. 

Kip can't keep his appreciation of the individual, gorgeous details to himself—and he loves having the option to share things out loud with Pascal. He loves that there's no more limitations, no more reservations about simply being able to act on their feelings in full.

"I've missed you holding my hand so much," he tells Pascal. "This is so amazing."

"I've missed it, too," Pascal says. "It...sounds kind of silly, but I sometimes had dreams just about us holding hands."

Kip's pretty sure neither his blush or his bliss have faded in the past half hour or so, but hearing that strengthens both. 

"I've had lots of dreams about you, too," he says. "It used to be really hard, because I missed you so much, but at the same time it was kind of nice to even get to be with you in some tiny way. For a long time it was hard to fall asleep without you, and really strange to wake up alone, too."

Pascal ducks down and kisses the top of Kip's head in mid-stride. Kip giggles.

"And you know, I... I've really appreciated everything you've done for me this year. I really can't say that enough."

"I know." There's laughter in Pascal's voice.

"I was in love with you the whole time, of course, but even if I hadn't been, I'd still be so, so grateful, and I—I was especially confused about my feelings towards you back then. But even so, I still knew how amazing you were."

"I was in love with you, and I know you knew that. But everything I did I would've done for you even if I wasn't."

Kip squeezes the end of Pascal's arm.

"I guess it's obvious to say, but I'm glad you decided to move here. I mean, of course it's easy to say that now, when I know everything turned out okay. But there's no point in wondering how else things might've turned out, because it turned out like this. And being together is... It's something that, not that long ago, I didn't even know I could hope for."

There's a pause for a moment. 

"I never really reached that point where I thought I had to try moving on," Pascal says quietly. "Even as you guys left I knew I loved you just as much and that the feeling wasn't going to go away and I had to figure out how I was going to deal with that. Or maybe deal just with always being in love with you. And I guess it didn't take too long to figure out I felt like I had to try moving, and maybe if I could show that things would be okay there..."

He trails off and smiles with a slight shake of his head.

"I know it was ridiculous. But back then it felt like what I had to do. And I figured that even if nothing worked out, I'd still have given myself the chance to try something new. I don't know." 

Kip slows his pace a little and turns his head so his forehead almost brushes Pascal's arm.

"I was ridiculous, too," he murmurs. "Really, our whole situation just... What we had to deal with was what was really ridiculous..."

He sighs quietly.

"If things hadn't... It would've been a lot more straightforward for us..."

After everything, he still can't help wondering what his life would be like currently if there had been no fire. No disappearances, no deaths, no fear. Where his family would be. Where he would be. His relationship with Pascal. 

Everything would've been simpler. No crises, no grieving, no separation. No one would've tried to hurt Kip even after having killed the rest of his family. He wouldn't have to live with the very justified knowledge that his presence was a target that exposed others to risk of being collateral damage. He wouldn't have lived in such uncertainty for so long. He wouldn't have met Wallace.

He would've had a family, and stability, and so many choices and possibilities that were taken from him, too.

He knows that the course his life had been on—and might have taken beyond that—wasn't the only one that had potential for good things. But he can't help but mourn it, still.

It's quiet between them for a minute. Pascal breaks it gently. 

"You did what you thought was the best thing to do," he says quietly. "And nobody can say for sure that it wasn't."

His arm wraps a little more snugly around Kip's.

"...You forgave me for leaving you?" Kip asks softly.

"Yes.”

"I'm not mad at you for coming after me, either." He smiles to himself.

"Thank you," Pascal says, and lifts the back of Kip's hand to his lips.

—

They go into a small restaurant just a minute or two before rain starts coming down in a light but steady fall; they take a small table by the front window. Kip cradles a mug of hot cocoa in his hands while Pascal absently swirls his cup of orange juice.

Kip wants to bring up the subject of Wallace without waiting for Pascal to do so first, both to set a precedent for himself and to show Pascal that he doesn't consider it off-limits in any way. But he gives it a few minutes so they can settle, and relaxes by watching the clouds and rain outside.

He decides to start off just by being as simple and direct as he can. 

"I want to make sure that you always feel comfortable asking about things with Wallace whenever you want to," he says gently, tapping a fingertip against the tabletop. "I want to be sure I'm not pushing it on you, but also that I'm not making you feel as though there's any pressure to avoid the topic."

Pascal blushes.

"Oh—" he says, touching his face. "Well...it does feel a little awkward. But it's just because I'm just—I'm completely new to this, you know?"

Kip breathes a laugh.

"It's absolutely the same for me," he says. "I mean, it's not like there's anything between us right now, I just...have feelings for him, and I think there's at least a chance he might like me, too. I haven't talked with him about it at all, but...if you're okay with it, I think I'd like to try to at least discuss it with him.”

"I want you to do what feels right for you," Pascal says. “I trust you.”

"I know," Kip says. He gives Pascal a slight smile. "And it's really important to me to be sure that every part of being with me is something that makes you feel loved, and safe, and happy, and everything else you need. I want you to be able to talk to me about anything you're thinking of."

Pascal blushes further and looks down at the table with a hint of a smile. 

"I mean," Kip starts slowly. "I think of it kind of like... I don't want it to be like some secret, or something that's affecting how I feel about you, because the way I think of each of you is its own thing, it's not one experience divided up. I already knew I loved you before I even started to think about if the way I felt about Wallace was different from how I'd thought it was."

He sips his drink before continuing.

"I kind of... I wish I had a way to put this that sounded less silly, but I kind of just want it to be like anything else, like—like talking about what I had for lunch, or something. I mean, I know I would be kidding myself if I thought talking about any of my other relationships was always going to be as casual a subject as the last meal I had, but just in terms of how I don't want it to seem like anything you have to hesitate to talk about, or something that you can't ask about or feel like it's any less accessible to you than any other part of my life."

He looks right at Pascal, and their eyes meet.

"I know that it's easy to say these things but it might take some work to really make it feel that way, and I'm more than willing to put in however much work I need to so that you feel comfortable and secure about everything. I...I'm completely and totally choosing to be with you, and I'll always choose to stay with you, and you're more than worth all the effort I have to give to our relationship." A bit of his emotion is slipping into his voice and he couldn't care less. "I know this is totally new for both of us, and I know I don't have the answers any more than you do. I know it might be confusing for a while, but I want to try to figure it all out with you. I want to do everything I can to make sure you know how much I love you. Because I—if anything, I feel closer to you than I ever have and like I know our relationship even more deeply than ever and—and I know how valuable it is better than I ever have. I love you, Pascal, and I'll do whatever I can to make everything as easy for you as it can be, and I want to share my life with you again and I don't want you to have to doubt that that means just as much as it did before."

Pascal's face is so deeply, brightly red, and Kip is sure his own blush is intense, too. But he never wants to stop having this kind of openness with Pascal. He's always felt the most intimately unguarded around him; he wants Pascal to know he feels that now, too.

"Oh gosh, Kip..." Pascal slides an arm down along his own cheek. "God, I love you too, so much. You—you've always deserved everything I can do for you, and I love you, and I want to be with you, and—and whatever's part of your life, I want to support that. If you love Wallace, I want you to be able to have that and talk to him and have whatever you want from it because—because I trust you, I trust you so much, and I trust you with me. I know you love me. I know you care about us just like I do. I don't care that I don't know how to do this, I'll just learn with you."

"Pascal—"

"I love you. Being with you is worth everything I can give you. I want this. This relationship is worth all the work I could put into anything. I feel and know how much I love you every time I see you, whenever I'm with you—"

"Pasc—" Kip repeats, more breathlessly. He grabs Pascal's arm and brings his lips to it, he strokes the suckers on the other side and kisses it again. "Oh, love—I don't want to start crying in public—" He laughs helplessly and presses one more kiss to his arm.

"Wait to make you cry in private," Pascal jokes. "Alright, then."

Kip laughs again and lowers Pascal's arm back to the table, still holding on, stroking it with his thumb. The breeze shifts outside, blowing the raindrops against the window with a gentle patter.

"You know..." Pascal softens his voice again. "Back when we first started dating...of course I didn't expect for anything like that to happen. And of course I'd never have wanted you to go through that. But, well, it did happen, and I wasn't going to leave you just because things became different from how I thought they might be. And it was really hard for everyone, and I know you knew that, but so much harder for you, and our relationship then had to be so different from how it was, in a way I'd never even considered, but...that was your life. And I hadn't wanted to be with you only if things went a certain way. I wanted to be with you. And that was you just as much as you before the fire. And I was never with you because of how simple or easy things were. I want to be with you because I love you. You're not just a convenience to me. You're worth so, so much."

"Oh, god, Pascal..." Kip's blush feels absolutely vibrant. He's so unused to hearing this kind of extolling warmth, he hasn't been experienced love like this with someone for so long—

"I know this isn't even comparable to what was happening back then, it's not even in the same category, I just want you to know that just because something is more complicated doesn't mean it's going to be worse for us. And I mean that in every way, even for little stuff like...if you had a rough day and want to talk about it. I love the whole of who you are, not just the smoothest parts. And any time we have to grow and figure things out together is fine. If we have to make it up as we go along, that's fine too. I want us to keep being together. Everything that's been a challenge hasn't been a challenge of whether I wanted to stay with you, and I always felt like our relationship had grown every time we had something we needed to get through. And I know that's not just because of me. It's because you were trying to be with me, too. I saw everything you did, even when it was taking everything you had just to survive what was happening to you. I saw that even then you were trying to make sure I was okay, that we all were, and I just... I'm telling you, I was already loving you more than ever, but if I'd needed anything to show me how amazing you are, it was seeing you try to take care of us when you could barely hold yourself up."

Kip is staring at the bright orange color of Pascal's drink. His hand has stilled, but Pascal wraps his arm around his wrist.

"I've never had any doubts about how much our relationship matters to you. Even when you left. I knew it wasn't because you didn't want me with you. I knew how hard it was on you, even though you were trying not to show me. I'm not afraid of needing to adapt our relationship to something new. We've done that plenty of times."

Kip touches his mouth as he locks eyes with Pascal.

"Pascal, you're so incredible," he says seriously. "I can't believe I met you. I can't believe we're both here, now, talking about this. I really just—I want you to know how completely I appreciate you. I don't take anything about you for granted. I don't take being together for granted. I love you—god, I love you."

They're both still for a couple of seconds, eyes locked. Then Pascal blinks and glances down towards Kip's chest.

"Oh—babe—" He gestures in a way that Kip recognizes as a point. "Let go of your cup, there."

Kip looks down and flinches away as he sees the surface of his cocoa rearranging into ice.

"Well, crap," he sighs. "That doesn't happen as much anymore."

"It's alright, I think they have a microwave over on the other side. I can take it over there, and get us something to eat if you want? I know it's kind of a weird time for food, but I can just get us both a piece of cake or something like that."

Kip blushes; he lets Pascal indulge him without trying to argue against it even as a matter of habit. He wraps his offending hand with a napkin like a bandage and looks out the window, where small puddles have formed along the edges of the sidewalk and the rain has picked up just enough that it's slightly too heavy to be called a shower. He looks over at Pascal periodically, who inevitably glances over at him too and smiles.

He wedges the hand between his thighs to finish warming it up and stares at the grain of the wood in the table. In his momentary solitude, the realness of what's happening is sinking in even faster than it was when Pascal was right in front of him. He keeps looking over at Pascal as if seeing him for the first time across the room, as if some radiant nimbus should be throwing a warm glow on everything around him. That's his boyfriend. That's his boyfriend, who loves him. And who he's been in love with for nearly a quarter of his life. His beautiful, handsome, kindhearted, understanding, even-tempered, patient, soft, gentle, caring, strong, passionate, brave, lovely—

"Here you go," Pascal says, setting a saucer with a rectangular piece of yellow cake and a fork in front of Kip. "And your drink—"

He leans a bit closer to lower the mug to the table from where he holds it a third of the way up his arm, gripped by a few of his suckers. Kip takes the freshly-warmed cup in his hands to brace it, and both remain motionless for a moment before Pascal detaches his arm.

"I don’t know why it still sometimes takes a second to coordinate letting go, even though grabbing on to something is never a problem at all," Pascal sighs.

"You're good at holding on to things," Kip says with a smile. A beat later Pascal catches on to his meaning and blushes with a soft laugh, sitting back down across from Kip with his own piece of chocolate cake. 

"I got you lemon," Pascal says, nodding at Kip's dessert. "And the glaze is lemon, too. Because I know you like it."

"Not because I'm so sour?"

"Lemons have more sugar than blackberries and strawberries," Pascal replies. "And they're delicious, and everyone loves them, and they're so handsome and caring and fun—"

"Got it." Kip tries to restrain his smile as he pushes the tines of his fork through the corner of the cake. "...It's raining a little harder out there."

"Mm..." Pascal gazes out the window. "I have no idea how long it's supposed to last..."

"Do, uh—" Kip touches the side of his neck self-consciously, suddenly almost shy about the offer he wants to make. "Do you wanna come by our place again? It's closer, and...and really, I want to spend a lot more time with you today, if you want to, if you have time, because I...I don't know, I just really want to spend as much of today with you as I can. This kind of feels like a big deal, I want to be around you for a while longer than this."

"Oh—" Pascal sits further upright. "Kip, that would be great. If it's okay with you, I didn't really—I didn't have anything else I needed to do today, I was actually ready to talk yesterday but I had to do stuff for the shop till the afternoon and then do a bunch of errands, and I wanted to have a lot of time, and today I just...I wanted to check the café first to see if you happened to be there, and you were, and I guess I was lucky you weren't closing, even though I would've waited up if you were."

"Jeez, Pasc," Kip laughs. His heart is beating harder at the idea of having another evening where they're all together, where there's no awkwardness or suspense for any of them, where Kip doesn't have a quiet sense of dread weighing down even the most pleasant moments. "Here, let me text Molly, she's been off work since noon..."

He types out his message in the quick, to-the-point style he uses for her, saying that he's with Pascal, and would there be any issue in having him over for the evening again? He sends it off and slips his phone back into his pocket. 

"Try mine," Pascal says when Kip looks back up. He cuts a piece onto his fork and lifts it across the table towards Kip. "There's some raspberry flavor in the frosting."

"Okay, if you try mine. You picked a good one." 

He passes his fork to Pascal as he takes the one offered; the chocolate cake is rich, it's heavy flavor cut nicely by the slight tartness of the whipped frosting. 

"That is really nice," he affirms. "I should tell Cuddy to steal their menu. The legal battle would be exciting, I'm sure." 

"Yours is good, too," Pascal says. "I wonder what they'd be like if the icings were switched."

"Oh, I guess we could've just kept them..." Kip says right after they return each other's fork. "I mean, I'm not sick or anything, as far as I know."

"Me neither. Although I guess it'd be too late if either of us was."

Kip blushes. 

"You're probably right," he laughs, and takes a drink of his cocoa.

An easy silence rests between them for a minute.

"While you were thinking everything over," Kip begins, leaning back in his chair while he cuts the last section of his cake into tiny bites. "Was there anything you thought about that you wanted to ask me about Wallace?"

Pascal's arm latches on to his napkin and he takes a moment to peel it off, face flooding rapidly with color. 

"I—w-well, I—" he stammers, needlessly brushing his hair out of his face. Kip watches his expression and is glad to see that, while deeply flustered, he doesn't look pained. 

"It can be like truth or dare, without the dare," he offers. "And I can tell you about other relationships to warm you up to it, if it helps. Like that things are great with Roy and Molly and I'm more grateful than ever that they've stayed with me through everything, but I'm trying to convince Molly to take Roy and just go on a trip to have some fun and relax, because they've been through so much but they go for so long without any breaks because, since they can power through, they just do. But you know how they are, they both try so hard to look out for everyone around them, and I know they sometimes try to put on a nice front for me if they think I'm having a hard time and they don't want me to feel guilty. Especially Molly, she just tries to be a complete tank, and I know she is, but she doesn't need to be. Not all the time. But they're doing pretty well, and they're still looking out for me, even a bit more than I wish they would. And Kate's been here for me as always, she's great, we just have a lot of fun together and she never really asks anything of me, you know? I'm never afraid of being a mess around her. And she's just as focused on what she wants as ever. She's like that, she just jumps into things and goes in whatever direction she chooses. And underneath all her teasing, she's a really kind person, and she's been letting me talk to her about stuff lately, since so far she's the only one who knows about my thing for Wallace besides you and Eno. And she's been really patient with me not really being able to fill in the whole story yet, so that's great of her. And just the other day, I think I had kind of a falling-out with Ben, only it was pretty small because I think it was a while coming and I guess we never really were close at all, even though I've known him for years. But I'd been getting kind of irritated with him because sometimes he just seemed to be tired of me no matter what approach I tried, and it kind of built up I guess until I kind of lost my temper for a whole five seconds, but it was enough to be embarrassing. And I finally got it together to apologize and he brushed me off and kind of told me we aren't friends, and I was upset at first but then I figured he's right. I like him, but I guess we've never been friends in our own right. And now I'm thinking was that maybe I was always so self-conscious and anxious around him because maybe he was noticing me being nervous and that made him uncomfortable around me? I don't know, maybe I remind him of the day, maybe it's a bunch of stuff. I guess it might get awkward if any of the others catch on, but all it is is accepting he doesn't have any particular interest in me. We don't need to be enemies or anything. But I don't want Roy to be stressed out by it. He would think it was a disaster, you know. He and Molly are already a little worried about me because they've noticed I've had something on my mind for a while, and of course that's because I was trying to figure out how I felt about you and how I felt about Wallace, but I haven't talked to them about it because at first I was way too embarrassed and unsure, and then it just felt way too personal, and then once I decided I had to tell you about everything, I didn't want anyone else to know about it before you could decide about it. And now I'd also rather talk to Wallace before I tell them how I've been feeling about them. And at least it could be worse, because I've told them that they were right that I've been stressing about some things but it wasn't anything bad, and that I would tell them when I could, but I wasn't ready to share yet. And of course they've been understanding and respected it completely but I know they're still worrying. And that's pretty much what's going on with all those people."

He heaves a sigh as though exhausted, but smiles at Pascal.

"Oh...I—well..." Pascal seems bemused; Kip laughs and leans forward.

"Pascal." He touches his arm. "I mean, all of that was true, but I'm joking. I want you to be able to ask whatever's on your mind, even if you know it's something personal. I trust you completely to respect my privacy, we've always done that for each other, and I know we're both our own people with parts of ourselves that'll always be personal. I'm not demanding you have to be willing to share every thought you ever have with me as some kind of payment for being with me; I know you don't ask that of me either. But you can always ask about anything."

He's started stroking Pascal's arm without realizing it, but once he does, he only softens the touch into a caress that conveys all the sweetness and affection he can manage with only his hand against Pascal's smooth skin. 

"Go on and ask me anything you like," he offers again. "Give it a try, if you want." He waits for Pascal to meet his eyes to give him a gentle smile. Pascal returns it almost bashfully, head tilted down and blush lingering stubbornly.

After a moment, Pascal opens his mouth to speak, but abandons the attempt before he's hardly made a sound. He laughs at himself and tries to stifle it by ducking his face down against his arm, blushing even harder. "Oh, gosh—" He bends further under another silenced roll of laughter.

Kip can't help but laugh, too.

"Anything," he repeats. "Anything you wanna ask."

Pascal stares out the window for a moment, arm covering his mouth.

"Okay, well..." He looks back at Kip. "Do you—um, do you want to sleep with Wallace?"

Any red that had diminished in his face rushes back as he speaks, and Kip feels his heart skip a beat. 

"There you go!" he encourages, laughing. "Oh, god, okay. Okay." 

He drags his hands down his face before propping his chin up with his elbows against the table. He lets out a slow, even breath. 

"I've thought about it," he starts. He looks right at Pascal as he speaks, and this seems to help make them both a little less nervously flustered. "I mean, obviously I don't know if it's even a possibility, but I think I would like to try it if he wanted to. And I'd tell you if we were going to, or if we did. I'd tell you if I kissed him, or if I told him about how I feel. I'm not going to hide anything from him, either—as though if one of you knew a certain amount about the other, something would explode. I mean...I think I would really like to have all three of us together to talk, if it goes that far. I know that'd kind of be skipping ahead right now, but...I don't even want either of you to feel like I'm the only one in control of the situation. It'd be both of yours business, too. And I...I think he likes you. Maybe not in a way as though he has a crush on you, but he...you know, he always seems interested about hearing about you."

Pascal glances down; his blush seems to have diffused across his entire face. And then his eyes widen and he looks back at Kip with a sudden increase in intensity.

"Do you—" His voice is lowered almost to a whisper. "Did you ever think about—you know—about all three of us—"

Kip feels a burst of warmth in his cheeks.

"Us all, at the same time... Having, you know, a threesome?" Pascal does actually whisper the last part. The color of his hair doesn't seem that much deeper than that spread across the center of his face.

Kip wouldn't be surprised if his answer was clear in the expression on his face. But he has to say it anyway.

"I started to think about it sometimes," Kip admits, staring at a hem on the shoulder of Pascal's shirt. "Mostly when I jerk off," he mumbles through his fingers.

He doesn't manage to look Pascal in the face for that confession. He's outright performatively masturbated in front of Pascal plenty of times, yet it somehow tends to be surprisingly difficult at times to describe what thoughts he's getting off to. And it's much more intense talking about his sexual fantasies to Pascal sitting right in front of him than simply turning them over in his own mind, alone.

"...I think about you all the time, by the way," he says quietly. "When I'm getting off."

Pascal's entire body stills; he's evidently taken by the concept.

"...You want to have that again?" Pascal's question is more of an offer. 

Kip nods.

"Of course," he murmurs. "I want that really bad."

"So do I." Despite his persistent blush, Pascal seems a little more steadied, a little more confident now. He's sitting further upright, neither hiding his face at all nor shying away from looking directly at Kip. "I've missed you."

Kip bites his lip and slides his hand a few inches across the table for Pascal to take. Pascal's arm slips around his palm and squeezes softly.

"When did you know you like him?" 

Kip's smile is half-reflexive—Pascal is already sounding more relaxed and conversational. On his own side of things, it's a little strange; in order to try being more comfortable while discussing his feelings for Wallace, he tries to ignore the fact that Pascal is his boyfriend, but it's also knowing that Pascal's his boyfriend that's enabling him to talk about things that are usually too intimate for him to share with anyone else.

"I had a dream about kissing him," he says, slowly playing with Pascal's hold on his hand. "It surprised me at first, but I think I'd probably been thinking about it before then, just...moreso subconsciously."

"That must have been confusing."

Kip breathes a laugh. 

"It really was. I mean, I spent so long thinking he was the complete opposite of anyone I could trust or love. And I know we've got a lot closer since that time, but there was never any room to think about things in that way, I guess. Until it just seemed to hit me out of nowhere. But even as soon as I woke up I knew that I liked the idea of kissing him. And I just kept thinking about it from a bunch of different angles and turning it over until I knew."

He traces his thumb along the outer rim of one of Pascal's suckers and feels the arm curling in around his fingers in response. 

"How do you feel about him?" Pascal asks softly.

"Well, I like him. I already love him, of course, but I have those feelings too where I just... Stuff like thinking about holding him, or lying down with him, or kissing him, talking with him about ourselves..."

He gives a soft laugh. 

"It's just a total 180 from how I used to feel," he says. "I used to think that letting him near us was going to destroy everything good we all had, and now I... I want to know him more, and to let him know me. I want to know that he's going to be around. I feel like I could trust him with a lot of things about myself. And not just because I know he's not going to kill me," he adds wryly.

"He does seem nice," Pascal says. He catches Kip's eye and smiles.

"He is. I mean, don't get me wrong, he can go way too far sometimes, like... He's always so focused on helping that sometimes he forgets how much he doesn't know about, he forgets his limits and he crosses boundaries... But he's been learning to keep that in check, I think. It really can be frustrating how clueless he is sometimes, and we've definitely had arguments flare up, but he just...he just cares so, so much, and he tries so hard all the time, and he's so—he's so honest that it's funny he was the one to get sent out here."

Kip looks at the glass of the window, where raindrops are landing to slip down along tracks towards the base. 

"He has such a warm personality and how much he cares can be so intense that I just...I guess it's not so surprising that I ended up feeling this way about him." 

He blushes a bit and looks at Pascal.

"I'm not saying any of that as anything to compare yourself with," he says. "It's not because of anything I felt I was missing with you that made me like him. I mean, I was missing being with you as bad as ever then because of how possible it felt that we might be together again. Kind of like, being so close but not being together but knowing maybe we could—it felt terrible because I had no idea what to do, and somehow it was still so hard to consider that after everything, we could just be together like we wanted. And even though I know it must've felt just as awful for you, you were being so patient. You have such patience and understanding for everything all the time. It's one of the things I could love forever about you."

"Aw, Kip..." Pascal drops his head as though to hide his smile. Kip reaches across the table and gently touches the side of his face. 

"I don't like Wallace because he has anything new that I've never had before," Kip tells him softly. "I mean, sure, he's a human, but god knows that didn't help things along any. I just need to make sure you know that the reasons I like him aren't at all related to our relationship. If I don't let you know that, then that's my fault. And, you know, if at any point you start to feel uncomfortable or like you've changed your mind, that's okay. I'll do everything I can for us."

"We'll figure it all out as we go," Pascal says again. "I mean...I've been thinking about all this since you told me. I've had a lot of time to think about how I feel. And l—well, I really, completely trust you. I've known you for so long. And I know that if this was something you didn't want to share with me, you wouldn't be, so there'd be no reason to think you were somehow lying about that. And I just—" He laughs quietly. "Maybe it's weird, but I actually worried about Wallace not liking you back. I mean, I think you should definitely talk to him about it, because it sounds like it's too important not to. But for me, it's like, how could anyone not love you? You absolutely deserve how much I love you, but I'm not the only person who does, and you deserve all of their love just as much. And if Wallace loves you, you deserve that too."

Kip stares at him, at a loss for words. He's known Pascal for years, countless times he's experienced firsthand how much compassion and generosity and understanding Pascal can give, and yet Pascal still surprises and amazes him. 

The rain grows a little heavier.

"Pasc, you're a wonder," he says softly. "I wanna always make sure you know I don't ever take you for granted. You're so, so good, every time I'm with you I—there's just no way I couldn’t appreciate how amazing you are, Pascal."

Pascal lifts Kip's hand to press his lips against his knuckles. 

"I feel the same," Pascal murmurs before kissing the back of Kip's wrist. 

There's a slight pause before Kip speaks as he watches Pascal turn his hand over and kiss his curled fingers, kiss his palm. 

"You know, there's so many reasons I love you, but if you ever needed just one to think of to know why I'd want to be with you, it's everything we've been through together. You were with me for years. You were with me through so much and I never had any reason to doubt that you wanted to be. You've been there with me for the hardest time of my life. There's no way I can't love that. Even just the everyday stuff we shared means so much, we lived together and shared our lives for years, that means so much. That matters so much."

He feels Pascal's smile against the skin of his hand. He wants to kiss him, he wants to lie back and rest Pascal's head on his chest and stroke his hair, let them both fall asleep like that.

"I guess I have a weakness for people who are clearly really loving or something," he says, pretending to be flippant.

"That's good. You deserve to have a lot of them around you."

"Jeez, Pasc..." He cups Pascal's chin in his hand and brushes his thumb across Pascal's lips in lieu of a kiss. "You don't have to win me over, I already love you."

He's proud of the genuine happiness in Pascal's expression; he seems to carry no tension or discomfort at all. 

His phone hums in his pocket.

"Oh—that should be Molly." 

He fishes it out of his pocket and sees his guess was right.

"Zero problem! Bring him over!!!" her message reads.

He sends back an "Ok, we'll probably head over soon" and puts his phone back.

"We should be good if you still wanna go over to our place," he tells Pascal, lifting his cup to his mouth.

"Yes, I'd really like to," Pascal says quickly.

"It looks like we might have to walk through the rain, though."

"It's okay, if you don't mind it. It's warm and it's not coming down too hard."

They both look out the window as if to assess the situation.

"It'd be worth it anyway," Kip says.

"Yeah, it would."

—

Their clothes are a bit damp when they reach the building, but Kip couldn't care any less. He's laughing at the slightest provocation by the time he's leading Pascal down the hall to his door, and Pascal had been taking advantage of that the whole walk back, joking with him and kissing the side of his head when he giggled. 

Molly opens the door before he's even close enough to put the key in the lock, and Pascal gets caught up in a hug before he's passed through the doorway.

"So!" she chirps as she closes the door behind them. "What were you two up to?"

Kip glances at Pascal, and takes the small smile and shrug he's given to mean Pascal's going to let him provide the answer.

"We were talking," Kip says.

She gives him a look that suggests she expects more, and Kip spends a few seconds trying to figure out how to lead up to it before deciding there's really no use. 

"We’ve...decided to date again," he says simply.

Molly's eyes widen and she looks back and forth between them.

"Like...now?" She sounds faintly bewildered.

She looks over at Pascal when he laughs, and he nods at her. An instant later she has an almost hard look on her face as she strides forward and embraces Pascal again, arms thrown tightly around his waist.

"Oh my god," she says against his shirt. "Yes. Just—yes. This is fantastic. Get over here."

She holds an arm out towards Kip. He accepts it as an inevitability, walks into the range of her reach, and is quickly pulled in against Pascal.

He and Pascal both take a deep breath when she releases them. She takes half a step back and beams up at them, looking surprisingly close to tears.

"It's okay," Kip laughs weakly. 

"Shut up, it's great. Oh, Roy should be back soon, he's going to be so happy, he's been worrying over you guys—"

She hugs them again and then individually and then both once more, congratulating them all the while. Seeing his own celebratory feelings reflected in her exuberance is contagious, and Kip finds it all but impossible to completely banish his smile. 

"I should change out of my work clothes," Kip says before she has a chance to catch them up in an interview for a play-by-play. "Um, Pascal, do you want me to get you a towel, or—"

"I can grab him one," Molly interrupts. "You should go ahead and get into something dry, you might freeze those."

"I hardly..." he starts, but she's already headed towards the little hallway closet beside their bathroom. He sighs, looks over his shoulder to exchange a quick smile with Pascal, and follows Molly towards his room.

Right as he's reaching his door she turns from the shelf of towels and steps over to hug him again. 

"Oh—" He tries to twist around enough to return it with one arm.

"You did it," she murmurs, and then kisses his cheek before letting go.

—

Roy returns home maybe ten minutes after they did, following them so closely that Kip is caught off guard by him opening the door. Kip stands up from the couch on instinct, but Roy is immediately reacting to Pascal's unexpected reappearance with happiness and an earnest welcome—which Molly gently cuts through to inform him, as she puts it, that the two are on a date. 

Roy turns and looks at the two of them for a moment, Pascal offering a small smile and Kip still standing somewhat nervously beside him. And then Kip barely has time to brace himself for the onslaught of a hug that sweeps him back against the cushions and pulls him tight against Pascal's side. 

Roy is laughing as he embraces them, but where Molly was close to tears, Roy is rapidly in the midst of them. Both Pascal and Kip attempt to comfort him as best they can from the confines of his wingspan, but then Molly joins in to hug them all and all they can do is let everything happen.

Roy has enough questions to generate about a solid half hour of conversation before he's willing to take a five-minute break to put down everything he carried home from work and change into fresh clothes. Upon his return, he insists on taking everyone out for dinner until they agree to let him.

They talk for at least an hour as the conversation evolves from focusing solely on the new development of Kip and Pascal's relationship to simply being about all of them catching up and retreading parts of the past and bringing up anything else that comes to mind along the way, now that they're finally free to discuss everything without worry of alluding to a forbidden subject. And aside from a few light, customary instances of teasing directed at Kip, he notices they're being almost gentle towards him with how attentively they're ensuring his comfort over even their curiosity.

It’s almost like they love him that much.


	3. Chapter 3

They wait until Pascal has dried off thoroughly and, each arming themself with an umbrella—Kip sharing his larger charcoal-colored one with Pascal—Roy takes them all out to eat. At that point it does feel a little like a date, even though Kip's not sure if their discussion over cake had counted as a date—maybe even their visit to the little garden. But it doesn't matter. His first date with Pascal was years ago, and even before that they'd had some ambiguous outings during which they were both clearly taken with each other. But their first officially-declared date stands out in Kip's memory—the eager anticipation, the excitement of being together in that way, the happiness he held both during the date and for days afterwards. This is all just a continuation of what they started long before.

After sharing dinner they decide to simply walk around town together so they can all keep talking and enjoying each other's company. After a while of that, they decide to go a couple of streets over to visit a shop that has ice creams and gelato and sorbet and milkshakes—it being warm enough for even Kip to partake without chilling himself to uncomfortable levels. 

Seated around a little round table, it occurs to Kip that it's late enough that Kate should be ready to close soon, and they all agree to invite her as well and Kip texts her to let her know they're just about seven minutes away from her if she wants to join them. He decides it's only fair that he be first the one to tell her of what happened after he left work, and informs her that he's with Roy and Molly and his hot new boyfriend. A minute later she texts him back, telling him to shut up, but she'll still be there in about fifteen minutes. 

It's unexpectedly flattering to hear Roy and Molly excitedly relay the news to Kate when she arrives. She's clearly glad for them too, and Kip grows almost shy at getting such strong positive attention all at once and ends up tripping over his thoughts while he talks and flaring up into a five-hundred lumen blush at the slightest prompt. But he's enjoying it all, gratified by such a blatant display of love for both him and Pascal. He might think it was more than he deserved if it didn't feel so nice to be in the glow of such warm attention.

Forty minutes later, they're walking Kate home, and then Kip suggests for the sake of Pascal's well-restedness that they go ahead and walk him to his home as well, and they all keep talking and laughing as they head towards it—if at a slightly slower pace. He might wish that he could go ahead and spend a night with Pascal, desperately longing to share a bed with him for a handful of equally important reasons, but it’s more than enough just having that long-lost certainty back with him, the total confidence that Pascal will still be in his life the next day, that he'll still have that same certainty tomorrow as well. 

—

Once Pascal's building comes into view, Molly and Roy move a few paces ahead in a move which, although subtle enough, Kip knows must be deliberate. He turns his head towards Pascal to speak to him softly.

"Hey. I'm so, so happy this is happening," he murmurs.

"I can tell," Pascal answers. "And I'm pretty sure I'm feeling just the same."

"Good." Kip grins and momentarily presses his mouth to Pascal's upper arm as he squeezes his grip on the end of it.

They walk quietly for a few more seconds.

"I was thinking that maybe tomorrow, if I can see him, I would try to talk to Wallace? I would text you about how it goes, but if that's too soon or it's a bad time, of course it can wait. I would wait for a while anyways if it wasn't that I kind of just want to ride this momentum while I have it. I haven’t exactly felt this good in a while.”

"Right, right..." Pascal says thoughtfully. "I think that's a good reason to go ahead and give it a try. You've been turning this over for a long time, and I've been taking it seriously thinking about everything these past few days. I do really mean it about wanting to just, you know, go ahead and figure it out together and learn as we go. And tomorrow sounds like as good a day as any." 

Kip squeezes their hold again and Pascal returns the gesture by stroking the back of Kip's hand with the tip of his arm.

"Alright. I'll text you and keep you updated on what's going on. And I'll probably just go ahead and do that any day, about anything."

"Sounds good to me." Pascal laughs quietly.

A moment passes. 

"I love that I know we'll get to keep seeing each other," Pascal says. "Not that we wouldn't've anyway, but this feels so completely fantastic."

"I know, right? I'm already looking forward to the next time we'll be together, you know? It's been too long and I just want to like, just saturate myself with this, on getting to be with you like this."

He pauses before continuing.

"It's sucked going so long without what we used to have, but at the same time, how bad I've missed this just makes me even happier to have it again." He can't help but smile as the process of describing the feeling intensifies it.

"Sweetheart," Pascal whispers fondly. He kisses Kip's hair. "I love you, too."

Kip giggles and Molly shoots a knowing look at him over her shoulder. 

Kip lets go of Pascal's arm as they get to the doorway and pats his shoulder.

"Thanks for coming over again," he says. 

"Yeah!" Roy and Molly's enthusiastic support overlaps.

Pascal laughs.

"Thank you guys so much for being so cool with dealing with me on such short notice," he says.

Molly scoffs.

"It was so great!" Roy says. "You guys, that was the best surprise I could've ever gotten. I'm so glad you were here, Pascal, I'm so glad you two are together again!”

Before either Kip or Pascal have a chance to even draw a breath to respond, Roy's flung his arms around them both in another exuberant hug. 

"Aw, gosh—"

Molly makes it into a quartet-hug again, and Pascal deftly places another kiss to Kip's forehead. 

"Alright, alright," Kip says as they draw away again. "Go on, get out of here, Pas. I wanna keep you around longer as much as anyone, but we'd be here all night."

He raises himself up on his toes and kisses Pascal's cheek. 

"We'll see you again soon," he says softly, and Pascal smiles, blushing faintly from the kiss.

"Definitely," Molly says firmly.

"Okay, well...thanks again, you guys. I loved getting to hang out. I'll see you later!"

"Goodnight!" Roy says; Molly echoes him.

"Goodnight," Pascal says with a smile and a tiny wave of his arm. He turns towards Kip and smoothly bends down as he lifts Kip's chin with his arm and, just like before, gives him a brief kiss that lingers enough in the course of a second and a half to light up Kip's blush and render him momentarily speechless.

"...Goodnight," Kip says weakly, looking up at Pascal with a flickering smile.

"Goodnight." Pascal holds his gaze for a heavy heartbeat longer and then, sending another smile towards Molly and Roy, disappears into his building again.

Kip watches the closed door for a second, biting his lip.

"C'mon," Molly calls to him, laughter in her voice. "And you might wanna get your umbrella out again, it feels like it's picking up again a little bit..."

"Okay," Kip says absentmindedly, before shaking off his thoughts to actually open up his umbrella. He turns towards the others to see them waiting for him, smiling—a bubbly laugh escapes Roy as Kip closes the small distance to walk alongside them again.

"I love you guys," Kip says matter-of-factly.

"We know."

"Well, we love you too."

—

Kip starts to feel a bit tired by the time they make it back to the apartment.

"Thank you again," he says to Molly and Roy as he locks their front door. "I really appreciate you guys giving us your evening like this."

"As if we wouldn't want to," Molly says. "This is a huge deal, Kip!" She gives him a playful shove on the shoulder.

"Yeah," Roy chimes in. "We're so happy for you, this was amazing! I mean, of course I knew you guys would work everything out eventually because you both are so fantastic and so good together and you love each other a ton, but—still! This was SUCH a nice surprise."

Kip smiles.

"I'm really glad, too," he tells them. "I totally wasn't expecting him to show up out of the blue like that today."

"Lucky you. Lucky all of us," Molly says. "Honestly, we've pretty much been hoping for today ever since the day we moved, when you guys were both so upset."

Kip looks away.

"Don't start feeling guilty," Molly says. "It doesn't even matter now. We're all here now, we all get to be together."

"We sure got a little wear and tear between then and now, though," Kip says quietly. 

Molly doesn't answer, just looks at him for a moment. Kip glances away again and tries to refocus with a short laugh and a quick smile. 

"But you’re right—we're here, so..." He shrugs.

And then he's in another encompassing hug.

"No, it's fine, I'm sorry for bringing it up—"

"Don't be, it's fine to talk about any of it," Molly says, while making the already tight hug a bit snugger. 

"I'm alright though, really—today's been just incredible." 

"I know."

And the next thing he knows—and not unexpectedly—Roy had joined in the hug from the other side, sandwiching him in the heart of the group hug.

He grumbles but accepts his fate, which conveniently includes accepting the pleasant warmth of the contact.

"Congratulations again, Kip," Roy says as he pets Kip's hair. "This is so, so good."

"It is," Kip agrees quietly.

"And it's gonna be so much fun to have Pascal around again," Roy adds.

"Yeah, definitely."

"He's so good—"

"Right? I love him."

Roy laughs and the hug squeezes in for a moment before the other two concurrently decide to release him.

"It's just really great to know you get to have this again, Kip," Molly says. "Enjoy it."

"I am.”

"I know," she says. "Just—don't rein yourself in. You deserve this. And it's so obvious how happy he is to have you back, too."

Kip brushes his fingers through his hair and casts his smile towards the floor. 

"Yeah," he says softly. "Thank you."

She laughs and pats him hard on the back before going over to hang her umbrella on the rack.

"I'm gonna go ahead and take a shower," she tells them. "But I'll be out quick."

"Okay," Roy says.

"Sure," Kip says. 

Roy smiles at Kip and touches his shoulder.

"Kip, I'm so glad," he says simply.

"I am, too," Kip laughs. "I'm really glad we can just all meet up however we want. I'm sorry you guys had to deal with all that. But it means so much that you two have always been so kind to me about it. I've always been so grateful for that."

Roy just catches him up in another hug that's surprisingly softer and more deliberate than usual.

"We love you," is all he answers with.

—

Kip stands in the middle of his room for a moment, staring again at the pressed sprig of lilac. He slips it back into the envelope, which he slips back into his brother's folder, which he puts back into the corner of the drawer. He turns and looks over at the picture for a few seconds, and then strips his clothes off with one hand while setting his alarm with the other. He doesn't put on any pajamas—he wants to feel the dry warmth of his sheets directly against his body. And to recreate in his mind how it feels to have Pascal's warm, soft skin against his.

He imagines how his and Wallace's bodies would feel together. Being the middle spoon in front of Pascal and behind Wallace, Pascal’s arm draped over his side, lazily trailing his fingers across Wallace’s chest, resting his lips against the back of Wallace's neck. Sitting on a bed with Wallace, both right in front of each other, forearms resting together as they look at each other's faces and grow accustomed to sharing each other's space, sharing this intimacy, touching and being so close. Waking up in the middle of the night and sensing Pascal's weight just beside him, having that moment of satisfaction, that feeling of security.

He thinks of the little looks Pascal kept giving him all afternoon and evening, loaded with affection. He thinks of how many times Pascal told him he loves him. He thinks of the kiss Wallace pressed to his face. He thinks of the responses of immediate joy his friends had on his behalf. 

He wishes his family had been there for this day too. Everything important to him, everything that does and will ever make him happy—he should've been able to share it all with them. Sometimes, in blissful moments however big or small, he thinks of them, as if such times recreate their absence anew just for the occasion. To cause him to falter for just a second, visualize the space where they should be standing in front of him, imagine their faces and voices and what they might say to him and how he could turn to them as easily as to any of his friends, and laugh with them and ask them what they think and how they feel. And though he'll pull himself out of it and try to reengage in everything that's really there in the present, the moment lingers with him. He misses them, and he wishes they could be here with him too.

His room is so dark that he doesn't bother opening his eyes when he slides out of bed and walks carefully over to the shelf. He feels along the top, tracing leaves back to a plant back to a ceramic pot over to the picture frame next to it.

"Hey, so, I'm with Pascal again," he whispers, resting his fingers on the wooden frame. "I wish you had been there when we were all out tonight. I wish I could've gotten to surprise you with the news, too. I wish I could see how happy you would've been. Maybe you would've been proud of me... I'm kind of proud of myself, anyway. I'm really glad this is happening. I love Pascal so much. He loves me too, and that's amazing. He's such a wonderful guy, it's like I can't believe I didn't know about him before I met him, like he's too good for the world to keep quiet about. But I'm with him again, and I want to stay with him, and if I have my way I'll just be with him as long as I can be. I—I didn't get to tell you that kind of stuff about him. I didn't get to tell you when I realized just how much I loved him and how serious I was about it. It was—it was after you—"

He pauses. He hasn't spoken so at length like this for a while, he never knows what to expect when he's letting himself talk freely. He can't help but start tearing up a little.

"I wish you could've known how special to me he is and how much I love him and..." His voice is quavering even in a whisper. "I'm happy you at least got to meet him and know who he is. And you got to know a bit about what he meant to me. You—you knew we loved each other and were happy to be together and I'm really glad that happened, I just... I just wish it had been longer and we all could've gotten to know each other really well, and—and I feel like I was just getting old enough to really start knowing the full picture of what things were like for you, when I could understand things better and I knew more and I wasn't a kid anymore and I—I was just starting but—things were busier than they used to be and I didn't want to get in the way, I didn't want to make you involve me more in every part of your lives because I knew some things you didn't want to share 'cause I'm still your little brother and I know you just didn't have as much extra time and so I thought it would help to try looking after myself as much as I could, and maybe it did help, I don't know."

He's outright crying already and his nose is running; he goes to the bedside table to get a few tissues and then returns to the picture, again placing his fingertips on its frame.

"I don't know. I guess you guys might've had the same kinds of doubts if you could look back? I know you did your best; I guess I did too. But I wish I'd—that I'd—when—I wish on that day, that on that day I'd been around you guys more, we were all different places doing different things and then later on in the day, our different schedules for the—"

He abruptly stops and blows his nose again and wipes off all the tears rolling down his cheeks. 

"For the next day," he continues, "meant we were all just out of sync I guess and our daily routines just weren't really there and I was tired, I just wanted to—to be in my room where it was quiet and be out of the way and—and I had felt like we hadn't seen each other much all day but it had still felt like a normal day and I thought—I had thought that tomorrow—"

He kneels down to sit on the floor as his crying worsens enough to keep him from trying to speak at all, choked off by quiet, hiccuping sobs. He spends a minute or two simply letting it pass through him.

"I-I miss you guys," he breathes, wiping away snot. "I miss you so much and I wish you were still here. I think about how it would've been if you'd just come back all of a sudden like you were just off on a long trip, and I got to show you who I am and tell you what I've been doing and—and what all of us have been doing—and I wish you could be here now that everything's been—that we're all—everyone's in such a better place than we were back then and—and you guys deserve to have gotten that too."

He heaves a tremulous sigh.

"I wish you could've met Wallace, too. He's—it's been rough, and he's not—not—" He drags a hand across his forehead. "He's from A and he didn't know hardly anything, but at the start he didn't even know that he didn't know anything. That sucked, honestly, and sometimes it would drive me crazy that it seemed like he thought that just—just caring hard enough was a substitute for anything, like that was the only thing you needed to do to fix everything. Like all of us who’d been dealing with it all our lives didn't all care enough already—and like you guys hadn't cared enough or been optimistic enough and I—I definitely fought with him over that kind of thing a good few times. He'd say something awful without meaning to and—I'd get so frustrated with him and sometimes he'd get frustrated back and..."

He laughs under his breath, a little hoarsely.

"I mostly just wanted him to—to know, to just realize there was a boundary when he was dealing with stuff that for one reason or another he couldn't understand... Instead of trying to—I don't know, ignore or get around stuff just by wanting to fix it hard enough. But he could be really sweet and it was so nice how much he considered even the littlest stuff worth his time... He just wanted to help over anything else. And that was really nice to see and of course I understood that feeling, but also—also I knew really well that just one person couldn't just fix everything for everyone no matter how much they wanted to, and—and for a while it really grated on me that he didn't seem to get that at all. But we've all changed since then, and he's just... He's still just a really kind person and he's loving and cares about everybody, and I wish you could meet him because I couldn't ever have known he'd be so important to us. I wish I could talk to you about how much I care about him and...want to be close to him, because it's been really confusing dealing with it on my own. I know you'd make it seem a lot less of a big deal and a lot more manageable and maybe I wouldn't've had to spend so much time wondering if it was even okay to have feelings for him."

His crying has been slowly lightening over the course of talking about Wallace, but he's still feeling tears fall from his jaw. He keeps wiping their residue from his face to make sure the tracks don't freeze to his cheeks.

"I guess timing doesn't always work out perfectly," he sniffs. "But this was way off. I wish every day that there’d been so much more time."

His eyes are adjusting to the darkness enough that he can just make out the silhouette of the frame.

"I'm glad I have you to think of," he whispers. "I miss you. I wish you were here. I miss you. I really miss you."

He scrubs his face with a clean piece of tissue, then carefully bends down and touches his lips to the top of the frame.

"I love you."

He straightens back up and stands in front of the picture for a few quiet moments more. Then he reaches out to touch the frame one more time before walking carefully across the room to throw the tissues away, then walking back to the bed. He sits down on the end with a quiet sigh.

It's not every day he talks for so long, and a lot rarer that he'll talk about such loaded, emotional topics. When he's on even slightly shaky ground, he's not sure it won't knock him over. And it's been a long, long time since stability felt like a constant in his life. He tries to make sure he doesn't do anything to make himself feel like he's weighing himself down for a collapse. And he doesn't have intimate, lengthy talks with his picture unless he's in so good a place that he knows he can carry it.

Right now he's not only in a good enough place, but he knows he'll be in a good place when he wakes up, too. 

He gets back under the covers, breathes deep and slow, and falls asleep quickly.

—

He can't help but text Pascal in the morning, though he restrains himself from doing so immediately after waking up. He texts him during his lunch break, and after his shift is over. Pascal's replies are warm and , and Kip is so glad that his boyfriend—

His boyfriend.

—has a phone, and they can actually text each other. When they'd first met, Kip would have to call Pascal, or vice versa. And when they lived together, they saw each other every day. He's sure that they'll keep calling each other, as they have been since they reinitiated contact. Pascal is pleasant to talk to over the phone; his conversation is relaxed but fun and his voice sounds lovely even through the slight electric filters. But on a day like this when Pascal is working, too, Kip is glad to have his texts, especially since otherwise they'd likely still be waiting for hours before making any contact at all.

They jumped almost immediately into talking about how they felt about being in a relationship again, falling asleep to it and waking up to it and thinking about how it's still real and they're having their first full day of being able to know they're really with each other. Kip told him it felt freeing and comforting to know that nothing is off the table, nothing is too intimate anymore. Pascal told him how, even while expecting it as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, it was repeatedly a thrill to see Kip's name lit up on his phone's screen. Kip said that he likes feeling like a real, present part of Pascal's life again. Pascal said that hearing how he's making Kip happy is the only thing that could've lifted his mood even higher today.

It's another taste of the excitement of starting something new. Kip's smiles to himself feel as involuntarily as not, and he has an excess energy that buoys his mood. Pascal feels so much closer. Everything seems friendlier, more familiar. He knows it's a bit of an emotional high from the yesterday's thrill, but that doesn't mean he can't let himself enjoy it. And this one little detail, getting texts from Pascal, is an unprecedented experience between them that provides its own kick.

Just touching the rectangle in his pocket is like a fraction of the feeling of touching Pascal.

—

He strips down and showers when he gets home, scrubbing off sweat and a few coffee stains. He sends a text while toweling off, telling Pascal that he's going to try to see if he can talk to Wallace, while he's got this energy that seems to be temporarily keeping his anxiety and self-doubt at bay. After straightening back up from blowdrying his hair, he's gotten a reply, a quick well-wishing encouragement.

"I love you, i'll let you know what happens," he sends, and focuses in on getting himself put together. He intends to make this all one unbroken stream of activity that leads him right to Wallace's door, with no space for hesitation and overthinking to work its way in.

Putting on deodorant, combing his hair, examining his face in the mirror, slipping on grey jeans and a loose sweater and pacing around, just shy of wringing his hands, before having to accept he doesn't need to do anything else to descend several floors and see if Wallace is home.

Keys, phone, he goes out the door.

Down the stairs and he's trying not to worry. 

Walking down the hall and telling himself his footsteps really aren't that loud. 

He touches the phone in his pocket. He faces Wallace's apartment.

It only takes a few seconds for him to convince himself to knock. The quick, light knock he always uses. And then he waits, even while telling himself of course he's not home, asking why he didn't just text him like a sensible person to ask where he is, warning himself of his own ineptitude.

He thinks he can hear faint noises that might be from within the apartment, and it roots him in place. After a few seconds of this he tries once more, two quick, soft knocks—and he definitely hears Wallace's voice give some response. His cheeks flush and his heart skitters and takes off at a decent pace.

A muffled "—a second!" sounds from what Kip guesses is the bathroom; he sighs and winces at his own poor timing.

He thinks he hears Wallace approaching the door and takes a step back.

"Hey," he says. “Hey, it's Kip—"

The door swings inward and Wallace smiles at him, wearing shorts and a tee and sandals that Kip sees when he glances nervously at the floor.

"Hey!" Wallace says, opening the door fully. "Hey, how are you? What's up?"

"I'm okay," Kip says with a tiny laugh. "Um, I was wondering if you're busy right now? I wanted to talk with you about something, but it can totally wait—don't even worry about it—we can do it later—" He's blushing and waving it off with a shrug and already leaning away; maybe it's just nerves but his instincts are saying he's intruding on Wallace's day in some way.

"Oh, no, that's okay, we can talk," Wallace says quickly, raising a hand. 

"Oh—" Kip murmurs, feeling a jolt of what seems to be both trepid alarm and excited anticipation. He grasps on to the latter—he can finally, finally do this. Get this all off his chest to the other person who needs to know it. He takes a deep breath. "Okay."

"Wanna, uh, come in? It's a little messy but, uh, it's not so bad in here—just give me a second and I can clear that off the couch—" Wallace turns inwards towards the apartment to survey the slight signs of disorganization and moves back from the doorway as he does, and Kip takes the cue and drops his head as he steps inside.

"Sorry...let me just..." Wallace picks up what looks like a stack of laundry from his little couch and carries it off to his bedroom; Kip shifts his weight from one foot to the other and looks around at the walls as though they're a source of quiet fascination moreso than anything else around him.

"Okay!" Wallace says, tugging absently at a piece of his hair as he walks back in. Kip lifts his posture. "Do you want anything to drink, or...?"

"Oh—" Kip is legitimately unsure whether he does or doesn't. After fumbling with it for an entire second, instinct tells him to politely accept. "A-anything's fine, really, just water is fine—"

"I have some sweet tea and lemonade, do you like that?"

"Yes—yes, that'd be fine, that's good..." he trails off as Wallace slips into his kitchen and bites his lip and tongue and tries to will away his tension.

He's relaxed himself slightly—at least physically—by the time Wallace reappears with two glasses and gives one to Kip.

"So," Wallace says, settling himself on the armchair adjacent to the sofa. "What brings you today?"

"Well, um." Kip carefully perches himself in the center of the couch, searching out a round cork coaster on the coffee table and sliding it towards himself. "I...have something to tell you that I've kind of been sitting on for a little while."

"Yeah?" 

Kip is grateful that Wallace's tone remains casual.

"Mmhm." He sips his drink, steadfastly staring at the table but feeling Wallace's gaze on him. "This is good." He lifts the drink, and moves to set it down before realizing he wants something in his hands. "I'm sorry. It's nothing serious, but I'm a little nervous."

"I totally understand," Wallace says. Kip thinks he's softening his voice for him. "You can take your time."

Kip smiles at the ice floating in his cup. 

"Thank you," he murmurs. "Unfortunately, ah... It's not really something I can work up to, in that—well—it's difficult, but I think I just have to say it."

"Okay..." 

He sees Wallace lean back in the chair in his peripheral. He lifts his head, face hot, and fleetingly glances directly at Wallace a few times for a moment to try to make it less awkward for the both of them, though he suspects it’s counterproductive in that regards.

"Sorry, I'm just—" He smooths one of his sleeves. "This is silly. But I'm still nervous." 

He leans back as well and makes eye contact with Wallace, squeezing his glass as he gives the human a slight smile that is immediately returned with an obvious warmth. 

Kip takes a deep breath and laughs at himself at its height; Wallace echoes his soft laughter back to him.

"Okay." Kip looks at Wallace, who's looking back at him with a faint smile, a faint blush, a look of earnest interest, his constant air of genuine kindness. 

And Kip knows he can trust him with anything. Wallace takes everyone's wellbeing as seriously as he knows how. He won't hurt Kip, and he knows how private Kip can be. This is going to be okay.

"I'm just going to say this," Kip tells both Wallace and himself. 

"Okay..." Wallace breathes a laugh.

Kip feels a slight flutter in his chest at that, and uses it as the little push he needs.

"I..." He feels himself blush violently; he hooks his ankles together and digs the pad of his one foot against the carpet. "Well."

He puts his hands on his thighs and slides them to his knees. He thinks of Pascal, how lousy it would feel to tell him he'd been lucky enough to catch Wallace at home, free to chat and in a characteristically lighthearted mood, but had backed out for no good reason and just made it that much harder for himself to make another attempt. Of course he can't do that. Of course, once again, he just has to say it.

"This is a bit embarrassing to just—I suppose there's no—it's not—" He covers his face with his hand and draws in a long breath. "Oh gosh. That's a mess. I'm sorry. I'm trying to be—okay. Okay. Just, this is probably going to be embarrassing to hear, I'm sorry."

"Oh?" Wallace blushes. "Oh man, did I—that is, is this about—"

"No," Kip interrupts quickly. "No—no, it's not you, it's just that—that I..."

They stare at each other for a breathless, motionless instant.

“I, um...” Kip falters.

He curls his toes.

"I like you." 

The words are forced out yet his voice is much softer than it had been just before—almost faint, even close to wavering.

There's a beat of a pause, but Kip is already too tense to feel any extra surge of nervousness. He's just waiting, bracing for the hit.

"You...?" Wallace sits upright. "...W-what do you mean, you..." He doesn't exactly sound horrified, but he does sound confused, and like he's trying yet failing to hide his own increased tension.

"I'm sorry," Kip mumbles, touching his lips, his cheek. "This is embarrassing, and I'm sorry for just dumping it on you like this, it's just—I have. A crush. On—uh, on you. And I've been aware of it and...thinking about it for a while now. And I've just—it's just felt like it's become too much to not at least tell you that it's going on."

"...Oh," Wallace almost whispers. Kip glances over at him; his face has significant patches of pink that are bleeding together across his nose, his hands are folded almost gracefully in his lap, he's looking at his knees. "Oh, I—I didn't know."

"You didn't?" Kip asks quietly. "I thought I might've been pretty bad at hiding it. But I suppose I was just self-conscious." He's more than ready to just gently mock himself for the entire duration of the remaining conversation if needbe, laugh it off until he can slide right back out the door.

"I..." Wallace laughs nervously. "I suppose I sort of noticed something, but I never exactly guessed that...that you..."

"...I like you," Kip affirms, speaking towards the drink clutched in his hand. The ice is occasionally clattering against the sides of the glass from the shakiness of his grip. "I dreamt I kissed you, and...I liked the dream, and so I had to think about how I felt about you, and—and of course I already liked you before that. But I didn't know I liked you in that I wanted to kiss you. Or at least I hadn’t seriously thought that I did. But I—well, I've realized I do. I...really care a lot about you. One way or another. And I didn't ever guess that I would feel this specific way towards you, but, well, here I am."

He shrugs and hugs an arm across his torso. 

"I just wanted to at least get it off my chest, so maybe it at least wouldn't seem like I was hiding something whenever I'm around you." He shrugs again and takes a drink of the tea.

There's a pause. Kip can tell he’s going to start shaking visibly if he doesn’t get some kind of relief from the tension soon.

"...Gosh, Kip, I...I wasn't ever expecting you to tell me something like this, I..." Wallace cuts himself off with another nervous laugh.

Although Kip might earlier have been glad to know that Wallace had no idea what he was feeling, for some reason it's now a little humiliating to hear his surprise thusly emphasized.

"I couldn't think of any way to break it to you more gently," Kip says. The muscles in one knee are jumping involuntarily. He tries to ignore it. "And I'm sorry for that. I know this isn't the most comfortable thing to just bring up without warning."

"I'm fine," Wallace says softly. "Don't worry. It's fine."

"Okay... Well...that's good." Kip can't quite look right at him, instead just facing directly forward, intently taking small sips of his drink to occupy every moment in which he's not speaking.

He wants Wallace to start leading the conversation, so he can get a sense of how he's feeling, what he's thinking.

"It's just—" Wallace laughs and runs a hand through his hair, setting his own drink on the table. Kip internally cringes at that incremental move away from the casual atmosphere. "I really thought you were with Pascal again?"

"Oh." Kip feels his temperature fluctuate into a significant drop. "Oh my god. Yeah, I am. As of yesterday. I'm not—he's knows I'm here, Wallace, he knows I'm telling you this, I—" 

His face is burning even as he's starting to shiver from the chilled air clinging to his body. He can't believe he didn't think to bring this topic up first; it's completely mortifying to think that Wallace might believe he's trying to cheat on Pascal. He pulls out his phone, hands trembling a little as he unlocks it and opens his and Pascal's text conversation. The newest is an "Ok!" he hadn't seen yet, but the most recent few are clear proof that he told Pascal he was going to do this, and that Pascal approved. There's a couple of slightly embarrassingly affectionate texts visible above that, but the relative shame of Wallace seeing those is much less than that of Wallace believing Kip is trying to hurt Pascal.

"Here," he says, holding his phone out screen-first towards Wallace. "Please read that. I need to show you that he knows about this."

Wallace hesitates to take his phone from him.

"Please look at it," Kip repeats a little more firmly, and Wallace complies.

He watches Wallace's eyes move across the text, and sees Wallace's blush darken as he does so. Wallace silently passes the phone back to him with a nod; Kip returns it to his pocket.

"I—I already knew I was still in love with Pascal when I first thought I might have a crush on you," he explains. "But I was also still confused about what I wanted with Pascal, what I was ready for, and I was REALLY confused about what I wanted with you, and thinking about those both at once was a kind of confusion I'd never really dealt with before. But I spent a lot of time thinking about all of it, and trying to understand everything, and I've been taking it all really seriously. I didn't come here to tell you this on a whim. I like Pascal, and I like you, and I want to like you both, if I can. And I told Pascal all of this when I had him over earlier this week. We talked about it all, and we agreed to be together after he'd heard about all this. And he knew I wanted to tell you how I feel, and I promise I'm not doing anything behind his back."

He takes a few steadying breaths.

"But I realize that—that for you it might be strange that I have a boyfriend already, and if you're not comfortable discussing it any further, I won't push the subject any more." He bites at his lip. "But I like you at the same time that I like Pascal. I want you to know that it—that it's not as if the love I have for Pascal transfers away from him when I think about you, or vice versa. It's like they're these distinct and independent feelings. And I'm not very good at explaining it yet, because it's still so new to me, but I'll do my best to try, if you ever want me to. I’m not asking anything of you, but...I wanted to at least tell you."

He lifts his glass to take another small drink and flinches when it touches his upper lip—he's chilled it into an icy slush. He takes a sip anyways, then sets it on the coaster and dares a look over at Wallace.

He's gazing back at Kip, face now all but entirely bathed in deep pink, attentively turned towards him with a thumb rubbing his index finger, his lips slightly parted. 

Kip tries to offer a small smile but the movement is so weak he's not sure it was even noticeable. He shrugs again, not knowing what to do.

"You've really... You must've had to work up a lot of courage to tell me this," Wallace murmurs finally.

Kip's shoulder twitches, so does his lip.

"Please don't say that," he breathes. "Just—go ahead and tell me what you have to tell me."

"N-no, really," Wallace says quickly, eyes widening and eyebrows raising. "No, I didn't mean to sound like I'm talking down to you, I just know that—that you don't usually share this kind of stuff, and it must be really hard for you, and it does—it really means so much to me that you're here right now, telling me this."

Kip blinks and bites back his words for a moment, taking another pause to breathe instead.

"Please just..." He covers his mouth for a second while drawing a quick inhale. "You don't want to discuss this right now, do you."

Wallace huffs out a breath of his own and Kip glances over to see him give a slight grimace. His heart sinks further. He picks his glass back up and takes a drink that's larger than a sip.

"I'm...I'm kind of..." Wallace is touching the back of his neck and looking across the room.

"...You're not single, either." Kip's voice comes out flat.

The silence is an answer even before Wallace's confirmation.

"...N-not really."

Kip gives a stiff nod, crossing his legs at the knees and looking down with interest at his drink while swirling it like a wineglass. He's trying very hard not to internally panic. There’s a deep chill brewing in his stomach, threatening to creep up into his chest.

"I'd assumed that could be the case," he says, voice now breezily casual, to the point of almost being flippant. “But I didn't know one way or the other. I wouldn't have bothered you if I had."

But you did kiss me, his thoughts supply. You did kiss me and call me beautiful. That was you. You did that without any help from me.

It feels petulant and petty to think of mentioning that, and he keeps it buried. But his pride is wounded and insistent: you kissed me. 

YOU kissed ME.

"It's fine. I haven't really talked about it," Wallace says slowly. Carefully.

Kip nods again. He's not completely   
brokenhearted—he knows what that feels like, and this isn't quite it. But some part of him had clearly, foolishly, started assuming that Wallace was most likely single, because hearing that he isn't is a little like a gallon of ice-water splashed in his face, and he's a little crushed. Or, at least, the butterflies he'd felt are crushed, frozen into immobility by the chill spreading into his core.

"Anyone I know?" Kip asks, trying to muster even faint echoes of easygoing humor into his tone. He has no idea what he should really say—he's now driven somewhat by an instinct which just wants to minimize the damage and get out before creating any more.

"Ben," Wallace says, and Kip puts his drink back down a little too hard. 

"Oh?" he responds instinctively, now all but entirely detached from what's really happening in his head. He sits up completely straight, trying to freeze himself over, keep it all together until he can gracefully exit this situation. "I suppose I really had no idea then, if I couldn’t even have known that."

His laughter is a bit nervous, but any other reaction he could provide right now would be much, much moreso.

"We've been...pretty private about it," Wallace says quietly. Kip is only minutely consoled by the fact that Wallace himself sounds a bit embarrassed. "I mean, it's been going really slowly. We're not even really officially 'dating’ in that we haven't technically called it anything specific yet, but I..." He trails off.

"But you know anyway," Kip fills in once again. It's like some cruel self-punishment to make himself say these things instead of waiting for Wallace to do so while he just sits here and pathetically hopes that Wallace will tell him something else.

Kip lifts his chin regally and clears his throat.

"Yeah, I wouldn't imagine Ben is the most comfortable with labels such as that, but it’s not necessarily anything to worry about," he says quietly. "He was—" He cuts himself off abruptly, realizing it might come across as coldly harsh towards either Ben or Wallace if he were to finish the sentence and say how much Ben had been devastated at the loss of Yumi during their engagement. He knows part of him is genuinely glad to hear that Ben is dating again, but he can't possibly feel that right now, because of course of all the humans Kip had to fall for, it would be the same one that Ben liked.

He bitterly tells himself that it's really not so surprising, it's not like either he nor Ben has reams of friends, much less human friends, much less human friends they’re interested in being with. And he himself had said that he wouldn't have been surprised if Wallace had scores of people in love with him. This is something he shouldn't have allowed himself to dismiss as a possibility.

This really shouldn't surprise him.

"Well, it's good to hear for sure that Ben is with someone again," he continues. "I'm sure you're wonderful to him."

He sighs and stands up, tugging the hem of his sweater down into place.

"Kip..." Wallace says weakly.

You kissed me, Wallace, his head retorts. Just days ago. You held me and you kissed my face and you'd never done that before and I'd thought that it meant something from you.

"This is very embarrassing for me right now, Wallace," he says instead. "I don't think I can...continue this conversation at the moment. I'd rather go for now, if that's alright with you."

He looks at Wallace, who's still sitting in his chair, seeming somewhat bewildered. He blinks, looks around the room as if it will provide him with something, then leans forward to slowly rise to his feet as well.

"Sure—I—sure," he mutters, touching the back of his head. "It's alright."

"Thank you," Kip says softly. "Thank you for listening. And thank you for understanding."

"Yeah... Y-yeah, of course." Wallace nods and folds his arms across his chest as though he's cold—Kip realizes that, in their close proximity, he actually might be. 

Kip moves a few steps away. 

"Could you do me one favor?" He looks at Wallace as he asks.

"...Sure." Wallace's voice is small. He's blushing furiously as he holds Kip's eye contact. 

"Please don't tell Ben what I've said."

There's a pause.

Kip turns away.

"Alright," he says with more forced breeziness. "Thank you again for giving me your time with no notice like that. I'm sorry I wasn't better company."

"No, Kip—" Wallace is almost entreating, but when he speaks again he seems to be making an effort to sound less emotive as well. "Please, it's alright, it's fine—"

"I know it is, Wallace," Kip sighs. "Thank you for saying so, but honestly, I do know it. I just...really am very embarrassed, and I'd like to go. I'm sorry to leave like this, and I wish I could make this all more pleasant, but I just...can't continue this at the moment."

"...Okay." Wallace sounds resigned.

"Thank you."

And without waiting for Wallace to lead him there, Kip goes to the door. 

"I hope you have a good rest of the day," he says as opens the door, making his voice as light as he can manage. "Thanks for being so patient about this. I'll see you later." 

He casts one more weak smile over his shoulder as he shuts the door behind him, then walks as fast as he can to reach the stairs.

The moment he lets go of any attempt at a façade, his heart is pounding heavily and he feels surrounded by his intense humiliation, as if its some heavy, visible cloud clutching to him.

He feels so, so stupid. 

How stupid to have just shown up and dumped that on Wallace's lap and then run off. How stupid to have fallen for Wallace—to have loved him, he loves him, he's gone and grown to be in love with him—without even noticing that Wallace already has someone. How stupid to have never realized that Ben wasn't alone anymore. How stupid to assume he'd not only be the first person to have his heart won over by Wallace, but the only—how stupid how arrogant how self-centered how clueless how impossibly, embarrassingly ridiculous. 

He really must've seemed so stupid.

He rushes through the door of their apartment and closes it as quickly as if there's a storm following after him.

He stands there for a full minute, just staring down at the floor, fist clenched, dragging his other hand down his face, nails scraping his skin. 

He feels so shaken. 

Of all the people. Ben. Of course.

It's over, just like that.

—

He sits in the middle of his bedroom floor, thinking of what he and Eno had discussed. Being ready to support himself if things didn't go the way he hoped. 

Being here at home, in the same building as Wallace (and Ben), feels just a little smotheringly miserable. He can't distract himself adequately here, but none of his usual cheering-up errands or destinations feel helpful right now.

He wants to be with Pascal, pour out the whole miserable story to him, but knows his boyfriend won't be done with work for at least five more hours. 

He takes out his phone and starts looking up the bus schedules.

—

The first couple of weeks after they had moved in with Pascal, Kip barely left the apartment, much less the building. He just went between the bedroom and the bathroom, drinking water from the sink, eating as consistently as he could to try to keep the others from worrying about him in that regard, to keep Pascal from having to bring meals to him while he lay in bed, unable to make himself get up even for food. He wanted quiet, he would spend hours alone, staring up at the ceiling, feeling so lost and afraid and upset, sometimes so furiously sad at every moment of life he was being forced through that each beat of his heart seemed to break it. He just felt his family slipping out of his grasp; every time he fell asleep, it was like they became a little bit more lost to the past. As if part of him still believed he could save them.

He didn't exactly mind solitude during those long days. It kept him from feeling quite so guilty for being little more than a ghost. He had little energy; he'd hate the idea of falling asleep and then he'd be so tired he slept for half the day or more. He cried often, without warning, without the ability to hold it off or stifle it. Even his periods of sleep were interrupted by terrifyingly vivid recreations of the fire, in which he was reliving his desperation to save his family and his earnest belief that he was so close to rescuing them, when he'd wake up crying out and sobbing and realizing again that he had never grasped their hands through the blindingly hot flames and pulled them through, he had never fallen with their arms cradled around him and been peacefully submerged in a sea of fire, he had never been heard the screams of his family—had he?—had never heard a horrible roaring voice in the fire as it stretched ferociously towards him, cacophonous, demanding his death—

It took all he had to seem anything other than griefstricken and traumatized. All he could muster was a quietly gloomy calmness. He did still enjoy the company of his friends infinitely more than being left alone, but he was always in the midst of a crisis, where nothing felt comforting—merely fleetingly distracting from the impending disaster sitting on his shoulders. But he tried. They were the only people who really knew him, who he really mattered to anymore. They were all that didn't seem hostile and horrible to him. And he loved them.

But some days he just couldn't leave the bedroom. 

After about a month of living together, he was slowly growing steadier. But he still collapsed plenty of times. One day he'd been feeling a little better than usual, and Pascal had offered that the next day he could take Kip out for dinner. Kip had gone out with one or more of the others a fair number of times, but on more than a few occasions had found himself with an uncontrollable, public wave of tears that embarrassed and disheartened him greatly. He hadn't done something like this yet, where he deliberately went out in the evening and sat down in the middle of a restaurant and took his time having dinner with Pascal.

When it had originally been discussed, it had sounded like a date. The next day, when Kip had fallen from his streak of increased stability, it seemed more like a trial, an exhausting test that he would surely only fail while feeling like this. The prior day's excitement at going out like boyfriends again had become all but totally inaccessible to him. Just the thought of getting himself together to leave was too much. The thought of being in public, around so many people, trying and hoping he could remain presentable, wishing he would somehow not ruin the outing for Pascal but knowing he would, was all so much worse.

And of course being so stressed about it just made it feel even more impossible. How could he enjoy it, how could Pascal? He didn't want to be dragged out into the open, clinging to the arm and patience of his boyfriend—they were still boyfriends, right?—only to inevitably withdraw entirely or break down into tears. He wasn't at all in the mood anymore. He wasn't in the mood for anything.

When Pascal had come home, it was all he could do to keep himself from coming apart any further. The unpleasantness of his mood was obvious, and he was ashamed and upset that Pascal had to see what he'd been looking forward to all day crumbling away in front of him. But he couldn't help it. He didn't have it in himself to feel any better.

He'd managed to admit to Pascal that he couldn't do it after all. And it was almost frustrating how Pascal refused to be disappointed. He told Kip he didn't have to force himself through something he wouldn't enjoy, and before he knew it Kip was retorting that Pascal would've enjoyed it.

And Pascal said that he wouldn't if Kip was unhappy. And Kip asked if he likewise shouldn't be happy if Pascal was. And Pascal told him of course not. You can't be happy right now. And that's fine. You're not unhappy because of anything about me, and nothing about me can bring you out of this unhappiness. It would be a lot simpler if it could.

You must hate this, Kip had said after a pause. Almost begging him to admit it. You must hate that I'm like this.

It doesn't make me happy either, Pascal allowed, but I love seeing you. That doesn’t change whether you feel good or not. It's you. I love you.

Kip had believed him, but even that couldn't make a dent in the choking grief and despondency that swelled and ebbed with every breath.

When Pascal then offered to go out somewhere quiet and nearby, a little café or diner where there'd be no pressure, Kip's heart sank. Pascal didn't know what he'd meant when he'd said he couldn't go out; he thought Kip might be capable of much, much more than he really was. And now he would just disappoint Pascal repeatedly until his boyfriend's expectations were eroded down to nothingness, or until Pascal resented him, or thought he simply must not care enough to ever try.

I can't, he'd said, sinking onto the bed. I can't go out.

We could just go across the street—

I can't do it today.

What if I—

Pascal! He’d all but snapped at him, his voice edged with his frustration. No! I can't! I can’t go out. I won’t.

There was a painful silence in which Kip had to look at the floor, weighed down by his mixing shame and anger.

Pascal quietly accepted and left the room.

Kip had felt miserable. He was afraid Pascal thought he could be cheered up out of all of it. He was afraid Pascal thought it was only a matter of bringing Kip out into the sunlight and fresh air and he'd once more become the fun, pleasant boyfriend he'd been only a few weeks before. He was afraid Pascal wasn't listening to him. He was afraid that Pascal didn't yet realize how much worse he was now, how permanent Kip feared the change would prove to be, but once he did, all of this was going to slowly unravel. He was afraid that Pascal couldn't tell anymore that Kip loved him, that he didn't recognize his boyfriend anymore, that without being able to show his passion or happiness, Kip couldn't show Pascal his love. He was afraid that Pascal thought he didn't love him as much anymore.

He’d cried a bit. He had to. He felt like everything, even this, had been ruined. But after lying down and turning the situation over, he knew he couldn't do anything to deliberately push Pascal away. He'd trust Pascal to figure out on his own if this wouldn't work out. But he deserved to see the whole plethora of reasons behind that, not just that Kip was suddenly lashing out at him and refusing to apologize. And, selfish or not, Kip loved him too dearly to try to push Pascal away even if he wanted to.

Still, he had to lie there for nearly an hour and recover his nerve before he could pick himself up and leave the room. Pascal was busying himself with washing some dishes, and Kip simply went over to stand beside him and quietly make his apology.

Pascal had insisted that it was okay and that he shouldn't have pushed Kip, and Kip had admitted that he had felt pushed but added that he hadn’t told Pascal that and he had unfairly vented all his frustrations at Pascal. He told Pascal he didn't want to do that, he wasn't going to treat him that way. He promised him that he still wanted to be around Pascal as much as he ever had, even though he couldn't bring himself to want much of anything else.

They stood together as Kip dried the dishes that Pascal washed, and Kip did his best to talk honestly about how he wished he had more energy and was more enjoyable to be around but that it just wasn't who he was right now and he didn't know if or when it ever would be again. He said he wished he felt like going out tonight like he'd said he would but, the way he felt now, he just couldn't deal with it. He said he loved Pascal and that he was aware of just how caring and generous he was.

And Pascal told him he didn't love Kip only when he was fun to be around or could show a certain level of happiness. He said he loved Kip all the time. Even if they argued or fought. He wanted to be with him all the time.

They went out that night in the sense that they went out of the room. They went for long walks in circles around the hallways and stairs, they leaned against a window and talked while looking at the mediocre view, they brought sandwiches and bottled drinks down to the lounge on the bottom floor. And the fact that Pascal was so okay with this fall from their previous plans actually did lift Kip's spirits enough that he could laugh and joke around a bit—helped along by the inherent playfulness of wandering around their old apartment building as if walking along Parisian avenues. But Pascal had managed to take him out for the night within his boundaries, and they both seemed to find genuine enjoyment in it, and it made Kip smile in earnest more than a few times.

A month or so later had brought a similar situation. Kip had much more often been feeling as though there was solid ground under his feet, but he was having a string of bad days. Pascal had offered to take all four of them out to dinner as a change of pace and scenery, but Kip had to back out twice, and couldn't convince the others to treat themselves to a nice evening out without him while he stayed home and rested. 

He was feeling guilty and embarrassed about it again, yet he could handle it better, he didn't feel like he was drowning. But it still dampened his mood and he wasn't sure if he would manage to finally pull himself together anytime soon.

The third evening he let them down, it got to him. He spent an hour or so trying not to cry, trying not to avoid the others and isolate himself. They had clearly noticed that he was upset, but let him try to act as though everything was routine, until eventually Pascal came up to him and gently looped an arm around his side and pulled him close. 

Pascal didn't even talk about going out, just hugged him against his broad torso and spoke to him quietly about ordinary, casual topics—his day, the weather, a book he'd read—until he whispered a few softly affectionate compliments to Kip before pressing a lingering kiss to his cheek.

Later on that night, when the four of them were sitting around the table quietly talking and laughing with each other, Pascal had offered again to take them out.

Kip had laughed. Now? he'd asked.

Yeah, now, Pascal said brightly.

Roy and Molly immediately caught on to the idea with enthusiasm.

You wanna go out and get something? Pascal turned and asked Kip.

I'm basically wearing pajamas, Kip protested, gesturing to the sweatpants and tee he wore.

Who will care, Pascal said. None of us look any better right now. It doesn't matter what any random person thinks.

It's so late, Kip said.

There's some places still open. It'll be fun.

Kip laughed and blushed and looked down at the tabletop, fidgeting with the seam of his pants along the inside of his thigh.

Half an hour later they were sitting in a tiny restaurant at an uneven table and Kip was feeling like they all must really like him after all, and as though maybe they really could make a new kind of life for themselves here.

A year or so later, Kip made covert plans for an upcoming day when both he and Pascal were off work and already intending to spend the day hanging out together. He took him out to the beach, and they simply spent the day lying right on the sand, wading in the edge of the surf, walking along the shoreline and messing around and getting soaked in water and salt and sand and ocean air. Pascal would catch Kip up in his strong arms and spin him around until he laughed, he would hug him close and talk low in his ear, he would steal a kiss as they lay side-by-side in the sun. Kip put Pascal's head in his lap and sheltered his eyes from the light with his body and stroked his hair and face, lulling him to drift off to the sound of the waves, and held him while he rested, looking between the infinite sky and blue-grey horizon and Pascal's beautiful, sweet face. He brought them drinks from the boardwalk and it didn't matter when he accidentally froze his. He kissed Pascal countless times throughout the sunset. They talked and laughed the whole ride home. 

Kip had intended to go down on Pascal as the finishing touch to their day, but before he could do so, Pascal was kissing him and reaching down his pants and feeling up into his shirt. He bent Pascal down over their bed and fucked him until they both came, then got Pascal hard again as soon as he could and sucked his dick, then let Pascal jerk him off. He showered first and then started cooking dinner as Pascal took his turn washing himself. He pulled Pascal into bed that night and buried his nose and lips in Pascal's hair to rest against the back of his neck and breathe in the combined scent of the ocean, his shampoo, and his body. He fell asleep in sync with Pascal's warmth.

—

Kip descends the metal steps of the bus and can smell the water as soon as he passes through its threshold. He turns directly towards the beach and starts walking down the street, glancing up at the pitch, roll, and yaw of seagulls overhead. Little streams of sand fill the cracks in the road and sidewalk and grind under his feet as he grows nearer to the sound of other beachgoers.

It's not the most beautiful stretch of coast in the area, but it's closest to their home, just an hour's ride away, and right next to the bus stop. He doesn't really need it to be picturesque or quiet—he'd rather be in more crowded environment today, anyways. He doesn't think having a lot of space would really bring him anything.

He sends Pascal a text telling him he talked to Wallace, and maybe they could talk over the phone when Pascal's shop closed in an hour or so? And then he seals his phone in a plastic bag and drops it into his pocket and climbs up onto the sand dunes, bringing the ocean and everyone enjoying it into view.

It's pleasant weather; it feels nicely warm even to him. The air tastes good, and the breeze from the water feels more solid than the ones further inland. He first simply approaches the water, weaving his path between a few encampments of families and sunbathers, and stops to take off his sandals at the border of the darkened, smoothed slope of sand. The constant sound of breaking surf muffles the shrieks and laughs of kids. Kip digs his bare feet into the sand and looks out at the whole ocean laid out in front of him. 

It doesn't really make him feel small. The ocean seems like a vast expanse of something so eternal it's timeless. Like it's the same waves that were rolling in years, decades, millenia ago, and the same waves that are crashing against the shore five hundred years in the future. Kip walks towards the water slowly, reverently, his steps as careful and deliberate as a dancer's. He stops just outside a foamy sheet of water that's sliding back towards the sea, and waits.

The next sweep of the tide falls inches short of where he stands, but the following one rushes past him, bathing his feet and splashing his ankles in comfortably cool flowing water. Sand is deposited against his heels as the water rushes back out. 

He stands there and watches the tide for a while, every now and then taking a step or two closer to the water. Then he walks along until he comes across a patch of sand respectfully distant from any groups around it, and he sits back and watches people walking along in front of him, then lays back and looks up at the sky while he simply listens and feels and breathes in everything around him.

It feels so nice lying like that in warmth of the sunlight that he rests an arm over his eyes, knowing he won't fall asleep but also that he wouldn't mind if he did.

He doesn't doze off, but he does relax.

Afterwards he sits up and just watches the ocean for a while again. He always finds it beautiful. He wouldn't mind if he had friends with him right now, but having come here alone is simply peaceful, not particularly lonely or sad. He remembers to ask Molly again if she thinks she and Roy would want to take a long weekend—or even a full week—to spend somewhere fun and relaxing. He’s certain they ought to have a excuse to worry about only themselves for a little bit. And it feels like it's been so long since Kip's seen the beach—the last time those two got to have a real break or go anywhere seems like it was eons in the past by now.

He walks fifteen or twenty minutes down the beach, then turns around and makes his way back to his starting point. 

Eventually, he wades into the water again, up to his knees, rising up on his toes if a slightly larger wave rolls into him and splashes his thighs. The hair on his legs shift with the movement of the water, as though the ocean is tenderly stroking every inch of him that's submerged in it.

His thoughts inevitably drift back to subjects such as how he doesn't really love the thought of going back to the apartment, now that there's two people around he'd rather avoid. Eno was right in that he now can't imagine he'd feel any sort of comfort while sharing a room with Wallace. At least with Ben they've both sort of reached an understanding, which is to not seek each other out or act like anything but passing acquaintances. That slight awkwardness and tension would be nothing compared with what he'd feel around Wallace now.

But it doesn't really matter. He can use the side entrance connected directly to the stairs and not have to worry about passing either of their doors, or seeing them out front. And he ought to head back in another hour or so whether he likes it or not—despite having left a note for Roy and Molly saying he'd be back after the usual time, he doesn't much enjoy being out too late without friends there with him. He likes watching sunsets and stargazing, but after he brings his gaze back down to earth, it all has a lonesome feel.

He cycles back and forth between standing in the ocean and sitting in the sand before it. He inevitably thinks of his family a few times, prompted by the sight of other families, and by thoughts of those he likes to share these kinds of experiences with. He remembers that it's been so, so long since he's done anything more eventful with Eno than go down the street to find somewhere to eat. They've never had too many chances to have pure fun together, and Kip's not exactly happy with that. Eno is one of his oldest friends, the next closest person to his family. But he lives in another district, he has his own life, he has a busy, carefully scheduled practice. Kip isn't ever keen on using up too much of Eno's precious free time or infrequent days off.

He hasn't spent as much one-on-one time with Kate as he'd like, either. She's always surprisingly easy to talk to when it's just the two of them. And then there's all the people he'd known from when his family was alive, who he treats as acquaintances now but but who he was friends with back then. He's not sure if he might find some of those friendships still dormant within people, or if he wants to find out by reestablishing contact with anyone. Some of those relationships just hadn't survived the change in him and the six years of complete separation.

But he didn't come out here to feel guilt or regret. He also doesn't spend enough time taking himself out places, enjoying things on his own. And he's doing that now. And it doesn't feel like a waste.

He sits at the edge of the tide's reach to look out over the water, and feels it stretch in to touch him softly.

—

Kip's lying back in the sand again, eyes closed, hands folded on his chest, when his phone starts buzzing repeatedly with a call. He takes it out of the plastic and squints at the screen to see that it's Pascal, then closes his eyes again after accepting the call.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey, how are you?"

"Eh, I'm okay. How's work going?"

"It's been fine. Things went smooth today, it was pretty quiet. We have a lot of weekly regulars, but for some reason today usually has the slowest afternoons."

"Is it ever really not calm? Running a shop that sells tea?"

"Sometimes you'd be surprised. But I guess it isn't exactly the most stressful possible place."

Kip laughs quietly.

"So, you said you got hold of Wallace? How'd that go?" Pascal continues.

"Well—" Kip laughs again, brief and humorless. "He's, um—he’s not single. So...at least it went pretty straightforwardly?”

"But...you're not single, either."

"Yeah, but it wasn't like that. I could tell he was uncomfortable as soon as I'd explained it to him, and then he said he's already with someone. I didn't stick around very long after that."

"Oh, gosh...that must've been really uncomfortable for you, too," Pascal murmurs.

"Yeah, it definitely was. It just feels like I've really embarrassed myself."

There's a pause.

"You're okay?" Pascal asks quietly. "What did you do after that?"

"I rode down to the beach." Kip's laugh is a bit more genuine. "I'm still there now, listen."

He turns the phone away and holds it out towards the ocean for a few seconds.

"Could you hear the waves?" he asks as he returns the phone to his ear.

"Yeah." Pascal's laugh is brief and quiet, but warm. "I wish I was with you."

"Oh—" Kip puts a hand to his face. "I don't want to be rubbing it in while you're at work—I'm not having the time of my life or anything. I just wanted to be somewhere else and kind of try to relax a little instead of just—whatever I would've done if I stayed home."

"No, I know, I mean I wish I could be with you no matter what you're doing. Or really, even if everything had gone well—I'd still like to be with you."

Kip smiles.

"Yeah."

"I want you to come over," Pascal says.

"What—now?"

Pascal laughs. 

"I'm not even home right now," he says. "I just mean...whenever we both have a free day or two...I want to have you over."

Kip blushes and looks at the curling waves in front of him.

"That would be really nice," Kip says quietly.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He leans his cheek a further into the phone, as if Pascal could feel it, as if it would make them just a little bit closer.

"How long do you think you're gonna stay out there?" Pascal asks.

"At the beach? Well...I do really like to watch the sun set and the stars come out here, but I'm gonna take the bus that comes by in about half an hour. I think I ought to give more warning to Molly and Roy if I was gonna go off on my own and be gone that long."

"Yeah, they might worry."

"I guess when I get home I might as well let them know the full picture too," Kip sighs.

"About Wallace and everything?"

"Yeah." Kip rubs his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure they've been thinking I have this deep, dark secret... I've been telling them I'd explain it when I could, and, well...now seems like as good time as it'll ever be. They've been patient about it for ages and they should know it wasn't ever anything to worry about."

"Sure. Have you been worried about telling them, though?"

"A bit. But just for pointless reasons. Mostly that I was too stressed out by thinking about it to really consider discussing it with other people. And for a long time I felt like everything I was thinking was just—completely ridiculous and messed up and—"

He sighs heavily.

"They won't think that," Pascal says.

"Yeah. I just went and got stuck wanting to avoid telling anyone. And then I didn't want to say anything until you knew, and maybe until Wallace knew, if I had the option. And today I told Wallace. So I guess there's no more reasons to wait."

"It'll be fine. There's nothing to lose there. They'll get to know that you trust them with that, and that there's nothing they need to worry about. And you'll get to have everything off your chest."

"Yeah." Kip laughs. "Yeah, you're right. You know, it's a lot easier to psych myself up for this kind of stuff when I have you to back me up."

Pascal laughs too.

"I'm really glad I can help again."

"I'm—it still kind of feels hard to believe we're just going to keep having each other." Kip curls his toes into the sand. "Like, that we're finally really together and—it's gonna be the same way tomorrow—it's almost too much to take in at once. But it's kind of fun having this same realization over and over, because I get to be excited each time."

"I've been wanting this for such a long time," Pascal murmurs. "I've been ready for this for so long, and it still feels incredible to me, too."

Kip laughs and hugs his knees to his chest.

"I wish we'd had, like...an evening that lasted for a week, and we could've just spent it together,” he says.

"That would've been really nice." 

There's a pause.

"I want to be with you over at your place," Kip says.

"Yeah. We'll just find the earliest good time for it."

"I'm impatient, though."

"I wish it was tonight. But it’ll be soon."

"I'll send you my schedule for the next week when I get home," Kip says. "And wherever we match up is when I wanna see you."

"Okay. I'll have my schedule ready too."

Kip smiles and leans back to look up at the sky.

"I guess I should head to the bus stop," he says. "And I know you've probably got stuff to get back to."

"Mm. I could find something to do."

"Thanks for talking with me. And you don't have to stop texting me just because we had this call, or anything. I'm really enjoying being able to talk all day, whenever we feel like it, about anything."

"Yeah, I'll definitely keep texting you," Pascal assures him. "I love being able to talk."

"Cool," Kip says, grinning to himself.

"Alright...you're really feeling okay?" Pascal's voice softens and lowers. Kip blushes harder.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "I'm mostly just embarrassed. And I guess I'm kind of disappointed, but I knew this is how it could go. Plus, it has to be easier to get over something that never even started."

"Okay," Pascal says slowly. "Just...you always have me if you need anyone to talk to about anything, okay? I mean that no matter what."

"Thanks, Pasc."

"And I think it was brave of you to tell him. And I think it seemed like you wanted to tell him, so it's good that you did."

"Thank you," he almost whispers.

"Just...if you do need to talk about it more later...I'm ready to listen, if you want me to hear it. Don't hesitate."

"Okay. Thank you so much. Thank you for this, just this is already great."

"You're welcome. I love you."

"I love you," Kip returns. 

They share a moment or two of quietness, but it's comfortable, just resting in each other's presence.

"I'm gonna head back to the bus stop, I think," Kip murmurs.

"Okay. I'm gonna be here for another couple of hours or so and then I'm just gonna head home."

"Okay. Talk to you some more soon," Kip promises.

"Looking forward to it."

"Bye, Pascal."

"Bye, Kip."

He rests his phone on his stomach and spends another minute just staring off at the ocean, absentmindedly running his thumb over a tiny seashell.

—

His mind wanders all over the place as he looks out the window, absorbing every sway and jarring bump of the ride, feeling the ocean clinging to him still, even as he travels further from it and the sky’s colors deepen.

He thinks about how Pascal said to talk to him about what had happened with Wallace, if he wanted to. 

He isn't exactly upset. He walked into the situation with no illusions that it was guaranteed to get a positive response. Wallace didn't treat him badly. He got to make the confession that had been weighing on him for so long. 

But he knows better than to try to believe his crush will vanish as soon as he stops wanting it around, or that he’ll be able to brush off the discomfort and humiliation he’s brought on himself. The thought of Wallace's smile and laugh, the way he looks at someone he's listening to, intent and focused and leaning slightly in, how they'd been sitting side-by-side and Kip's whole body was shaking with the stress and fear of a stifled survival response and Wallace just grabbed hold of his wrist and squeezed tight and didn't let go.

It still makes him blush. He still wonders how it would feel to lie down next to Wallace with their faces inches apart and look at each other, fall asleep next to each other. He still wonders exactly how it would feel to kiss him. But now that he knows it's all impossible, there's this new feeling overtop it all, bittersweet, a soft longing that knows the feelings and yearnings are futile.

He rubs his wrist where Wallace had touched it. He looks out the window.

—

"I can tell," Roy says. "It's like the wind gets the saltwater in your hair."

Kip runs his fingers through his hair, which does feel a little fluffier than usual.

"It was nice just to sit out there," he says. "But I wanted to be back in time to talk to you guys for just a second."

"Yeah? Are we in trouble?" Molly jokes, sitting down on the end of the couch.

Roy, apparently wanting to avoid being the only one standing, simply sits down on the floor, staring attentively at Kip.

"Okay," Kip says, letting out a breath. He can make this admission one more time. To the fifth and sixth people. "Okay."

"Okay," Roy says encouragingly.

"Alright," Molly adds.

"So you know how sometimes you guys ask me what I'm thinking about, and I say I can't talk about it yet?"

"Yeah, what's up with that?" Molly says, leaning her head on her arm.

"Well...the basics of it are that I was really confused and really embarrassed about this for most of the time."

"Okay..."

"I mean, even more than usual," Kip amends.

"Can you tell us now?" Roy asks. He sits up a little straighter.

Kip nods, and Roy gasps silently.

"It's not that exciting..." Kip warns him.

"Aw, just tell us," Molly says.

Kip presses his lips together and taps his fingers silently on the tabletop. 

"Okay, I'm just going to say this as directly as I can," he says. "Maybe try not to laugh. I'm still embarrassed."

"Got it," Roy says seriously.

Kip glances between them, both looking back at him expectantly, and then turns his gaze to the ring of keys sitting on the table.

"I was in the middle of figuring out what to do with Pascal, because I knew I liked him, and I realized I had a crush on Wallace, too," he says quickly. 

He stares at the grain of the surface of the table. It's significantly more humiliating to think about now that he knows how pointless and misguided it had been to entertain his own feelings for Wallace.

But at least they don't laugh at him.

"You were afraid to tell us that?" Molly says incredulously.

"I was having enough trouble with it just in my own head," Kip mumbles. "There wasn't really anything to say for most of the time. And then when I had something figured out, I wanted to talk with Pascal about it first and... He knows already. He knew before we got back together. That's part of what I wanted to talk to him about after dinner."

"Oh," Roy says with a tone of dawning comprehension.

"What was the other part of what you told him, then?" Molly asks.

"The stuff about how I love him."

She nods thoughtfully. 

"So, I, uh—I told Wallace about it today. And Pascal knows I did, and he already knew that I wanted to—if he was okay with it, which he is. And, um...Wallace let me know he wasn't able to, uh, reciprocate the way I felt. And that's fine, he was completely nice about the whole thing, I'm just really embarrassed about it. But I figured I could stop being so embarrassed for a second and just go ahead and finally tell you guys."

He fidgets with the floor, tracing little circles against it with his toe.

"I was talking with Eno about it during my appointments," he says. "And Kate accidentally figured it out the other week at work and I asked her not to say anything. And then I told Pascal, and then Wallace, and now you guys. I guess it was something pretty silly to be acting so secretive about, but—but I just hope you aren't mad that I took so long to talk about it."

He looks up at them, blushing.

"You wanna date Pascal—and Wallace?" Molly asks.

"Yeah," Kip says. "I mean, I did. I wanted to date Pascal, and I wanted to date Wallace. And I'm doing one of those things, which is great. And, I dunno, at first I was hoping I could just wave it off, but I ended up feeling so seriously about Wallace that I knew I couldn't talk to Pascal about getting back together without telling him about it. And then I realized that—that I wanted to talk to Wallace about it, too. And that I wanted to be with both of them, if they both felt that way about me. So I'm with Pascal, and he's knows about this. And I guess I at least get the benefit of knowing I finally put it all out there."

"You've been thinking about all that the whole time?" Roy says.

"Yeah."

"Did you not think we'd help you?" Molly asks disbelievingly. "You know we would listen to anything you want to talk about, right?"

"Yeah," Kip says quietly. "I just felt like moving it around in my own head for a while was what I needed to figure it out. And I was afraid of embarrassing myself."

"How?" she asks flatly.

"I was just too embarrassed about it to say anything aloud," Kip explains. "I didn't want to talk about it with anybody. I thought it was—I don't know, i thought it was going to mess everything up, and that it was ridiculous of me to end up with feelings for Wallace, and it took me ages to sort it out and I just—I felt better about keeping it all in my head, and you guys—you know both of them, and I didn't want to mess up your relationships with either of them because you had to keep this secret for me, and I didn't know if I'd ever stop carrying that secret around, and so..."

He sighs and drums a fingertip nervously against the table again.

"I only talked about it in therapy," he murmurs. "And I wasn't even really trying to get advice on what I should do about the whole situation or whether it was good or anything, I just...I wanted to ask how I could deal with how confusing the whole thing was. For a long time I couldn't even tell what I wanted."

"That must have been a lot to deal with," Roy says softly.

"It kind of depended on the day." Kip exhales a laugh. "I know it was kind of a ridiculous thing to be so serious about. But I just wanted to feel like I had it figured out before I got anybody else involved. I wouldn't've even known what to say."

Molly looks down towards the floor, expression a bit tensed. Roy is simply looking back at Kip attentively, waiting on the next word.

"I'm—it's not that I didn't think I could trust you with it," he says. "Or that I didn't know you'd try to help me. I just...I wanted to keep it private until I knew what I felt like I should do with it. I know you would've helped me. I just...I wanted to be sure I was figuring everything out for myself."

Molly looks back up at that, looking more like she's slightly worried than frustrated or hurt, and Kip is relieved. He didn't want to make them feel like they weren't important enough to him or trustworthy enough to be privy to his thoughts or feelings.

"So...that's all I've been kind of quiet about lately," he says. "The rest is just...stuff you already knew about."

He sits up a little straighter in the chair.

"I didn't feel like I couldn't tell you guys," he explains. "I just didn't really want to tell anyone until I even knew what I was talking about."

He looks back and forth between them for a moment; Molly looks back at him.

"Maybe it was pointless to have kept it to myself this whole time, or maybe it really did help me," he says quietly. "But either way...I don't ever want to hurt your feelings. I know I can tell you guys about anything. It's just that...sometimes there's things I don't want to talk about at all."

"...It's okay," Molly says, and he can tell that she means it.

Roy asks him a little about his crush on Wallace, but is clearly being careful and restrained with his questioning. Kip admits when he first became aware of it with a suddenly intimate dream, and that when they noticed him being unusually nervous around Wallace for a week or so afterwards, that was why. He doesn't touch on the details of his feelings towards Wallace beyond describing them as realizing he had a crush a long time after the crush had actually begun, and he doesn't elaborate on what he actually said to Wallace about it, or what Wallace said back. But neither of them ask.

After he runs out of anything more to tell them, Molly gets up from her perch and walks over to put a hand in his hair.

"Well, thanks for telling us about this," she says. 

"You're welcome." He laughs quietly.

Roy follows her lead in standing up and Kip barely has time to stand as well before the inevitable hug.

—

Pascal texts him about half an hour later, saying he's heading home, that everything went alright and he's looking forward to getting to sit down for a while in this chair he bought from a thrift store that's really, really comfortable, and he wants Kip to get to try it out. 

Kip thinks of Pascal when he's showering off the salt and sand, wondering what his new apartment looks like, how he's surely managed to make a new space warm and welcoming, even without ever having much money, and surely being set back by the move and setting up a store.

He wonders if Pascal ever has to worry about money—about losing either the place he lives in or the one he's keeping his shop in. He doubts that his own level of income would be enough to increase anyone's sense of security—but if he could help—he wonders if he's going to end up living with Pascal again. If he'd move into Pascal's place, or they'd absorb him into theirs. He supposes it wouldn't be too stressful to move to Pascal's—it's only a brief walk away from where he is now, and the process itself would be easy with how few personal belongings he's amassed.

He's never lived with just Pascal before. For a moment he worries that he'd feel lonely whenever Pascal was gone and he was the only one in the apartment, and then he realizes that he's always had the experience of occasional solitude wherever he's lived. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and turns to let the stream of water hit the back of his neck. He hasn't even set foot in Pascal's apartment yet. They've only been officially together for a day. He's getting ahead of himself—and realizes he's probably doing so in part because he's stressed about how awkward he's made it between himself and two other people in the building.

Besides, it feels strange to think of living separately from Roy and Molly. He knows they don't need him to be with them, but after all, the reason the two of them don't still live where they'd used to six years ago is because of him. They formed this protective substitute family for him all but immediately after finding out what had happened to him. They stayed with him before and after moving in with Pascal. He may have moved back to C for their sakes, but he doubts he'd have been so okay if they hadn't all moved into the same place.

He can't even know for sure that Pascal would want him to move in. Maybe he'd be reminded of how things had fallen apart between them. Maybe he likes having his own space again. Maybe he just doesn't have the room for someone else.

When Kip gets out of the shower, he texts Pascal that he told Roy and Molly about Wallace and how at least now everyone who ought to know about it does. He tells him that he's thinking about what it will be like getting to come over to Pascal's apartment. He sends him a copy of his work schedule.

Twenty minutes later, they've found that neither of them need to be at work the next Saturday. And Pascal is off on Sunday as well, and Kip's morning shift on that day is only four hours—they'd have the rest of the time to themselves. 

Spending the weekend with Pascal. 

The thought is enough to make his heart beat quick.

—

He lies on the rug in the middle of his room, staring at his ceiling as he slowly fingers himself and grips his thigh with his free hand to resist touching his erection.

He can't possibly decide what to start off with when he and Pascal get their first chance in practically a year to have sex. Right now he's just thinking of hooking his legs tight around his boyfriend's waist as Pascal grinds his dick along the rut of his ass. His breathing is heavy, he presses his fingers deeper into himself until he can reach in far enough to give himself a steady massage. His body starts to curve into it.

Once he's taken out a dildo and coated it with lube, he kneels over it and positions himself before carefully sinking onto it. He keeps a wide stance and digs his feet into the floor to maintain his balance as he starts to fuck himself with it. He ends up leaning against the end of his bed, one hand holding the dildo in place as he rocks into it, the other working his cock.

He pushes his face against the mattress as he nears orgasm, he drives the thought of Pascal into the feeling, he bites his lip raw as he cums.

He texts Pascal after cleaning up: "it's hard to believe that now i can text you to say i just jerked off to you? because that was happening about five minutes ago."

"You know you should absolutely come over Friday evening, right?" Pascal responds.

Kip gets off again.

—

"Well, hey, you fuckin' went for it, Kip—that's awesome." Kate reaches over the table to smack him on the shoulder, presumably encouragingly. 

"Thanks," he laughs, blushing. "Yeah, that's kind of what I've been telling myself, you know?" He shrugs and smiles at her, rolling his straw between his teeth.

"It's great, if you ask me. I mean, you knew what you wanted, and you had to push yourself but you did it anyways. Like I said, that's fucking awesome of you."

Kip grins and ducks his head, and Kate laughs at him and gently kicks him under the table as she dips her spoon into her bowl.

"So you've got your boyfriend back, and you at least took a leap with the other guy even if it didn't work out—any other big plans? Any other step on your agenda?" she asks.

He shakes his head slowly and takes a draw of his smoothie. 

"No," he says. "I have no idea what else I want. It's kind of weird. I was thinking about how maybe I'll end up living with Pascal one way or another, but besides that...I don't really know what other kinds of changes I expect. Or even want. Like, at all."

"Hmm." 

He sighs silently.

"I'm not totally sure about myself, either," Kate says. "I mean, I know I love photography, and if I'm lucky enough to save just a few hundred dollars more I'll be able to get myself that new camera I've been wanting, but...I'm not totally sure what I'd want to do with it if I had the choice. I mean, it's fun just taking pictures of whatever I'm doing just to mess around, and it's fun to bring my camera along and kind of try more seriously to document something that's happening. So, maybe I want to be in journalism? But that's just all I've had experience with, maybe any kind of event photography is good for me. Or maybe I'd like to photograph nature, or do portraits, or staged pictures like fashion shoots, or take pictures of cats for calendars."

She leans back. 

"And I've been single for a while and I'm not sure that I'm even interested in trying to date right now? And maybe I want a job that travels, or maybe I want to move somewhere, or, I don't know—maybe photography should just always be a hobby, and I have some other career I haven't even considered yet..."

She gives a long sigh.

"Well..." Kip puts his chin on his hand. "I mean, I think you're really good at capturing what's going on with your photos, and making them look good, and your writing just show how attentive you are at observing everything going on... And I think you always know what you want your pictures to say? I mean, if someone else told you what they wanted a shot to say, you could totally do it. But I feel like...when you're just showing up and getting photos of what's going on, and it's not like a portrait or anything where someone can tell you what they want you to see, then you get to be the only one in control of deciding which shots are the best, right? I mean, taking photos of stuff where nobody's in control kind of makes you the only one in control of what you use your camera to get."

"I hear that," Kate says thoughtfully. 

"I don't know if I want to write articles like I do for my blog," Kip says quietly. "I know I'm okay at it, but...it was kind of the only option I felt I could handle when I started doing it. But I'm kind of nervous around people sometimes when it comes to meeting with them, and...and I'm not sure I want to do anything more directly involved with people than that. I'm not sure how I would even make a career out of it if I decided I wanted to. And I—I do know I want to help people, I want to keep helping monsters, but...well, part of me wants to do this and likes to do this, but part of me feels like it's still just what I'm supposed to do or what I have to do, and part of me is still scared, and part of me feels like I'm just pretending to be my brother because I wish he was here doing this instead of me and because that's who people wish was here instead of me, or they want to believe I'm just another version of him...and part of me feels like I'm just—"

He sighs, too.

"I'm not...I don't know. People still think I'm a lot more than what I am. But anyway, I... If I don't want to make that into my career or I can't, I don't know what else I'd do for work, or what else I even could. I don't really have that many things I'm that good at. Maybe I'll work with Wallace in some way? Maybe I'll—" he sighs. "God, that's hard to think about right now. I have no idea what I want to even do. No idea about any life goals or anything. I'm lucky I at least know that I want to stay with Pascal, and that actually seems possible now, finally. If I didn't have that..."

He finishes the thought by shrugging.

"I feel you, Kaizer," Kate sighs. They lock eyes and Kip gives her half of a wry smile and she laughs flatly.

"I'm glad I'm not the only one who doesn't know what they're doing, though," he mumbles. "It'd be too embarrassing to talk about, otherwise."

"You're too easy to embarrass," Kate remarks.

"I know," he sighs.

"...Did you have anything you wanted to do when you were younger?" Kate asks.

Kip bites his lip.

"Yeah," he says quietly, "but not all that consistently or realistically. Just a bunch of quick phases where I wanted to do one thing and then another and then something completely different. By the time I was kind of starting to settle down, things were already getting bad. And before I knew it, I was just focused on what my brother was doing and worrying about how we were gonna get out of it."

There's a long pause after that.

"Coming back here and starting a blog was the first thing I'd done since then to kind of try moving closer to what I wanted to do, or at least...making changes I thought I needed to make. And it only took me about five years to get to that point," he says sarcastically.

"Sure," Kate says. "But with all the shit you had to get through first, I'd say you made pretty good time. And that was one hell of a move you made, too, coming back here. I know you weren't that happy about it."

He shrugs.

"It was hard," he admits.

Kate gives him a look that he can't quite figure out, seemingly amused but a bit too intense to be just that alone. He responds with a questioning look of his own, but she just smiles and turns her attention back to her pasta.

"Look at us," Kip says with flatly sarcastic theatricality. "Just a couple of kids in the big city. Nothing but our dreams and determination."

Kate scoffs.

"I'd love to see a play about our lives that starts with this scene," she says.

"Hopefully it would be really boring because everything goes smoothly and perfectly for us," Kip sighs.

"Hey, maybe it will." Kate shrugs.

"...Maybe."

She nudges his leg under the table with the side of her shoe.

"Not very optimistic, huh," she says.

Kip is a beat too late in responding with a dry laugh. 

For a moment, Kate presses her hand down overtop his, just a moment—but just a little harder and more lingering than a pat.

"Well," she says, leaning back and pushing some stray hair out of her face, "We've made it this far."

—

Kip all but relegates himself to the back and side entrances of the building. He just can't imagine himself interacting with either Ben or Wallace right now in a way that would leave him with enough room in his anxiety for any sense of dignity. And he doesn't think that trying to ignore them if he sees them would do anything to help anyone, either.

But the fact that he has to make a conscious effort to avoid them means he inevitably thinks of them for a moment every time he enters or leaves his home, and he gets a little spike of stress every time. He doesn't know what he's going to end up doing about it all, but it's good enough for now to just try not to touch it. He has to hope that, coming back to it later, he'll find that giving himself even a little distance from it all will let him handle it better.

—

He has a dream of being with his family, and he can't remember what was happening in it or what he was trying to do, but he knows that, for once, it wasn't about the fire. It wasn't even about his feelings of having lost them. But when he wakes up, his first feeling is still a deep, quiet sadness.

—

"Pascal and I both have next Saturday off," Kip says. "And I have a short shift on Sunday, so we're thinking I'll go visit his place for the weekend."

"Oh, that'll be nice for you guys," Roy says. "You have to tell us what his apartment is like; we've never been."

"I bet it's like the one we used to have with him."

"Yeah, but it'll be different, though!" Roy protests so genuinely that Kip almost flinches. “You've gotta bring back all the details! And say how it all feels, and if he has any new stuff since the move, because he always just—you know—his place always had this really nice feeling to the way it looked and how good everything smelled, he's so good with smells? How often do you meet somebody like that. And the colors were all so nice, and all the chairs were comfortable, and everything he had just looked like stuff he'd picked out himself so that it would all work together and he just is so, so good at giving this really nice, comfortable feeling to every space he takes care of, you know? Even his shop has a bit of that feeling, you can tell he just has this touch, or—gosh, I almost wish he was just in charge of putting together people's rooms for them, he's so good at it..."

Kip blushes from both the praising of Pascal but also the knowledge that their own living space has always been fairly bare and lacking of such expression—and he has no doubts which style of interior decor better suits Roy's tastes. 

"Yeah," he agrees vaguely. "Well, also, I'm sure you and Molly could see it for yourselves, too. We both know he'd love to get to have you guys over, like how we've had him over here."

"You think?"

"Roy, of course," Kip laughs.

"That would be so fantastic... Do you think we should ask him about it? Or would it be better for you to ask? Or should we just wait for him to bring it up first? I wouldn't want to make any assumptions—"

"Roy," Kip interrupts, again finding himself on the verge of laughter. "Roy, don't worry about it. Of course it's sure to happen one way or another. Pascal loves you—all of us."

Roy lights up with a blush and a beaming smile.

"It's just so awesome, Kip, all of this..." he says wonderingly. "I just love that this has worked out for you."

Kip smiles down at the floor.

"Thank you," he murmurs. 

"You seem happier," Roy says. "I mean, it's seemed like you've been in a good mood since you guys got together?"

"It's exciting still," Kip says. "I mean, I was trying to be hopeful about it, but it was still a surprise that it worked out after everything—it's still kind of unbelievable, and it's so different, and just..." He exhales a laugh and shrugs, running a hand down the side of his face.

When he looks over at Roy, the other monster has a soft smile for him.

"...Are you happier?" Roy asks.

Kip can't help the smile tugging at his mouth as he nods.

"Yes."

He laughs.

"Yes. I definitely am."

—

Pascal drops by the café during Kip's lunch break and sits with him at a corner table, chatting with him, holding his hand on the table, smiling at him, leaning in to kiss him goodbye when Kip has to return to work. Pascal continues their daily texting conversation after leaving—they were only hanging out in person for about twenty minutes, but it lights up Kip's whole shift.

—

"Kip!" 

Kip recognizes Wallace's voice instantly. He stops in the middle of the doorway, then slowly backs into the hallway again, the doorknob in one hand and his basket of laundry under his other arm.

"Wallace," he acknowledges, trying not to feel nervous as the human walks quickly towards him from halfway down the hall.

"Hey," Wallace says as he approaches, a little breathless. "Hey, sorry, I just—I saw you and I...I haven't had the chance to talk to you for a few days..."

Wallace slows and stops a few feet feet away from Kip, just barely within arm's length of him. Kip manages to give him something of a smile and then looks down at his bottle of detergent, pointlessly rearranges the clothes heaped in the basket, glances at the floor and walls, restlessly shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Receiving this eager attention would still just feel flattering if it wasn't following the humiliation of his confession.

"So, well—uh—" Wallace is visibly more nervous than usual as well. "Oh—I didn't mean to make you stand there holding all that, you can take it in there, and I'll..."

He trails off and turns slightly towards the laundry room; Kip nods and opens the door again and carries his clothes inside. He hears Wallace follow him in as he sets the basket on top of the row of washers. His face warms up and he doesn't turn away from the machines, moving slowly as he opens one and begins to put clothes in, a few at a time. He blushes harder as the door to the room shuts, enclosing them together in the small space.

Wallace is quiet for a few moments, likely waiting for Kip to give him some cue to start speaking, but Kip is holding himself together by using the laundry as an excuse to keep his face hidden and himself occupied.

"Kip..." Wallace's voice is slightly pained, as though he's entreating Kip to engage with him. 

Kip tenses, realizing he's not going to be given the chance to shrug off the implications of anything Wallace says. Of course Wallace is intent on addressing their situation earnestly. He's never been one to let Kip incrementally distance himself, gradually chill over—when Wallace notices someone turning away, he grabs on, no matter how often he's burned by the consequences of doing so.

"What is it, Wallace," he says quietly.

"Kip," Wallace repeats in that same tone. "Come on. Are you...are you angry with me?"

"No," Kip answers, even quieter. He busies himself with disentangling several pairs of socks.

Be honest, he tells himself. He deserves my effort. He’s earned my trust. I can at least talk to him.

"I'm just still embarrassed," he continues slowly. "It...makes me nervous."

He tosses a shirt into the machine.

"I'm sorry," Wallace murmurs. "I don't want to give you any reason to think you should be embarrassed."

Kip laughs humorlessly.

"I have to be," he says. He puts in larger handfuls of clothes—he can handle facing Wallace, and couldn't endlessly stall this way anyhow.

"I don't think badly of you," Wallace says. "Not about this, or anything else. You didn't embarrass yourself."

Kip sighs and scoops the last of his laundry into the washer. 

"I can't help being uncomfortable," he says. "I know you have to understand that. I just can't feel relaxed about it, I—it embarrasses me to know that we both have to think about it."

There's a pause. He measures out his detergent and pours it in, closes the lid, and sets the timer. The washer begins to hum as water flows in.

"Are you going to avoid me now?" Wallace asks.

Kip turns around to look at him and leans back against the frame of the machine. Wallace stands close to the door, as if entering the room any further would be too intrusive. Kip can see the worn sections of Wallace's jeans and the bleach stains speckling the base of his shirt. His hair is slightly messy and his face is tinged pink, but his expression is one of quiet determination. Kip doesn't consider it helpful that he finds the whole sight kind of cute.

"I don't think there would really be much of anything to get from hanging out with me at the present," Kip murmurs. 

"Well, I'd at least get to see you." Wallace isn't speaking with any aggression towards him, but Kip can hear notes of genuine frustration underneath his voice.

"I mean, should I just pretend we'd be able to be together like before?” Kip asks. “And not think of how I—" He sighs and folds his arms tightly across his front. 

"If you don't want to talk about it, I wouldn't bring it up, and you wouldn't have to either," Wallace says. 

Kip runs his fingers along the hairline of his forehead.

"I don't know," he says. "I don't know if I can just..."

He sighs again.

"...I don't know if I could.”

"Hey, it'd be fine," Wallace assures him quietly. "And maybe it'd be easier to feel comfortable again just by...interacting with each other like we normally do, instead of going for a long time without any real contact."

"Well, you don't know that," Kip argues. "Just because it sounds better doesn't mean it would work better."

"But if you try to avoid me, at what point would you be able to decide it's time to stop?"

"Do you really think I wouldn't?" Kip says, voice a little sharper. "You're asking me to trust your idea in just the same way, but you'd believe I'd just—what, never speak to you again? Just because I’d rather have some space right now?"

"I just don't want to risk it," Wallace returns, his tone sounding more emotive as well. "If you're too embarrassed right now, why wouldn't you be a few days or weeks or months from now?"

"Well, why would trying to force this whole thing make it go away, either?"

"I don't know—" Wallace sounds outright exasperated now. "But at least that would let us see each other ever."

"Right, because this is going so well," Kip says coldly.

His cheeks flush at the childish impatience of his response. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, tugging slightly on the ends. The washer starts to rumble gently, vibrating against his arm and tailbone.

"...Sorry," he murmurs.

"It's okay," Wallace sighs. "...You do kind of have a point."

Kip grimaces at the floor.

"I knew it might be like this," he says quietly. "I'm sorry for that. You didn't ask me to bring this up between us."

"It's not your fault," Wallace says. "You just...had something to tell me. I was telling the truth, you know, that it really means a lot to me that you'd do that. Tell me something that personal, I mean, even though you didn't have to, even though..."

It might end up like this.

Kip gives Wallace a faint smile and a shrug.

"I wanted to say it," he says quietly. "There was just stuff I would've rather said than not."

Wallace nods.

It wasn't everything he wanted to say, though. The kiss Wallace had given him wasn't the only thing left unaddressed. It was all sorts of moments they'd had—and not just the experience of relying fully on each other for their very lives. They had developed this surprisingly intense intimacy not only from the crises they went through, but being together for simpler things as well, quiet nights when they were up late, searching through papers, subtly trying to comfort and help each other and soothe their combined stress. Kip would wake to Wallace's gentle voice and touch when he dozed off against his couch; he'd carefully move a pad of paper from Wallace's lap and replace them with a blanket whenever Wallace was the one to drift off. Wallace had held him determinedly close when he was painfully cold, Kip had stood inches in front of Wallace and touched his face and shoulder and made him make eye contact as he whispered reassurance to the human, earnest and urgent. He'd felt a passing impulse to kiss Wallace then, to catch his focus and douse his nervous shivering by bringing their mouths together, pushing his body to Wallace's, holding and kissing him gently until they reached an equilibrium.

They couldn't recreate that nowadays, but Kip still feels the impact of all those moments in his current feelings towards Wallace. He recognizes his current feelings in those past incidents as well, as though the dream's ripples had affected his past as well as his present. And he doesn't know how to bring that up. If Wallace doesn't already feel it too, then he can't make him feel it just by reminding him of what they'd been through, what they'd done together.

He can only silently look up at Wallace to meet his gaze, and watch him grow even pinker as the eye contact continues.

"...Was it really that out of left field for you?" Kip asks hesitantly.

Wallace blinks, glancing rapidly back and forth between his eyes.

"Oh." His face falls slightly. "Oh, when you told me...?"

He pauses, seeming to gather his thoughts.

"It was at the moment," he says slowly. "I definitely wouldn’t have guessed that you...” 

He trails off, then clears his throat quietly and continues.

“But now...after I had the chance to think about it...not so much."

Kip's blush isn't lessened any by the fact that Wallace's keeps deepening, too. He drops his gaze.

"I...I just want to keep seeing you, Kip," Wallace says, not much louder than the sound of the washer. "I don't want to bother or upset you. But if there's any way I can just...make it easy enough for you that you don't feel like you can't be around me..."

Kip gives a genuine smile at that.

"I guess," he laughs somewhat helplessly, raking a hand through his hair again.

“...I miss you,” Wallace says quietly.

Kip looks at him.

Wallace steps forward, and doesn't stop coming closer, and Kip is already backed against the washer, and he finds himself frozen there as Wallace unhesitatingly enfolds him in a hug, bowing his head down to the side of Kip's.

Kip stands completely still, bewildered, heart beating harder, nerves electrified. Wallace's arms enclose him gently, resting against his back, but without any real pressure; Wallace's chest touches Kip’s collarbone and shoulder but their torsos are still separated, curved away; he can feel Wallace's breath on his neck; he can feel the relaxing effect of such contact radiating through his body—even as he's quietly alarmed with how his feelings for Wallace sit up and take notice. Even as the flare-up of those emotions means that such a tenderly gentle hold is a bit intense.

He can't move, he can't return the hug, but that apparently doesn't scare Wallace off. It takes a few moments for Kip to remember to stop holding his breath; when he does slowly exhale he feels Wallace's hand press in against the middle of his back—the sensation of Wallace's fingers curling in against his spine sends a sharp, sudden thrill through him.

"Wallace—" His attempt at a rebuke is weak, but he can't just ignore how strongly this makes him feel. His voice drops into a firm whisper. "Wallace." 

Wallace pulls away but keeps a hand on one of Kip's shoulders for a few seconds more, standing right in front of him, looking down at him with unflinching steadiness and something between sweetness and sadness. Kip can't meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry, should I not?" Wallace asks quietly.

"You can touch me," Kip mumbles. "It's just...you have to remember that I still feel the way I said I do. I don't know when I'll be able to move on from it. It...it’s difficult.”

Wallace is quiet. He doesn't move away.

Kip looks down at the pocket of Wallace's jeans, thinking about how he never outright said "I love you" to Wallace when explaining his feelings. He wonders if Wallace has guessed anyhow. Sometimes he seems totally oblivious to even the most blatant things, and other times comes through with surprisingly keen intuition and observations.

"You're really important to me, Kip."

Kip meets his eyes again. 

"I mean... You're one of my closest friends."

"...I am?"

Wallace nods at him.

For a moment Kip can't answer—he'd been very aware over the months of how much his and Wallace's relationship was deepening and strengthening, but it had seemed arrogant to assume that Wallace felt...close to him in any special way. Just because they went through what they did   
doesn't mean it would carry directly over into their everyday lives after it’d all ended. Of course they’d been close, of course they’d had more than a few moments of intimate, unflinchingly open honesty.

"I didn't ever think we'd get this close either," Kip says softly.

Wallace's mouth twitches in a smile.

Kip's heart beats hard—if he doesn't ask this now, he feels like he never will. 

"Why'd you kiss me last week?" he asks, trying not to flinch away from the eye contact despite the surge of anxiety he feels. 

The shade of Wallace's blush is truly impressive by this point—it's so dramatic that Kip is a little surprised that he doesn't take a step or two away.

"It was—just kind of in the moment.”

"I was washing dishes," Kip counters quietly. “It was a total surprise on my end, I—I wasn't mad that you did it, but—it made me think more that maybe it wasn't such a stupid idea to tell you how I felt—I thought maybe it meant you already knew, I don't know...I..."

"I'm sorry," Wallace murmurs. "I didn't mean to—I don't think that was fair of me, I should've stopped and thought about what I was doing..."

Kip blinks and glances down at the collar of Wallace's shirt.

"What do you mean, though," he says slowly, "that you just did it without thinking? I mean...why’d you want to in the first place?"

"I—um—well, I—" Wallace is struggling to even start the sentence, clearly as flustered by the topic as Kip. 

Kip wasn't expecting that; he'd been feeling like it was just his own cluelessness blinding him to some obvious element of the encounter that Wallace would explain to him with a laugh before waving the whole thing off. 

"Well, I like you a lot, and I just—" Wallace is rubbing the back of his head, looking off towards the corner of the ceiling. "I don't know—hearing that you were going to have Briggs over the next day, I guess I just..."

Kip's hand twitches where it rests against his thigh.

"I didn't mean to confuse you, I just—I really was just going on impulse, you'd just seemed so glad to see me all day, I think I was—it was really flattering, and I just sort of wanted to return that, and—" He laughs breathlessly, giving a shrug. "I just was thinking I was going to hug you, and the rest kind of happened before I knew it."

"It was a mistake?" Kip tries to clarify for the sake of his thoughts, which have started to rush.

"Well—well, it—I wouldn't put it like that—I just—it didn't—" Wallace flounders before deflating with a long, slow exhale. "I wouldn't call it a mistake at the time. It was just a mistake if I was treating you unfairly—I should've known better to do something like that without being sure of your boundaries about it, I only... It felt right in the moment."

Kip looks at Wallace, Wallace looks back at him. 

Kip nods after a few beats, realizing he probably can't get any more information about the subject from Wallace for the time being.

"Okay," he says quietly. "Don't worry. I wasn't upset about it."

"That's good," Wallace says, sounding slightly recovered from the worst of his nervousness.

"Well..." Kip sighs, "I guess it's not so bad for us to be in the same room, huh?" 

It takes a moment for Wallace to process that he's joking with him now.

"Oh—" He laughs lightly. "Yeah, I think it would be okay, I think we can do it."

Kip smiles slightly and lifts his posture with a deep inhale.

"Sorry for getting short with you earlier," he says. "I know you were just wanting to talk—I'm just always a little on edge about feeling like I'm being told what I need to do about something personal—"

"I get it," Wallace cuts in gently. "I know I wasn't always exactly, well, staying within my rights to try giving you advice about things in the past and...I was coming on a little strong now, still."

Kip laughs under his breath.

"Thanks," he says. His smile falters a moment later, and he glances at the floor.

"I, uh, I guess I've intruded enough on your laundry for now," Wallace laughs, finally taking a step away. "I'll let you get back to what you were doing. Thanks for letting me talk."

Kip nods.

"It's no problem," he answers.

"Cool," Wallace says, putting one hand on the side of his neck and the other in one of his pockets. "I'll, um—see you around?" He winces, speaking with trepidation.

Kip smiles.

"...Sure."

Wallace brightens at that and his whole pose relaxes.

"Awesome," he laughs. "Okay, well, till next time, then. Soon."

Kip huffs a laugh. 

"See you soon," he mirrors, lifting a hand in a wave.

Wallace throws a couple more smiles Kip's way as he covers the short distance to the door.

"Later," he says quietly as he passes into the hall.

"Bye."

Kip lets out a long sigh, staring at the door for several seconds after it closes, then turns around and props himself up with his elbows as he leans down low over the washer.

He doesn't exactly feel as though that's sorted things out more. The way Wallace touches him, how he looks at him, the things he says—telling him that kissing his face had felt right—that he'd felt compelled to by learning Kip might be on the eve of getting back together with Pascal—

Kip bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut before straightening upright, assuming the kind of royal posture that gives him some extra confidence.

He's afraid of making the assumption—of being to eager to assume Wallace returns his feelings in any way. He's pretty certain that Ben will outright hate him if he thinks Kip is going after his boyfriend. He knows Ben wouldn't do anything like leverage the fact that he runs the building they live in over a personal grudge. But he knows Ben is a fairly passionate person beneath his subdued shell. And he knows how truly, truly awful it would be to have any role in taking that relationship away from Ben—presumably the first relationship of its kind that Ben's had since Yumi.

He can't possibly do anything to distance Wallace from Ben. He can't possibly believe that he doesn't love Wallace without knowing he's lying to himself. He can't possibly talk to Ben about this. He can't possibly avoid Wallace for the rest of both their lives—or Ben, for that matter. He can't possibly hope that their relationship might come apart by itself, or think that he can be in limbo about this forever with no form of closure.

It's all something of a mess, and he can't possibly figure it all out in the amount of time it's going to take him to finish doing his load of laundry.

—

"Darling," Kip teases, perching himself up by the register and pulling Pascal's face to his. He steals a few quick kisses. "What else do you have left to do?"

"Just—" Kip interrupts with another kiss. "—finishing up taking stock, it should only be maybe ten minutes more at most."

"Mm. Okay. I suppose I shouldn't distract you anymore, then."

"I'm not minding it so much," Pascal says softly, smiling at him.

Kip grins.

"Go finish," he says, waving his boyfriend away. "I want us to be able to reach the waterfront before the sunset."

"I'm pretty sure we've got a couple more hours to beat that," Pascal laughs, clicking out the nib of his pen.

Kip shrugs and slides back off the countertop, wandering slowly around the displays as Pascal goes into the back to continue counting up various supplies. On occasion, Kip can hear Pascal faintly humming, and smiles to himself at the sound of it.

"Okay—" Pascal returns to the front. "I just have to sort the register out and I'll be done." 

Kip strolls casually over to his side, playfully sliding his hand across the small of Pascal's back until he's resting it against Pascal's opposite hip. He sees the momentary shift in Pascal's expression. Kip turns his head and kisses the smooth surface of Pascal's bared arm. 

To his quiet satisfaction, he notices Pascal has to restart counting the pennies. He mercifully lets him finish up without any further distraction.

"Okay, now I'm really done," Pascal says, locking the drawer to the register and the little safe under the counter and then putting the lanyard of keys back into his pocket.

"Really?" Kip repeats, putting his other arm across Pascal's stomach to make it a hug.

"Really."

Kip lifts his face towards Pascal's, who obliges and leans down so that Kip can catch his lips with his own.

"Mm..." Kip hums softly into the kiss the same moment he presses it a bit more, squeezes Pascal's waist a bit tighter.

He feels Pascal's breath catch with a silent laugh, but their kiss doesn't break. Kip is the one to interrupt it a minute later after happily letting Pascal's tongue in past his teeth. 

"Maybe we should take this into the back," he says against Pascal's mouth, slightly short of breath. He kisses Pascal's top lip while digging his fingers into the fabric stretched across the back of Pascal's broad shoulders. "So that we aren't making out in the front of your shop?"

Pascal grunts what Kip assumes is agreement and he feels Pascal's arms slide down his back towards his thighs—he braces himself just before Pascal deftly lifts him off the ground, pulling Kip's legs to either side of his waist. Kip hugs Pascal tight around his shoulders and Pascal carries him with ease around the corner and into the back room. 

He hasn't been picked up and carried in way too long.

"Also: please, please make out with me," he says into Pascal's ear.

Pascal lowers him onto a table against the wall and complies. Kip tangles his fingers in Pascal's hair and holds Pascal's waist   
with his thighs and opens his mouth wide enough for the invitation to be unmistakeable. He hasn't been felt up like this in too long, he hasn't had a guy between his legs in too long, he hasn't had the brush of scruff against his chin or a tongue licking at his own or a low voice sighing into his mouth in way, way, way too long.

Their makeout session is lengthy and fairly intense. If it's somewhat repetitive, Pascal seems to mind as little as Kip does—they've both been starved for every part of this for eons. Kip can nip and lick at Pascal's lips over and over without it growing old, Pascal can catch Kip's tongue between his teeth and suck it as often as he wants, endlessly mess up Kip's hair, Kip can run his thumbs over the pleasant roughness of Pascal's jawline until the friction warms his fingertips.

But they both keep their heads enough to exercise some restraint—they let themselves touch each other, but slowly, restricting everything to above the lower back. They keep relatively quiet, and none of their occasional soft moans are fully involuntary—Kip can tell the difference in the sound of Pascal's vocalizations. And even the kissing itself is a fair distance from the kind of passion they're capable of when they aren't holding back.

Kip starts deliberately easing it back, cooling it off when he feels the tension in Pascal's body, feels the muscles of his arms twitching and shivering at intervals. Then, after a while of kissing deeply but slowly, he finally pulls himself away, allowing Pascal to push a few more quick pecks to his lips as he does.

"Thank you," Kip sighs earnestly. "Sweet god, thank you."

"Mmm, you too," Pascal murmurs, sliding the roughness of his chin to Kip's jawline and then past it, kissing down the side of his neck with a hunger that tells Kip exactly where this is headed.

"Oh—Pascal, oh god—Pasc—wait—" he groans weakly, even as he draws Pascal closer by the shoulders. "No—no—"

Immediately Pascal pulls away and returns his mouth to Kip's with a few more kisses, firm but quick.

"I'm definitely gonna fuck you in here sometime," Kip mumbles against the corner of Pascal's mouth. "And I really wanna fuck right now, but—"

He gives Pascal a hard kiss.

"I thought it'd be fun to wait till Friday night," he breathes, nose against Pascal's, closing his eyes. "I want you to show me your home and then fuck me in it—I wanna fuck in your bed for our first time since getting back together—" 

He's stifled by a noticeably imprecise kiss from Pascal.

"Oh, Pas," he gasps, tilting his head up to give himself a moment to catch his breath. "I want you to fuck me until I can barely walk, I—god, I want to taste your dick again—I want to see my cum on your face—I want—"

His sense catches up to him, interrupting the undeniable pleasure of voicing his desires to Pascal with the reminder that he's trying to convince them both to wait; that sharpening the anticipation as much as possible will make suffering the time between now and when he can visit Pascal's home just a bit more enjoyable.

"I—I want that on Friday," he clarifies, voice a little choked. He's also feeling the push of his erection against the inside of his pants. He hasn't glanced down to try to assess how Pascal is holding up on the same front, but all other signs point to Pascal being at least as turned on as he is.

"O-okay," Pascal answers, voice a bit strained as well. He leans away, gazing steadily at Kip as he straightens up his spine. Kip looks back, feeling a deep and intimate appreciation for the red flush of Pascal's cheeks and lips, the increased messiness of his hair, and most of all, the way he's looking back at him.

They stare at each other, both breathing audibly, arms resting along each other's.

"I—um—I don't suppose it'd be okay if I took a minute to, uh..." Pascal brushes some hair out of his own face, glancing at the wall. "Clear my head a little?"

Kip's pulse grows a touch stronger.

"If you're talking about getting off, I think I could probably benefit from that, too," he murmurs. He shifts his weight a bit and feels a little jolt from the rub of his jeans and underpants against his dick.

"...Okay," Pascal breathes, blushing and touching his mouth as he moves a step or two back from Kip. "Well, um, there's a bathroom—we could take turns, or..."

As he talks, Kip sees Pascal shoot a couple of fleeting glances down at his crotch. And it gives him an idea.

"Is it that door right across this one?" Kip asks, sliding down from the table.

Pascal nods, moving aside for Kip to walk past him. Instead, Kip takes hold of Pascal's arm.

"C'mon," he says, and leads Pascal into the small nook of a hallway and stands in front of the entrance to the bathroom. 

Pascal looks over at him, and Kip meets his eyes.

"So, uh, I was thinking, if you wanted to... If you went in there, and I was out here..." Kip attempts to explain.

"Like, you were waiting, or... Oh—or..."

"At the same time," Kip confirms. "If you wanted. I think it would, uh, be easier for us both if we could hear each other."

Pascal's face is flooding with deeper color; Kip has no doubt he's all but glowing with a vivid blue flush as well.

"Okay," Pascal says weakly.

Moments later, Pascal is in the little bathroom, Kip is sitting outside and facing the slightly ajar door, leaning against the wall. 

"Oh—could I have some toilet paper?" Kip asks, reaching a hand around the doorway. "For when I finish." 

"Right, sure—" 

Pascal passes him a few squares.

"Thanks," he says, folding it up and sliding it into his pocket. 

"You're welcome," Pascal says, voice sounding slightly louder than usual in the acoustics of the tiled room.

There's a pause.

"I guess we should just go ahead and start," Kip laughs. "Unless you think there should be a countdown.”

"Ah, that's okay."

"Okay. Well. I'm gonna jerk off now," he says cheerfully, and undoes his belt, then pushes his pants and briefs down just far enough to expose his half-hard erection. 

It feels thrillingly unfamiliar—the wooden floor feels almost cold against the bared skin along his ass, and it feels like he's doing this in public, despite the shop being empty save for him and Pascal, the view from the windows being completely blocked, and the front and back doors both secured. It still takes a minute of just sitting there and getting used to the feeling of being exposed like this before he licks his hand a few times and carefully wraps it around his dick. 

He works himself slowly at first, but the mere fact that he can catch the sound of Pascal's breathing has a surprisingly strong aphrodisiacal effect. When that breathing gets louder and he picks up on the sound of Pascal stroking his own erection, Kip quickly strips off his shirt and pushes his hips further from the wall and closes his eyes as he pumps himself at a brisker pace.

His own exhales grow more audible; the faint sounds of Pascal in the next room are mostly drowned out by his own continuous noises. And then a small but distinct whimper from Pascal reaches him and he immediately swears and jerks his hips forward a few times. His back is sliding gradually down the wall but he doesn't care.

Traces of pre-cum appear on the tip of his erection like dewdrops; Kip is smearing the moisture around the head when Pascal addresses him directly.

"Kip," he sighs. "How close are you?"

"I-I'm getting there," Kip answers. "I had to slow down for a second—"

"Touch yourself," Pascal requests, his arousal resonating in his voice. "I want to hear it."

Kip slides his hand to the base of his dick and stares at the wall for a moment before complying. He pumps himself fast and steady enough to be easily heard, he opens his mouth, he slides down until he's flat on his back on the floor, feet spread apart and braced against the opposite wall. He rocks his hips freely, he breathes hard, he lets his free hand cup his own ass, caress his own chest.

"Pasc—" he calls in a throaty sigh. "Oh, fuck, Pasc, I—I wanna hear you too—please—think about fucking me, let me hear it—"

"Kip—" Pascal's voice comes out like a soft whine. 

"Shit." Hearing Pascal like that again, really hearing him, not just imagining it—it's as much of a turn-on as the thumb he's swirling around the slicked head of his cock. "Oh god, Pascal—"

He feels another wave of arousal wash through his whole body; he draws a sharp inhale and lets it out as a rough moan.

Pascal's low, answering groan makes him impatiently kick off his shoes so he can extend a leg by sliding one foot up the wall, pretending that he's opening his legs to let Pascal fuck him more easily, or stretch him, or rim him—anything.

"Pascal," he pants. "Pas, are you thinking about me?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"You're riding me," Pascal answers at once, breathless. "I'm sitting like this and you're on top of me, facing me, and just—"

"Fuck me," Kip groans softly, rocking his hips back and forth along the floor, simulating the rhythm of steadily fucking himself on Pascal's dick.

"Oh my god," Pascal chokes. "God, say that again."

Kip whines softly. 

"Fuck—" he whispers to himself. He speeds up his strokes a bit more, taking the hand that was circling his palm over his nipple to reach down and cup himself with a gentle yet decided grip.

Pascal's familiar, intermittent whimpering is growing more frequent, seemingly spilling from him every other breath or so. Kip knows he often sounds that way when he's getting too close to hold himself totally together—it immediately evokes intense physical memories, and Kip cries out Pascal's name again before remembering what had been asked of him.

"Pascal—" he repeats, voice loud and rough with desperation. "Fuck me, Pasc, fuck me—fuck me—oh god, Pascal—fuck me—" His voice grows more strained with each repetition. He's imagining it so clearly, Pascal's groans filling his ears just as they do now—he's so, so starved for this— "Fuck me, please fuck me—"

"Kip!—"

A few small but richly deep cries from Pascal are orgasmic enough to almost make Kip cum on the spot; he only just holds out by stilling himself for a few agonizing moments.

"Pasc, I'm so close—shit, I'm close—" he groans, tensing up with the effort of lasting just a bit longer. "Did you cum?" he breathes.

"I-I'm almost..." Pascal sounds like a total mess, as if speaking at all is a struggle; Kip can hardly take it. "I wanna hear you first—"

Kip obliges easily. He spits in his hand again and lets himself go, thrusting into his rhythmic pumping and letting himself moan and gasp without restraint. He works himself harder when his voice grows louder and crumbles with whimpers of his own. His hips move all but involuntarily, his arm is getting tired but there's no way he's going to stop, the tension inside him grips every inch of his body, his spine arches up and holds the curve, his eyes slide closed.

He's only distantly aware of slipping into a stream of moans and swears and Pascal's name—even fainter is the feeling of his own cum landing across his front, of his legs spasming to kick weakly against the wall. His orgasm lights up every nerve in his body with an intensity he hasn't managed to singlehandedly match in ages.

It's much easier for him to process the sudden caught breath and subsequent momentary stillness that he knows means Pascal just came. He stares up at the ceiling as he eases into his afterglow, feeling too nice just as he is to bother moving yet.

"Pascal..." His own voice sounds unexpectedly smooth for the intensive workout it was just getting. "Babe, did you finish?"

A few heavy breaths answer him.

"Yeah," Pascal says faintly.

Kip laughs softly with relief.

—

It takes about five minutes before Kip bothers to sit himself up against the wall again and start to put himself back together. He takes the toilet paper and carefully cleans the end of his dick, then tucks himself back into his underpants, tugs his jeans back up, and redoes his fly and belt.

He wipes some spit from the corner of his mouth, looks at the wall, and listens to the soft sounds of Pascal catching his breath and clothes brushing together as he moves.

A minute later, he can hear Pascal get to his feet and step leisurely towards the door.

"Hey, I—" Pascal cuts himself off as soon as he lays eyes on Kip slumped against the wall, shirtless.

"Hey," Kip replies casually. He watches Pascal's gaze shift to his bared torso and linger there, jumping between his collarbones and nipples and navel and the dark line of his pubic hair and the cum splashed across his chest. "Clean me off?"

Pascal nods distractedly, but when he takes Kip's hand to help lift him to his feet, his focus shifts entirely to Kip's face. Kip laughs and blushes at the attention.

"How's it going?" he gently teases.

Pascal's mouth quirks into a smile, but he keeps his focus on Kip's face, looking it all over but gravitating to his eyes.

"It's going really good," he says, and his arm loops its way up Kip's wrist and forearm as he leans down and nudges Kip's chin up with the other arm, kissing him softly.

Pascal draws away slowly after letting Kip pull him back in several times. He kisses the bridge of Kip's nose as a parting gesture.

"Honestly, Kip," he says. "You're unbelievably hot all of the time, but after you've just came..." He shakes his head. "You're incredible."

"Yeah, I'm so irresistibly attractive," Kip says sarcastically, but his face is warmed by the compliments, and he's self-conscious in a pleasant way for once.

"You're undeniably gorgeous, babe. Just accept that as fact." Pascal kisses his forehead and leads him into the bathroom. 

Pascal takes a paper towel, wets it with warm water from the sink, and starts gently wiping off Kip's stomach. Kip keeps glancing at himself in the mirror but silently gasps when, in one flowing movement, Pascal leans in and puts his lips to Kip's bare chest over a small drop of cum.

It's too soon after he just came for Kip to be physically aroused, but it still feels as thrilling and sexy as it would've even if he could. He gets this glowing, slightly electric warmth as Pascal’s lips part against his skin and Pascal licks at him slowly. He stares down at Pascal, speechless, motionless.

"Mm—" Pascal leaves a kiss as he leans away again. He smiles up at Kip with a shrug. "I can't help it—I wanted to get a taste again, just a little one."

Kip exhales, trying to gather himself back up. Pascal gives him a smile before returning the paper towel to his torso to get up the last traces of his cum.

"That good?" he asks softly, smiling warmly at Kip.

"Which part?" Kip asks. "Yes, either way.”

Pascal beams and leans in to kiss Kip's forehead again; Kip tilts his head back as a silent direction to kiss his lips instead. Pascal not only does so, but also bends him over backwards with a supporting arm around the small of his back.

"That was fun." Pascal kisses his cheek as he leans them both back upright. "Thanks for the suggestion."

"I guess I have good ideas when I'm horny."

Pascal’s laugh bubbles up.

"Sure—" he manages. "Oh—absolutely."

Kip smiles to himself as he slides his shirt back on. He looks back at the mirror again, searching for the stunning post-orgasm attractiveness Pascal had informed him of. He supposes that it's in the flushed face and messy hair, or maybe it's due to the fact he's always more relaxed than usual in his afterglow, and his expression might be subtly reflecting that.

He keeps watching the reflection as Pascal's comes into view too, leaning towards him at a playfully slow pace. Kip smiles at himself, watching his own face light up as Pascal grows nearer. Pascal pretends to fall against him with a kiss to his temple, gathering his boyfriend into his embrace as Kip laughs and throws his arms over Pascal's shoulders in an invitation to pick him up.

Pascal carries him back out of the bathroom and puts him down beside his discarded shoes; Kip slips them back on and asks Pascal to look him over and see if he's missed any details that might suggest he's just jerked off. Pascal assures him he hasn't, then asks for the same favor. Kip reaches up to brush Pascal's hair into place and tells him he's ready for anything.

He can tell in his peripheral vision that Pascal keeps glancing over at him as they walk to go out the front door—not quite nervously, but as though he simply wants to keep looking over and seeing him. Kip takes Pascal's arm and holds it tight. 

—

Pascal sits with his legs hanging over the edge towards the water, but Kip's always been nervous of that— as if he's going to lose his balance and fall into the water, as if he'd have trouble getting out even if he did. He perches beside Pascal on the little concrete wall, one foot on the ground and the other leg folded, his ankle resting on his knee. They've been watching the progress of a handful of rented sailboats carving long, elliptical paths as they travel in loops up and down the river. 

Kip steals occasional glances at his boyfriend's profile when Pascal looks out across the water, with his hair gently swayed by the breeze, a peacefully thoughtful expression, features bathed in peach-tinted light. Kip is glad they'd indulged a bit in venting some of their sexual tension—it's making it easier not to be so preoccupied with the thought of pulling him to the ground, straddling him, and dry-humping him until they both reach completion. 

Pascal looks over and catches Kip looking back at him. Kip laughs quietly and lowers his gaze to his hands. Pascal reaches out and puts an arm overtop them, lazily petting Kip's knuckles. Kip smiles down at the water.

A serene quiet rests between them. There's the occasional gentle lap of the water against the stone, calls from seabirds and songbirds, the occasional muffled conversation traveling past, footsteps, bikes, panting dogs, little kids. But nothing disturbs their stillness. They simply sit together, sharing the beauty of the scene unfolding around them. Bands of color travel across the sky as the sun lowers, a golden orange into pink and purple and a thin stripe of deeper blue on the edge of the horizon. The colors are reflected in the calm waters before them, making it looks as though they're sitting on the verge of the sky.

For about ten minutes, they don't speak.

Kip shifts closer to Pascal and leans slightly against his side.

"I love you, Pasc,” he whispers.

Pascal coils his arm around Kip's hand, the suckers grip on to him. He turns and rests his forehead gently against the side of Kip's head; Kip can feel Pascal's warm, steady breathing washing softly over his skin.

"Are you warm enough?" Pascal murmurs after a while.

"Uh-huh," Kip breathes. "Thank you."

Pascal presses a soft, lingering kiss beside Kip's ear. Kip almost shivers.

"You sure?" Pascal asks again. 

"Yeah. I'm okay."

Pascal slips his arm around Kip and pulls him a little closer. Kip sighs contentedly, closing his eyes for a while. Even if he never manages to figure out anything else, he has this.

—

Kip takes the stairs up to the apartment slowly, preoccupied with the memory of Pascal's face just inches away from his own as they said goodbye, seeing a look of such genuine affection directed at him before they kissed. He focuses a bit more on the present when he gets to their door—it's so dim inside that for a moment he thinks that both Roy and Molly must be either asleep or elsewhere, but as he steps inside he sees them side-by-side on the couch, bathed in a soft glow as they watch something together on Molly's laptop, sharing a pair of headphones. Kip waves as he walks past as quietly as he can.

When he's in his room, the first thing he does is empty his pockets, take off his shoes, and roll onto his bed to lie on his back. He lets out a few deep breath as sighs, trying to relax his limbs as much as he can, closing his eyes. He lies there for a while and lets his mind wander; it orbits Pascal, but he can never totally ignore the assortment of quiet worries he carries around with him. But he still manages to rest even with his mixed bag of stressing and comforting thoughts.

He runs himself a hot bath and soaks in it, reading for a bit before washing himself down thoroughly. He kneels in it and bows his head down to submerge himself completely for about half a minute at a time, repeating it several times in a row until it feels like his whole body has absorbed the heat as much as it can. Then he lies back, head resting against the rim of the tub where it meets the wall, and rests in the warmth a while longer.

He daydreams about visiting Pascal. It's not just that he desperately wants to have passionate sex with him, though that is an intense incentive—he wants to see how Pascal makes himself at home, maybe relive the experience he had when he was eighteen and they’d been together for a few months, getting to see his boyfriend's place for the same time, then amazed and almost intimidated that this boy who was his age already had his own home, however small and modest the space was. He wants to familiarize himself with the ways the apartment is new to him and find everything he already knows. He wants to come to feel like he belongs there too, and feel like, if only for the moment, he's actually living with Pascal. He wants to relax there with him, find their tiny piece of the world there in the handful of rooms. He wants to fall asleep feeling Pascal beside him and then wake up in his presence as well.

Kip towels himself off and sits draped in the soft fabric for a few minutes to let himself dry further before he pulls on his pajamas. He walks over to the mirror, brushes his hair loosely into place, and leans in to squint at himself, eye-to-eye. He tries to see what's so appealing about his face—he can only see himself as average-looking, though he figures he must be too used to the sight of it to have any good perspective on how it must strike other people. He shrugs at his reflection and returns to his bedroom.

He eases himself to sleep, reminding himself of all the good things that have happened lately. Experiencing the passion and depth of Pascal's love for him, getting such strong support and interest for him from Roy and Molly, hearing Wallace say he matters to him, Eno wanting him to be okay no matter what, Kate letting him vent for no other reason than she wanted to hear about what was on his mind. He has plenty of reasons not to be afraid, he tells himself. He knows he can't help but worry, and he doesn't really blame or dislike himself for that anymore. But he still can try to remember the nice, comforting things that he may be overlooking. He can always manage it unless he's in a really bad place.

Sometimes he lets himself think about how his family loved him. Unless he's in a really good place, he always turns away from the thought before too long.

Tonight he holds on to it for a moment or two.

—

Kip starts taking the front door again, at least some of the time. It's not as though it's always the most convenient one, and he's made a habit of sticking to the smaller exits tucked away in other parts of the building, so it's not as though he goes out of his way to use it. But he knows it would be just as inconvenient to treat it as off-limits forever.

So far he hasn't seen either Wallace or Ben by doing so, though his heartbeat unhelpfully quickens whenever he walks past their doors. It's not as if he would. It only takes about twenty seconds for either of them to pass between the door to their apartment and the one leading out of the building; what are the odds he'd overlap with that whenever he's passing by? Sure, maybe he's familiar enough with their routines to sometimes find himself consciously avoiding the risk of running into them. But what does it matter. What kind of difference would it make whether or not he has a brief, occasional chance encounter with them in the lobby of an apartment building?

Still, he has to reflect on how he told Wallace that he wouldn't try avoiding him. He can suppose that Wallace had meant for them to be sharing more meaningful interactions than just exchanging quick greetings and pleasantries on their way past each other. But should he outright go out of his way to be around Wallace right now? Should he drop in and visit him at his apartment, or expect Wallace to do the same to him? He could cushion it with other people, go along with the group outings that involve Wallace, invite him up to their apartment for dinner like they sometimes do.

But he's gone and told his closest friends how he likes Wallace and he told him about it and it didn't work out. Wouldn't it potentially be awkward for them too? He feels like neither Roy or Molly have really even been mentioning Wallace around him often lately, much less having conversations about him. He knows they're great at aggressively tamping down any tension between other people in a group with them, but at the same time, they don't force it. And would it be unfair for him to expect them to shoulder the burden of making sure things aren't weird between him and Wallace, or would it just be matter-of-fact?

If he thinks too long about it, it starts to scare him a little. He's still in love with Wallace. It may not have the same depth behind it as the relationship he'd had with Pascal when they'd broken it off, but they've still spent a year together, they still had to come together quickly and build up an intense amount of trust basically overnight. They shared so much. And that was all before Kip ever considered having feelings for Wallace—at least, before he had ever seriously considered it. He can put in the work to get past his crush on Wallace, which he knows will be hard and messy and ongoing. But he can't possibly bring himself to throw out the personal connection and intimacy they'd built up that had contributed to him falling for Wallace in the first place.

He worries if he can trust himself. Twice now in just the past week or so, he's felt like kissing Wallace while actually having the chance to do so. He knows it isn't as though it's out of his control—all he has to do is Not Kiss Wallace. But Wallace keeps showing this tendency to touch Kip and tell him how much he means to him, and that's more than a little intimidating. It keeps making Kip feel as though Wallace actually has feelings for him back. And as Eno had said, what would he do if Wallace kissed him? The thought of it always immediately blends with his fantasies of such a thing happening, which unfortunately leads to furious blushing and a burst of pleasant feelings from his head and heart that tell him it'd feel absolutely wonderful. Maybe it would be easy, maybe all his stress over this would make it all but reflexive to pull away. But if he kissed back, even for a moment—

It's not a scenario he likes thinking about. How the immediate aftermath would feel, if they both crossed that line. It's bad enough just to consider how he'd feel if Wallace kissed him now. What he'd do. He couldn't possibly believe they could be around each other after that. And to consider losing Wallace entirely is awful—just the idea of it makes it clear how important Wallace is to him, how much a part of his life he managed to become. He just can't risk being confronted with that situation. 

Maybe he just has to continuously keep at least a four foot bubble of space between himself and Wallace at all times. Maybe he just has to tell Wallace to please never touch him, even fleetingly, even casually—just don't. But Kip so loves to be touched, when the touch comes from someone he loves. When he lets someone go beyond the occasional parting hug or handshake, it means he trusts them. And when someone is allowed to touch him, he can so easily interpret affection and communication through physical contact—and in ways that don't get tangled up for him like verbal communication often can.

And yet, the physical boundaries aren't his only concern. They could just as well cross a line by talking as by kissing. 

Part of him is saying not to be so afraid. But is telling himself to just trust Wallace the same as writing off his own responsibility within this situation he's created?

He tells himself that they don't have to talk about the subject at all anymore, but he doesn't know if that would be the first step to moving on, or denial. 

Maybe it would be inappropriate to talk out his feelings any further with Wallace. 

Maybe it would be the only way he could fully understand them and be able to deal with them. 

It's like Eno told him—he can't map out a way to have total control of every possible course this whole thing could take. He can make guesses about what Wallace might do in any scenario he lays out, but he can't know for sure. 

It all scares him.

He knows he's dealing with something serious here. If it was anyone else—

If it wasn't Ben—

He knows it's technically an assumption. But he knows he has information about Ben he can't ignore. It's not just that he knows this specific area of life holds extra weight and sensitivity and difficulty for Ben. It also matters that he knows it. He didn't know that Wallace was with anyone at all—he can't be blamed for that. But now he does, and moreso, he knows that it's Ben.

If he were to mess this up for him—what a horrible, horrible thing to do. 

Sure, maybe there's a chance it wouldn't actually be a big deal for Ben at all. But he doesn't know that. And based on the information he has—limited, yet significant—he knows that to treat that as reality until proven otherwise would be a blatantly self-serving act.

He knows that it could do Ben so much harm to mess this up in such a way—a way that would have been completely, undeniably avoidable if Kip hadn't intruded. And the state of the personal relationship he has with Ben doesn't matter at all—he couldn't possibly do something like this to him whether they were best friends or hadn't spoken in years.

It does nag at him still, at unexpected times. That, while he and Ben had never exactly been intimately close, he'd seen him as someone so sympathetic, especially when things started going bad. This man who was so close to someone who had been just as involved in trouble as Kent. Even before things got really frighteningly worrisome, whenever Kip had seen Ben, he'd wondered if Ben had the same secret fears and stresses that Kip did. He found a kind of comfort in Ben's quiet energy—as though if this person, who was in such a similar situation, who was older and had to know more about what was really going on, if he could be so calm in the face of all this, maybe it would be okay.

Kip knows it was probably his quietly growing desperation that made him find comfort in the simple fact that Ben existed and never seemed visibly afraid in the occasional times he and Kip were in the same place. But it had been a comfort anyways. And in the end, somehow it had been a sliver of hope to learn that Ben was alive too, despite having suffered just as Kip had.

Ben had been playing a role in Kip's life before they'd ever really had the chance to form any personal connection independent of the people they'd once had in common—who they still had in common. He'd never really guessed that they would be close enough to have their relationship go south. Maybe if he'd been paying more attention, he would've been able to keep them from getting here. It's not like Wallace is the only one who can be clueless about things.

He feels guilty, he feels like he's still missing something, he feels like he's upset over something that never existed. Like this is all just a result of his own immaturity, his own lack of awareness. 

It already feels miserable to think about. He can't possibly hurt Ben with this. He would never be able to fix it. And that scares him badly.

—

Kip gets home after his shift at work just before the thunderstorm rolls in. The sky had been darkening just before he left, and he'd felt the occasional drop from the heavy clouds overhead as he walked back to their building. He'd gone in the front; he hadn't seen Wallace or Ben. 

Just minutes after he gets inside their apartment, he hears the rain start to come down. The first peal of thunder rumbles in the distance about five minutes later. He makes himself a sandwich and gets a glass of juice and takes it into his room, where he opens the window to let the air and the sound of the rain in. He sheds his work clothes in favor of the softest sweater he has and sweatpants and warm socks and settles under the covers of his bed, letting himself just relax and enjoy the atmosphere of the weather.

He texts Pascal about the rain, saying things might slow down at his store until it passes. He tries to lie back and fall asleep, which doesn't quite happen, but he gets a solid half hour of rest anyhow. 

When the rain picks up into a heavy downfall, he gets up and washes his dishes, then waters his plants. 

He spends a couple of minutes with their picture.

Pascal's text lights up his phone where it sits on his bed. It's felt so nice to just know that he can hear from Pascal multiple times a day now, even when they don't see each other. Kip hasn't often visited Pascal at his work yet. It feels like it'd be different from when Pascal stops by when Kip's working, since Kip doesn't own the café. He's okay with feeling like a pleasant distraction for Pascal, but he'd rather not feel like a serious one.

He goes back to the picture, picks it up, and sits down on the floor with it in his lap. He thinks about how he'd tell them he thinks he's really solidly alright, but he still feels like doesn't know what he's doing. Even now, he feels like he's in over his head with some of these things. But at least he's pretty sure those things won't kill him.

—

Kip is washing his hands when he glances at himself in the bathroom mirror, and for an unexpected moment, he does find himself beautiful.

He stays with it for a minute, just looking at himself with that perspective. He gently touches his lips, as if to confirm it's really his reflection.

He wonders if Pascal ever sees his own handsomeness when he looks in a mirror. 

—

"That's what I thought, but then I remembered there was this whole stack of colored paper I'd got forever ago, but I'd forgot about it for months until a week ago or something I found it again while I was looking for extra gluesticks, and I remembered that yesterday, only I forgot where I'd seen it, and I had to try to walk myself through the places I'd look if I was trying to find where I'd put the extra gluesticks! I mean, I had to look for glue when I was really looking for paper, and I just thought that was so funny that sometimes that's the way you have to find things, and then Molly came by to walk back with me and I couldn't not tell her what was going on." 

Due no doubt to the extra exertion of bearing paper bags of groceries under each of their arms as they walk home together, Roy has to occasionally pause in the middle of telling Kip his story to take a few full breaths.

"...And she thought it was funny too, and she said she would probably put colored paper with crayons, so she said she was going to try to find it by looking for crayons, and then I said I would look for paintbrushes, and then she said she'd look for glitter glue, and I said I would look for dried pasta, and we were both laughing and looking in places that didn't make any sense, like under the rug, or behind the door, and it was so, so funny!"

He laughs a bit at the retelling of it, which makes Kip give a quiet laugh as well. He readjusts his grip on the bag handles and smiles at the ground as they turn around the corner together.

"And well, so, anyway...I found it after a few minutes, and I put that all together with the rest of what I needed for the kids' crafts the next day, and then we went outside and Molly told me about a book she was reading that Kate had been telling her about, and we went and we met up with Wallace because he had texted us and—oh—"

Roy cuts off after his voice abruptly takes on a tone of concern. Kip looks over at him, bemused, and then realizes what Roy must be thinking.

"You can talk about Wallace, Roy," he tells him, slightly out of breath. "It's fine."

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable..." Roy says worriedly.

"I think it'd feel weirder if you tried to pretend he didn't exist," Kip says with a laugh. "Actually, I talked to him just the other day—"

"Oh, you did?" Roy interrupts, once more with his usual level of energy. "Molly was worried you'd be trying to avoid him. That's great, though!"

"I kind of was," Kip says with a wry smile. "But he ran into me, and we talked about things a little bit, and it kind of made me think that, well... That it might be easier if whenever I was around Wallace, you or Molly or all four of us were there, too? Instead of just me and Wallace. I feel like it'd all feel a lot more normal that way."

"Oh, sure," Roy says. "That'd be easy. Both you guys are great to hang out with. If it'd help, me and Molly could try asking Wallace sometimes to come over or something? Or set up dates all of us could go on? Or stuff like that. I mean, I think that'd be awesome."

"If it wasn't any trouble, I think that could be nice," Kip says. "It just feels sort of weird thinking about me doing stuff with Wallace by myself, I just think...that it'd be awkward, you know? But I think if there was other people around, it'd be okay. And I always like getting to spend more time with you and Molly, so."

"Aw, how sweet!" Roy laughs.

Coming from anyone else, that'd be teasing, but Kip knows Roy's being genuine.

Roy continues his story as they travel the last few blocks towards home, and focusing on listening is helping Kip ignore the fact that his arms are very slightly starting to ache. He's glad he'll only be carrying the bags for a few more minutes.

He's keeping his eyes trained on the ground several feet in front of them, so he isn't forewarned until Roy's "Oh! Hey!"

He looks at Roy, sees Roy looking straight ahead, then follows his gaze.

As though he's brought this on himself by talking about it, a pair of figures is visible by the front of their building, and even from two blocks away he's dead certain that it's Wallace and Ben. His heart lurches horribly as soon as he processes it. If it was just him, he could turn and go around back before he was near enough to be noticed, or simply walk by with a smile and a nod and the excuse of not wanting to intrude on other people's conversation. But Roy is going to want to talk to them, maybe extensively—and he's just told Roy that he'd like him to act as a means of facilitating interaction between himself and Wallace. 

There's no way he won't be confronted with this encounter. His legs feel stiff. It's suddenly much more difficult to focus on what Roy is saying. He has no idea how he's going to be able to look either man in the face.

Of course the first time he'd run into Wallace or Ben in front of the building would be when he had no way to avoid the encounter. Of course they'd be together.

He's a lot more breathless by the time they get close enough for Roy to call out and wave to them. Kip can feel his own blush erupt when the pair looks over. He's lagging a step or two behind Roy now, who's only speeding up as they approach.

"Hey, you guys!" Roy says as he draws up to them. Kip hovers close to Roy, just slightly further back, as if Roy's huge presence will camouflage his own.

"Hi," Ben says with a slight smile.

"Hey!" Wallace greets them brightly. "How're you guys?"

"Oh, we're okay, we're just getting back from the store," Roy explains.

Kip is maintaining a friendly smile, following the conversation with his eyes in the hopes that it'll signal enough engagement to make up for the fact he wants to get through this without having to contribute anything himself.

"Yeah? Making anything?" Wallace asks.

By the time Kip realizes he was supposed to be the one to answer, Roy has jumped in to fill the pause.

"Molly wanted to make lemon cookies, and we got this bottle of lemon juice for it, but that's pretty much the only thing that's out of the ordinary."

"You didn't have any already?" Ben's quieter, easier speech contrasts Roy's. "I'd've thought you all would always have some on hand, with how often Kip takes lemon in his tea."

Kip responds with a laugh but uses it as an excuse to duck his head. He’s far too flustered to parse Ben’s intention behind the remark. He's not sure physical exertion is going to be enough to explain away the saturated turquoise of his face—not with how strong this blush feels.

"...I usually use whole lemons," he murmurs. "I can pick them up from the shop around the corner."

"Oh... This whole time I've hardly ever gone in there," Ben states.

Kip glances up at Ben; he's taking a draw of his cigarette.

"I think it's pretty cool to have a place for produce right here," Wallace says. "I really haven't taken advantage of it as much as I should either. I might make parfaits or something, since so many fruits are in season—but I doubt I'd make it as good as Kip."

Kip looks over at Wallace reflexively. Wallace meets his eyes at once with a warm smile, and Kip seriously feels like his blush is hot enough to make him start sweating. He breaks his gaze away towards the ground, feeling guilty. Having these emotions for Wallace, and right in front of his boyfriend, too.

"Ooh, we could all get together to do something like that!" Roy says eagerly. "Have dinner together and have some kind of really good, summery, citrusy dessert made out of fresh fruit, we could all make different parts of the meal, it'd be fun! We could even invite Pascal over!" 

"...Maybe," Kip says helplessly. He's pretty sure his face must be creating a new wavelength of blue. He can feel the gazes directed at him but he adjusts a bag in his grip and looks down at it while he does so and then devotes the next few moments to straightening his glasses. 

Wallace and Ben AND Pascal. He has no idea if involving his own boyfriend would make things even more painfully awkward, or provide him with a kind of comfort—or both. Maybe it would give him some small feeling of closure to be with Pascal while around Wallace. Maybe he would just be tortured for hours over parfaits.

"That sounds like it would be a lot of fun," Wallace says brightly. 

Kip doesn't suppose that Ben has quite the same feeling. But, then again, Ben only has one person to feel uncomfortable about. Surely Pascal, who's so blameless and sweet, isn't held in the same regard that Kip is.

"I'll ask Molly, but I bet she'll love the idea, too," Roy says. "And then we can set something up! I bet we can find an evening where everybody's free."

"Yeah, definitely!" Wallace seems to be absorbing some of Roy's enthusiasm. "Let's do it!"

"Yes!" Roy seems an extra foot taller in his exuberance.

Kip accidentally glances over at Ben, whose attention is fortunately on the other two. He quickly looks away towards the front door. At least Ben doesn't seem to be consumed with loathing at his presence, which he takes to mean that Wallace did as he asked and never told Ben about his confession.

Less fortunately, Roy seems to be getting more invested in talking with Wallace about what food might be made, about what else they could all do while hanging out.

"Hey, sorry," Kip says on impulse. "But I really have to pee and my arms are getting tired—I'm gonna go inside." 

He forces a smile and glances at Ben and Wallace so fleetingly that they just register as blurs, and takes a few steps to walk around Roy. At least there was some partial truth to it.

"Oh, no, I'll come with you!" Roy says quickly.

"That's okay, you don't have to—"

"I'll come with you," he repeats. "Wallace—I'll text you about some more later, okay?" 

"Okay! See you guys!"

"Bye," Kip says, and puts his keys in the door.

Roy and Ben's goodbyes follow, and Kip pushes through to the refuge of the lobby, Roy on his heels.

It's only when they get to their apartment and set down the groceries that Kip realizes he'd grown so flustered and tense that his legs are trembling a little.

—

Kip slowly descends the stairs in his family's home. The continuing thunderstorm makes the lighting soft, dim, and blue. He wonders who else is here—he knows he's not alone.

"Hey, Kip," Wallace says from some other room.

Kip picks his head up and tries to figure out where the quiet voice came from.

"Wallace?" he says.

"It's fine, I'm right here." 

"Wallace—"

"I'm here. I'm with you."

He squeezes his eyes closed to try to focus his hearing—he feels himself huddled up in Wallace's arms.

"I'm with you, I'm right here," Wallace repeats, voice now lowered and close.

Kip feels his back being rubbed; it undoes him, he slumps against Wallace's chest and holds on to his shirt.

"I'm here."

Kip stays still, burying his face against Wallace's shoulder, wrapped in softness and warmth. 

When he blinks his eyes open, they're lying down under a thick blanket, and he's still in Wallace's embrace. He supposes that Wallace must have moved them here. He wonders if he'd been carried there somehow.

He vaguely remembers what had been happening when Wallace had last comforted him this way. 

"Are we—?" he whispers.

"Everything's okay," Wallace murmurs. "You can rest. Don't worry."

"Good," Kip breathes. 

After a moment, he moves his arm and slips it around Wallace, resting his elbow on his waist and his hand at the back of his shoulders. He rolls his body towards Wallace so that he's leaning against him, and they lie together.

After a couple of minutes of this, Kip gently pushes Wallace onto his back. Wallace looks up at him with tired eyes and a trace of a smile as Kip reaches out to brush some of his hair back. They stare at each other for a few seconds, and when Wallace starts to blush, Kip leans down and kisses him.

When Kip pulls away, he kisses Wallace's throat, and then rests his head against Wallace's chest again, cuddling closer. Wallace loops his arms around Kip's back. It's so warm and soft and quiet. Kip feels like he could stay here for days.

"Don't worry," Wallace says quietly, bringing a hand up to pet and play with Kip's hair.

"I'm not," Kip mumbles against Wallace's shirt. The small of his back is being scratched lightly by Wallace's other hand. "I like this."

"Good."

Kip stays still when Wallace takes the end of his shirt and drags it a few inches up, then rests his hand there. The meeting of their bare skin is warm; Wallace's hand feels almost hot. He gently rubs a finger back and forth over Kip's spine.

Kip responds by sliding a knee between Wallace's.

It stays like that for a while. Kip has no illusions about the slight eroticism of this intimacy, but he's content staying just like this, with the deeply comforting experience of holding each other, with their bodies so close.

Then Wallace slowly rolls them over so that Kip is lying on his back.

He looks at Kip, smiles softly, touches his chin. 

Kip looks back at him, motionless, waiting. 

"I have to go," Wallace says. 

"Why?" Kip protests at once. It's so peaceful that there can't possibly be anything in the world that needs to be done—there can't possibly be anything worth leaving this.

"You're safe, don't worry."

"I'm not worried—" Kip breathes, just before Wallace kisses him, soft and lingering.

He keeps his eyes closed for several seconds afterwards. When he opens them again, Wallace has gone, and he's now lying on a couch instead of in bed. The rain is vaguely visible through the window in front of him.

Kip stands up, and walks to where the front door should be. In its place is a wide window. Kip opens it up and climbs through.

He's a little ways off the ground—just five feet or so, but it's enough to give him momentary pause before sliding off of the ledge onto the wet grass. He notices for the first time that his feet are bare, and he's only in a pair of boxers and one of Pascal's old hoodies that hangs off his shoulders and engulfs him.

He sticks his hands into his pockets and looks around at the expanse of grassy slopes that stretch in all directions, being swallowed up by trees after a few hundred feet. He circles the house, looking for any signs of anyone else, or any way to get to anything else. After two laps, he sits on the front steps under the overhang of the porch, wrapping his arms around his legs and squinting at the horizon.

He supposes it must be okay, if Wallace had said everything was fine. He wouldn't lie about that. 

The rain picks up so that it blurs the scenery around him. It seems too heavy for anyone to travel through—Kip may have to accept he'll be here alone for a while.

Something occurs to him, and he goes back inside through the door he'd overlooked before and starts going through the house, looking for his phone. He quickly finds it on the couch he'd been lying on, but when he turns it on he sees he's gotten no new messages. He sends out a greeting to Pascal anyway, and lies back on the couch.

A moment later, his phone lights up, and then a flood of texts comes in, one after another. He watches them unfolding on the screen until finally they stop and he scrolls to the top and tries to read the first one, and then his dream fades out, and he wakes up.

His first instinct in the haze of his confusion is to check his phone. The light is harsh but he can clearly see he doesn't have an essay's worth of texts—he even double checks. He props himself up on his shoulders, bemused, and looks around his room for a few seconds before it occurs to him that he had been asleep. He heaves a sigh and lowers his head back to his pillow, closes his eyes, and falls asleep again within a minute.

His next dream is somewhat of a continuation of the previous, but is just disjointed and lacks the sense of peacefulness. When he wakes up naturally, some of the imagery stays with him long enough to disappoint him that his unconscious mind is still fully indulging in the idea of intimacy with Wallace. 

It had felt so nice.

—

Kip has a few days of long shifts at work where most of what he does when he comes home is to unwind and rest. He'll lie back on the couch with a book and prop his feet up on the other end, he'll take hot showers, he'll have a nap before working on dinner, he'll go out for a walk just for the fresh air and change of scenery, he'll make some hot tea and sit with his laptop to work on some blog posts.

Roy hadn't said anything further to him about the proposed gathering yet. He's a bit relieved not to be pressed to weigh in on it at all, but it doesn't feel nearly so overwhelming now as it did standing on the sidewalk. A slightly awkward evening wouldn't be new, or anything he couldn't handle. None of them would have any reason to want to make anyone else uncomfortable, and there's no way anyone would accidentally bring up the topic of Kip's feelings towards Wallace or be prompted to. There might not be any discussion of anything even vaguely personal at all.

But Ben told him outright that he doesn't want Kip's company. Neither of them can pretend to have forgotten. 

He can't see any way he can really do anything about it. He can't really avoid Ben forever, and he has to assume Ben knows that. He tries not to dwell on it—but he can't help coming back to it anyways.

—

Pascal's texts have suggested he's been having a tiring day, so Kip heads over just before closing time to give him some company, so they can just talk in person for a bit, see each other in person. He arrives about tens minutes before the shop closes and gets a genuinely bright smile from Pascal as he steps inside.

"Hello!" Pascal says, brushing some of his hair out of his face. He stands behind a small stack of boxes on the front counter. "It's good to see you."

"You too," Kip says, walking a bit further inside. "It's just always really nice to see you for the first time. Like, in a day, or in a few months, whichever."

"Aw," Pascal laughs, hefting the stack of boxes into his arms. "You're too sweet. Sorry I'm such a mess for your first look, though."

Kip waves it off. Pascal only has somewhat disheveled hair and clothes and is maybe a little sweaty, and if anything it only makes him even more attractive. Kip tells him so, and Pascal laughs again and blushes as he carries the boxes off.

Kip wanders idly around the front, keeping out of the way. Pascal is moving around too much for Kip to have much conversation with him without interrupting his work, but nonetheless he's glad that Pascal seems to be uplifted by his presence alone.

He stands by jars of loose teas—there's many standard, recognizable flavors, but the majority of the shelves are taken up by blends he presumes have all been created by Pascal. Some of the names are straightforward and descriptive, some are more playful, and for a while his attention is held by unscrewing the lids of the tins and inhaling the scent of the teas.

"What do you think?" Pascal asks as he passes by.

"You're great," Kip answers.

Pascal double-checks everything for a few minutes, then comes over to Kip.

"Okay, I've finished up everything work-related for the day," he says, and kisses Kip's cheek. "How's it going here?"

"Not bad," Kip says. "I've just been getting fucked up on a bunch of your tea blends."

"In a good way, I hope," Pascal laughs.

"Seriously, you do have such a talent, Pascal," he says, looking up over his shoulder at him. "I know it's already obvious and I don't need to say it, but, well, I just want you to know that I think that. I mean, I really appreciate how much skill you have, you know? And I know it must take a lot of time and care, too... All of these mixes you've made are such creative combinations, stuff you wouldn't think could be put together, but you come up with it and you just make these blends and they're surprising and they have this balance and all the different smells work together and I bet the taste is just as good and—well, I think you're really great and talented, and it’s really cool is all."

Pascal blushes and smiles as Kip compliments him, and responds with a little shrug.

"I don't think anyone can be cool for making up teas blends," he says. 

"I think it's cool" Kip laughs. "But it's not like I'm very cool either."

"Everyone loves you," Pascal says, putting an arm around Kip's shoulders and pulling him a little closer.

"People who don't know me don't count," Kip argues, letting himself lean up against Pascal's side.

"I'm not talking about them," Pascal says, then repeats: "Everyone loves you."

Kip smiles softly.

"Oh! That reminds me—" Pascal reaches up to one of the higher shelves, which Kip hadn't perused as thoroughly yet, and takes down a tin from a row tucked against the righthand wall of the shelf. "I can't believe I'm just now remembering. This is for you."

Kip takes it, bemused, and then sees the name of the blend on the simple label: "For You." 

"Oh," he says. "What about it? Is this your favorite?"

"It's for you.”

Kip looks at him blankly.

"I mean, that's not just the name, it's actually a blend I made for you. As in, it's yours."

"Oh—" Kip understands all at once. "Really? I mean...gosh, thank you, I..."

He trails off and carefully unscrews the lid as Pascal speaks.

"Yeah, it was in the first set of blends I came up with... I made it specifically with the thought of what you'd like. I have other ones I bet you'd like, too, but I just wanted to really personalize one for you as much as I could. And I would've named it directly after you if people—especially in this area—wouldn't have recognized it. I don’t know—I know it’s kind of silly I named it after you in any way, and it sounds kind of overly cute or something, but still...it didn’t make sense to me to call it anything else.”

Kip lifts the lid off and draws a long, slow breath of it.

"Oh—" he exhales, and immediately lifts it by his chin to get another, closer smell.

It's incredible—it's a little sweet and a little spicy, filled out with these undertones of fruit, layered and rich but still fresh and light, with so many different scents at play but with none being overwhelmed. Each component seems to simultaneously exist independently of the others and as part of a combination with them, where new elements of each distinct scent are revealed only through contrast with another. And Kip's first thought is simply that Pascal has completely succeeded in making a blend he would love. It's like no other tea he's ever encountered before, but at the same time is deeply familiar and immediately, intensely appealing.

If it tastes as good as it smells, he has a new all-time favorite. 

Plus, it helps that it's a painfully sweet gesture. Pascal must have created this when he had no way of knowing that the gift would ever be received by the person it was meant for. He turns and looks at Pascal as though it's that past version of him.

"I love it," he says simply but earnestly. "This is so good and so—and thank you for making this, I can tell you made it for me, I love it, everything in it, I'd love to have it, I—thank you—"

He quickly but carefully screws the top back on the container and sets it down before wrapping his arms around Pascal in a tight hug, pressing his head against his chest.

"That's so sweet, Pasc," he murmurs. "Thank you."

"Aw, I'm glad you like it."

Kip closes his eyes as Pascal's arms loop around his back, too.

"I love you," Pascal says quietly.

Kip squeezes the hug tighter, sliding one hand up between Pascal's shoulderblades. Then he takes half a step back, brings his hands to either side of Pascal's jaw, and guides him into a kiss.

"Have one," Pascal says when they part. "Take one home, I'll buy it when I come in tomorrow. And if you like it, I can just always make you some personally."

"Aw—" Kip quickly presses another kiss to Pascal's lips before he moves out of range again. "Thank you, Pasc, that's so nice of you."

"I love you," Pascal says again. 

He picks up the tea and puts it in Kip's hands. 

"C'mon, I'll walk you home and you can try it out."

"I was gonna walk YOU home," Kip argues. "You're the one who's just finished all that work. I'm dropping you off first."

"Alright then, I won’t argue."

They go outside and Kip cradles the tea between his ribs and the elbow of one arm as Pascal locks the door behind them, then puts his other arm around Pascal's waist as Pascal rejoins him.

"Let's go."

—

The tea is as good as it smells, and Kip gives Roy and Molly cups of it, too, then immediately texts Pascal to let him know that not only does he love it, but his friends have enjoyed it too. 

Pascal thanks him for sending over the praise and says that while it's not exactly his most widely-known blend, a decent number of regulars are devoted to it, saying they've never found anything quite like it anywhere else. And he says that getting such approval from the one the blend is devoted to means he couldn't be prouder of his work.

—

Kip is always eager to see Pascal again, as though they're completely new to dating each other and he's freshly infatuated with the novelty of sharing each other's physical presence with his boyfriend. It comes to mind at any odd time when his thoughts wander, his anticipation when he knows he'll see Pascal soon is such that it can almost set him on edge. 

He figures he'll settle down about it in a few weeks. But right now he hasn't quite accepted the reality of their relationship's permanence. He isn't consciously convincing himself otherwise, but he still finds himself struggling to feel like he and Pascal really have years ahead of them. Years and years. Pascal will be with him his whole life, maybe.

That's an incredible thought to have at any time or place.

—

Kip's ready for it when Roy talks to him again about coordinating the get-together of the three of them and Wallace and Ben and, if possible, Pascal and Kate. Maybe even—Roy proposes, getting caught up in his own momentum—Cuddy and Lottie and Evelyn? Maybe they could have a picnic—although that would make it harder to have fancier, more complicated dishes. Their own apartment has the most space. They can figure out the details later, but does he think Pascal can make it?

He tells Roy that Pascal is generally free on the weekends, and only works into the evenings a couple of times during the weekdays. He says it might be trickiest to find a time when he, Molly, Kate, and Cuddy are all off. He reminds Roy of their slightly earlier closing time on Fridays and Saturdays, which could be useful if nobody minds it being a later night than usual—although that could make it more difficult for Cuddy or Lottie to come, unless they're fine with getting a babysitter. He says he hasn't asked Pascal about it yet, but he can eventually. And then he goes to get changed for work.

He's mostly fine with it now. The thought of being around Ben and Wallace isn't really at all intimidating anymore. He has no reason to expect Wallace to do anything, he has no reason to think he won't be able to manage being polite to Ben—they're both usually on the quieter side, there'd be nothing unusual about their interactions anyways. Everyone's an adult. He had simply been a little panicked earlier by the sudden, on-the-spot interaction, so of course he'd been biased to assume that further such meetings would necessarily be as unpleasantly stressful.

But there really couldn't be anything as easy to navigate as a fun group dinner. All he'd have to do was volunteer to do a lot of the cooking, which would relax him and give him a reason to keep a little on the sidelines. And he only has to be on the periphery of conversations anyway—sit off somewhere and listen and laugh as people more talkative than him keep things going. And the more people are present, the easier things will be.

Really, his only concern is that he can't be sure so far ahead of time that he'd be in the right mood or have the energy for socializing. But that's an issue he can manage.

—

Kip bites his lip and presses his ankles together as he stares up at the ceiling.

"Well, part of me had known it could've turned out that way, or else I wouldn't have been quite as nervous when I went to talk to him. So I guess—I wish I had been more aware of that, but the embarrassment would've been there even if I had. But it's good that I know now, and don't have to be wondering about it any longer than I had already been. And I don't think it'll be that hard to move on. Now that I know it won't happen, I figure that as long as I just...keep myself thinking about other things, pretty soon it'll be second nature not to want it anymore."

"It sounds like you really consider it doable," Eno says. "That's good. But I was asking more about your more immediate feelings about it, rather than how you've been reflecting on it."

Kip grows slightly nervous trying to parse what he said.

"I—what do you mean? That IS how I feel about it all," he says finally. "...I guess I wish it was all simpler? Though I know there's really no way it could've been.

"Well—I suppose I mean that you're more telling me your thoughts about dealing with it, but I'm wondering about your initial emotions after you'd first talked to him."

"Oh...well, I..." Kip looks down at his hands as he folds them over his stomach. "I mean, I was kind of as embarrassed as I could possibly be. So that felt really bad, and it took a while to stop being really tense. And I—I was a little sad. I mean, I'd let myself get kind of invested in the thought of what it would be like if we could take things further. So...yeah, I'm sad about it. But at least I didn't really lose anything except some nice thoughts."

"A possibility for you is gone, too."

Kip pinches his bottom lip between his incisors.

"Yes," he says simply. 

Eno is quiet.

"I didn't need it, though," Kip continues. "I mean, I wanted it. And if I wasn't with Pascal...things would probably be a lot, lot harder. That—that would’ve been really rough. I'm glad I don't have to find out how hard it would've been. And I wanted to be with both of them. But I guess I just felt that what I needed was to talk to them both about it."

"So you don't think you need anything more out of the situation with Wallace than what you currently have?"

"No," he sighs. "...I wish I could've kissed him first. Just once. But I was never going to have a real chance for that. It would've been really unfair of me if that was how I chose to tell him how I feel," he laughs flatly. "And he wouldn't have kissed me back, and I would've humiliated myself so, so much more—there would never have been a chance."

He turns his head slightly to look over at the wall. 

"But where I am is where I always would have ended up with him. And, knowing what I do, there's nothing else I could possibly get from our relationship. I mean, I guess I gained something from this whole thing after all, because when he was telling me he hopes we don't have to avoid each other, he said I matter a lot to him and he feels close to me. So, in a way, that makes things harder and easier at the same time."

"Right," Eno says thoughtfully. "...Did your feelings for Wallace change after finding out you couldn't have the relationship you wanted with him?"

"Not really," he answers quietly. "I mean, they have to be different, because now I know that it won't go anywhere. But I don't hate him for turning me down, or anything. I loved him anyways even before I had that dream about him. I guess, though, that now that I know none of the things I think about could ever be true, the way I think about my feelings for him will have to change. And I suppose over time the feelings themselves will, too."

"Mm. Do you feel like, even knowing what you do now, you still want that relationship? Despite knowing it won't exist?"

Kip exhales and blinks a few times and glances over at Eno.

"I—well, I—" He starts haltingly. "I don't want it in the sense that, with the information I have now, obviously I wouldn't want to be dating Wallace. But...it's like I said. My feelings haven't really changed. When I'm thinking about being with him in an abstract sense, just in my head—yes, I still want that. But now that's just...fantasy. I mean, sure, it was fantasy before as well, of course, but I still thought there was a chance it could be replaced by reality. Now it's—it's still nice to think of, but...bittersweet, at best, and I'd rather not."

There's a pause, and Kip collects himself with a deep breath, lying his hands flat on his stomach, feeling its rise and fall.

He hears Eno softly tap the end of his metal pen against the paper on his desk. Kip bites his tongue as he tries to think of what else to say, holding back the instinct for any attempt at nervous, stumbling, silence-filling chatter.

"Kip," Eno says.

"Uh-huh?" Kip looks at him.

"It's alright for you to be sad about this."

"Oh, I—uh, I know."

"Really, it is. If your feelings about things take a while to catch up with what you're doing, that's okay. It makes a lot of sense for those kinds of thoughts about Wallace to be with you for a while, and for them to make you sad."

Kip shrugs.

"I suppose," he says. "I still have dreams about Wallace every now and then, and in some of them I'm still... In the dreams we're still holding each other, and kissing, and stuff, and...the overall tone is just calm, and intimate. And when I remember them when I wake up, I'll wish I hadn't had them, because so far, when I'm in the dream, it feels really nice. And then I wake up and I remember the actual situation."

"Before you told Wallace, had you been excited about the idea? Did you expect it to go your way more than you thought it might not work out?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I did," Kip says quietly. "Or I suppose, when I thought about what could happen if he turned me down, I thought it would take some time. I thought I'd get to leave, and then a few days later he'd say he didn't feel the same way, or whatever. I don't know. It threw me off a lot when he kissed my face when he was saying goodbye. I mean, maybe I was just interpreting it the way I wanted to, but in the moment it really...it felt almost like something out of my head."

"You mean when you'd been thinking of being together?"

"Yeah."

He looks at his shoes.

"He basically said he hadn't meant it in that way, though. I don't know. I think if I didn't like him that way, I would've just laughed it off, but—" he blushes. "It really didn't seem like he was teasing me—I mean, I know he's just—he's always really sweet, but he does joke around with me sometimes too, and that hadn't felt like that. It had felt like he was being serious with me, and—I mean, he held me for a long time, and he had his hands on my waist when he kissed my cheek, and he said I was good-looking, and I swear I thought he might kiss me on the lips—"

His voice is growing a bit rushed, and he knows he's blushing.

"It was so confusing," he says. "It wasn't like it had made me think he for sure was in love with me too or anything like that, but I guess I thought—I thought that maybe, potentially, he might like me too. Or I guess I even thought that maybe if I told him I liked him, he might realize he liked me, and—"

He cuts off suddenly; he feels a twinge if dread in his gut.

"What is it?" Eno asks gently. "Kip?"

"What if..." Kip forces a long exhale and runs a hand back through his hair. "I don't know, what if that really is what happened? What if me telling Wallace how I feel is gonna make him like me back—I mean, I did still get that feeling again when Wallace talked to me in the laundry room, like it was one of those kind of intimate moments when he hugged me and then got nervous while talking about having kissed me, and—and what if I've done actual damage already just by telling him? What if I've caused this huge problem for him, or—or—"

His heart is beating fast as he considers it—Wallace having a latent crush on him, which encourages Kip to express his own crush on Wallace, which makes Wallace aware of his own feelings, which has the potential to strain his relationship with Ben, who must still be taking it slowly and cautiously—he can't imagine that Wallace telling Ben he had feelings for someone else would go the same way as it had between himself and Pascal.

"Kip," Eno says.

"Y—uh, yeah?"

"Stop scaring yourself."

"I'm not, I—I mean, I am, but—"

"Shh. Slow down. Just slow it down for the moment."

Kip nods and bites his lip and tries to rein himself back in.

"It's just like before," Eno says soothingly. "You don't know if that's true, and you can't control it if it is. You can't make it any more or less true by worrying about it."

Kip tries to take it to heart.

"You'll be alright. There's no reason to think anything disastrous will come from this all of a sudden. You can talk things out, and if you're ever uncomfortable with anything, you can give yourself the time and space you need."

Kip presses his lips together and nods.

"Alright?" Eno prompts encouragingly.

"Okay."

Eno smiles at him.

"Why don't we talk about something easier for a bit. Like, how’s it been with Pascal?”

"Wonderful," Kip says without a moment's hesitation. "It's been really amazing."

"Oh?" Eno laughs quietly. "You wanna tell me about it?"

Kip smiles with relief and nods again.

—

"You should come over to our district," Kip says, taking Eno's wrist. "We haven't hung out in too long, and I miss you, and we always meet here. You should check out our crappy side of things again.”

Eno laughs and messes Kip's hair.

"I suppose you're right," he says as Kip swats his hand away. "It's been a while since I went over to C."

"Yeah, it has," Kip says. "I mean, Roy just started planning this whole group dinner thing that's kind of intimidating me, and that should be on a weekend. But it could be something smaller, too. It just ought to be...something."

"It does. I'll have to nail down a few appointments in my schedule still, but you know I always end up with at least one solid day off every week," he says. "And I'd be glad to use it on a visit with you."

Kip grins and looks up at Eno, it's such a familiar thing to do, this small moment repeated throughout his life. And Eno's always had this same smile for him, over and over and over.

—

Kip has a fairly unremarkable evening dealing with the slower dinner hours and the gradual process of closing the café. The worst thing to happen is that his legs grow a little sore towards the end, and during the walk back all he wants is to collapse on the nearest piece of furniture when he gets home and take his weight off his feet for a while.

He takes the front door; he doesn't much worry about avoiding it anymore. 

The apartment is quiet but he can tell that Roy and Molly are both around. He heads right to his room to change into comfortable clothes and roll onto his bed, heaving a sigh as he finally relaxes the whole of his body.

He thinks of how soon he'll be spending a weekend with Pascal. Getting to be with him in his home, feeling what that's like. 

Always knowing that Pascal is around. 

He squeezes his eyes shut. His body feels a little warmer.

—

Once, just a few months after having moved in with Pascal, Kip had been trying to cook a simple meal for everyone, when suddenly he stopped. He stopped cooking, he stopped moving, he just stood there and stared at the countertop. 

It had taken entire minutes before he got himself to slowly pick up the carrots and start peeling them again, and he never could speed up. He was just moving along at a lethargic pace, continually falling into pauses where he again just stopped and stared at whatever he had been in the middle of working on.

He'd just had no way to motivate himself through those simple tasks other than weakly nudging himself forward in a long stream of stops and starts. His energy was all but nonexistent, his focus was fuzzy, and it was difficult for him to simply retain coordination long enough to hold on to things or lift slight weights, so that sometimes even small objects fell from his loosened grasp—he just had no drive for even the slightest exertion.

He was glad when he could set an egg timer for fifteen minutes and deposit himself in a chair, staring down at the tabletop. 

He had finally managed to draw himself out of it again, simply pushing himself back into the flow of routine and then letting himself withdraw again when he was done with the meal. 

The sudden loss of all motivation for even the easiest tasks had been nothing new to him at that point. Sometimes it struck him in the middle of walking across a room and there would be a lengthy hesitation between one step and the next. Sometimes it hit him while sitting up in bed; he'd weakly push himself partway up on his elbows, stop, and then sink back to the mattress.

To have been able to get through cooking at all was a noticeable advancement from the weeks he'd often had trouble getting out of bed.

Later on, Pascal had held him. He'd just taken Kip in his arms in their bed and let him lie there, unmoving, unspeaking. Kip rested his head against Pascal's chest and stared at the corner of the room. But he was warm, and he was safe. 

—

One night they have Kate over to their apartment to hang out and watch a movie together and they order a couple of pizzas; when it arrives, Kip volunteers to go down to the lobby to bring it up.

He's occupied by greeting the deliverer and signing the receipt and passing over the tip and so it's not until he turns around, boxes stacked in his arms, that he sees Ben coming down the sidewalk with a few plastic bags in each hand.

He blushes and leans over the boxes as he hugs them to his chest, digging his keys out of his back pocket.

"Hey," he acknowledges as Ben nears him. He raises his thigh to support the boxes as he manages to get the key in the lock. "Here, I've got it," he murmurs.

"I can—" Ben cuts off as Kip pulls the door open and holds it open with his foot.

They make eye contact, and it's nothing remarkable. No anger, no bitterness, not even that wearied, almost strained look that had so worn at Kip. Just a glance.

"Thanks," Ben says quietly as he maneuvers his bags through the doorway.

"You're welcome." Kip spends just a couple of seconds needlessly readjusting the boxes in his arms so that he's not right on Ben's heels when he follows him inside. 

He takes another moment to carefully guide the door shut behind him as well, giving them an even more comfortable cushion of space between each other. 

Ben walks towards his apartment door, and Kip turns and walks down the hall towards a stairwell. 

Maybe it's as easy as this.

—

Kip wakes up out of a sound sleep, and already he can't remember any details of what he had just been dreaming, but he at least remembers that it was about his family. They had been in it with him. He feels sad, too quietly and deeply sad to cry. He isn't afraid, though—it hadn't been a nightmare where he struggles and ultimately fails to save them from a fire or some other danger, or where he searches urgently for them in hostile surroundings until he catches sight of them just as he's dragged away to be consumed. Not even like the ones where he chased distant glimpses of them down labyrinthine hallways and connected rooms.

This had been peaceful, and sad. He thinks he had been talking with them; that's a truly rare occurrence in his dreams. It hurts that he can't remember what might've been said. He knows it wouldn't have been real, but to have even tiny moments, even just inside dreams, where he gets to genuinely believe he's with his family again—it gives him little floods of undiluted feelings which, when he's awake, would always have to be layered with his grief.

What had been said? How had he felt? What did they look like, what did they do? He has the sense that he can almost remember some parts of it, but when he tries to focus on those flickers of imagery, they feel even further away from him. He sighs and lets it go.

But he can't stop thinking about them now. He's tired, so his thoughts quickly become fuzzy and drifting, but he knows that there's no guarantee he'll dream of them again tonight—he almost surely won't. 

The only hopes he ever has for his dreams are that they aren't nightmares.

—

"So remember how I taught myself to knit?" Molly asks as she sits down on the couch and slips her shoes on.

"Yeah?" Kip lowers the screen of his laptop.

"Well, I'm not great at it yet, but I'm making Pascal a scarf. I should be done with it soon."

"Really? I mean, I'm dropping by to see him later this evening, so..."

"I mean 'soon' as in a couple more weeks maybe, not today. Especially since I'm leaving to hang out with Kate?"

"Oh, right, yeah." He leans back in his chair. "Sorry, I've been kind of out of it... Is it a surprise or should I tell him for the sake of suspense?"

"Better leave it a surprise in case it takes longer to finish than I thought. But I think it looks pretty good, I picked out a great color."

"Well, you've got a while before it gets cold out again. But I bet he'll love it."

She laughs lightly and stands up, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

"Just say hi to him for me when you see him, okay?"

"No problem."

When he's alone again, he turns his focus back to the document he's typing up, but he keeps glancing at the time and thinking how he's going to leave to see Pascal in less than an hour. It's only been a couple of days since they were last in the same place, and there's only a couple more before he'll be with him at his apartment. But he's kind of extra impatient for this one. He's been stressing more about Wallace and kind of lonely.

His sentences come haltingly from then on; he keeps looking at his phone. He saves his work and closes his laptop about twenty minutes before he has to leave, changing into a roomy sweater and walking shoes. 

He texts Pascal to ask if he wants him to bring him anything; Pascal answers minutes later that just bringing himself is more than enough. 

—

Kip is in the mood for being kissed a lot, he keeps going back for another and another and another. Pascal starts laughing quietly.

"Are you okay?" he asks Kip, smiling at him and rubbing his back.

"Yes. ...I don't know. I mean, I am. I just—it's just rough only seeing you for a little bit every couple of days."

Pascal's expression shifts.

"I know," he says quietly. "We used to live together, and all—"

"Right?" Kip says. He slides his hands down Pascal's arms and sighs. "I mean, I knew we weren't just going to be stepping back into the exact way things were in D. But I'm still used to being together at home. Sleeping in the same bed, and everything.”

Pascal kisses him again, lingering and warm. Kip opens his eyes slowly when they part.

"We'll figure it out together," Pascal murmurs to him.

Kip nods and leans in to hug Pascal, resting his head on his chest, sliding his arms beneath Pascal's to encircle his waist. He can feel the movement of Pascal's breathing, when he presses his head a little closer he can feel his heartbeat. 

"We might be having a group dinner thing in a week or so," he mumbles, eyes closed. "Nothing's set yet but Roy's been pretty into it for a few days. It'd probably be me and Roy and Molly and Ben and Wallace, and maybe Kate and Eno and Lottie and Cuddy. Probably anybody who can be convinced to show up."

"...Wow," Pascal says softly.

"Yeah. I figure I'll volunteer to cook a lot and deal with food, so I'll have an excuse to be by myself for a minute if I'm not feeling super social that day."

"Do you want me to come?" Pascal asks. "I mean, it sounds like it could be fun. But if you'd rather there be less people, I can wait it out, no problem."

"No, it would be fine if you came. You're more fun than I am, you could kind of...represent me, and hang out with everyone whenever I wanna hide in a kitchen drawer and distract anyone from noticing I'm gone. Plus, it's always nicer and more relaxing for me to know you're around. And I know you like to see everybody. I wouldn't ask you to stay away from that unless I had a really, really good reason."

"I'm not more fun than you," Pascal laughs.

"You definitely are—I mean, for sure in bigger groups," Kip argues. "And on average. And overall, yeah, you definitely are."

"Well, I know you're a lot of fun. I won’t be convinced otherwise." Pascal drops a kiss onto the top of Kip's head.

Kip sighs contentedly and loosens the embrace.

"...I really don't like that I still like Wallace," he says quietly, looking at Pascal's shirt. "I feel kind of...bad."

"Oh," Pascal breathes. He gently brushes his armtip along the back of Kip's ear. "I'm sorry. I don't know anything really useful to tell you...I mean, the last time I had to get over someone, it was just a one-way crush a couple of years before I met you. It sucked, but...but it wasn't really someone I'd had the chance to get that close to."

"Aw," Kip giggles and cups Pascal's jaw. "Poor little guy."

"It was always fine," Pascal says. "Even back then, nothing was that difficult. I had a pretty quiet dating life before I met you."

"Yeah, because dating me is such a tumultuous adventure of passion," Kip jokes.

"It was different being with you because I'd fell in love in a way I never had before," Pascal says.

"Stop it—" Kip blushes and smiles. "I did too. But stop."

"Fine." Pascal pulls Kip against himself and rests his chin atop Kip's head.

Kip has to relax in the embrace; he always does.

"I do wish I knew anything that could make it easier for you, though," Pascal says quietly.

Kip exhales a laugh.

"It's alright," he says. "It's just really frustrating."

Pascal strokes his back soothingly.

"He's just so damn friendly to everyone all the time," Kip says with bitter humor. "And we've gotten so much closer since we met, he's just always been really warm to me—and of course that makes it so much harder now."

He sighs heavily. 

"I'm just...I'm upset with myself for liking him in the first place. I mean, honestly, what right did I think I had? I even told myself that of course I'd feel that way towards him, but he's so nice to everyone that...that I shouldn't just..."

He pushes his forehead to Pascal's sternum—partly out of frustration, but mostly due the surprise of feeling a few tears spring up.

He hasn't ever cried over this. He didn't think he was going to. Why would he do so now, when he's enjoying being with Pascal, feeling decent until just moments ago—

He hasn't even known he's ever been holding this back. 

In a matter of seconds it's obvious what's happening—his face is hot, his throat is tight, his shoulders are rigid, the tears pool too deeply and spill over the crest of his eyelashes and he has to draw an audible sniff. The tiniest crack in the dam, and all at once the whole thing is toppling.

"Oh," Pascal sighs, and slides an arm up to hold him between the shoulderblades, along the back of his neck, cupping the back of his head. "Oh, sunflower..."

Kip gives a hoarse laugh.

"I haven't heard that in a while," he mumbles. His shoulders begin to tremble and he sniffs loudly again.

Pascal kisses his hair and tightens the arm around Kip's back.

There's no better place he could possibly do this than wrapped in Pascal's arms, held against his warm body. With a long, tremulous exhale, Kip decides to let himself think of Wallace and let himself cry. Over how strongly he feels for Wallace, how real his love seems and how much that hurts, how hard it is to avoid agonizing over these feelings, how badly he's humiliated himself, how confused he is, how much he wishes his desire to stop having these feelings would actually do anything to help bring them to an end. 

Pascal holds him patiently as he cries, slowly petting his back, kissing the top and side of his head.

"I'm sorry," Pascal murmurs after a faint sob breaks from Kip. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay—" Kip's voice is gravelly.

Pascal squeezes him closer and rests his forehead against the top of Kip's.

After a few minutes, Kip feels like he's mostly cried it out for now—his tears are slowing, it's easier for him to draw steady breaths. He closes his eyes and rests the side of his face against Pascal and breathes more evenly. Pascal slowly rubs his arm up and down his lower back.

"Thank you," he murmurs once his voice steadies. "I'm sorry. I really wasn't expecting to actually start crying."

"It's fine, babe. There's nothing for you to apologize for." Pascal straightens up to look down at him. "And it's nice getting to hold you like this, and...I'm always really glad to be here for you."

Kip smiles softly. Pascal leans him back to press a kiss to his tearstained cheek.

"I wish I had any advice to give you," Pascal says. "But I'm always here whenever you want someone to talk to about anything, or just to be with when you feel bad."

"Thank you," Kip repeats quietly. "Thank you, I really mean it. You help so much."

"I'm glad I can." Pascal puts such gently passionate sincerity into the words that Kip rises up onto his toes and kisses his jaw.

"Is there something I can wipe my face off with?" Kip asks. "Because I'd like to kiss your mouth again."

Pascal smiles.

—

Despite knowing that neither Molly or Roy will be back for another couple of hours, Kip is a little on edge—though he'd be way moreso if either of them was here. He sets the heavy pot of water on the stove and turns the burner on, then waits patiently until tiny bubbles form on the bottom and start rising in threads to the surface. Then he picks up the dildo and carefully submerges it in the water.

He paces around as he gives it a few minutes to boil. He knows that nobody's in the next room, that nobody's about to burst in through the door, that, even if they did, nobody's initial priority would be to stride over and see what he's got on the stove, that anyone who did know what he was doing wouldn't laugh him out of the district anyways. It all just flusters him regardless, which he knows is what always makes things about eight times worse for himself.

But nothing at all goes wrong as he turns off the burner, carefully lifts the dildo from the water, pats it dry, and brings it back to his room. He touches his door to his wall, takes a few steadying breaths, and touches the end of the dildo to his lips. It's still warm. He closes his eyes. 

He sits on the very edge of his bed, gets used to just holding the first couple of inches in the front of his mouth, then starts easing it slowly in and out, keeping his teeth off of it, pushing it in a little further every few pumps. It definitely feels like it's still muscle memory for him—he doesn't have to consciously remind himself to rub it with his tongue or suck as he pulls it out.

After a minute or so he feels confident enough to push it further back in his mouth; he holds the muscles of his throat open and carefully takes it in millimeter by millimeter, ready to pull it back out at a moment's notice. 

There's a few times he has to pause, trying to err on the side of caution, but he keeps his throat from reflexively tightening. The base of the dildo is drawing closer and closer to his lips. And somehow it just gets easier until he's taken in its full length and it all feels like he's been doing this every week for the whole year, like it was only yesterday that deepthroating Pascal was a familiar activity for him. 

He holds it there for a few seconds, absorbing the feeling. And then he very slowly slides it out an inch, very slowly pushes it back in. He gradually increases the length of the simulated thrusts and the speed of them until, in no time at all, he's mimicking fairly rapid bucking and taking it with no problem at all. 

The main issue coming up is that his simulation of blowing Pascal is going so smoothly that he's already getting fairly aroused. He withdraws the dildo completely, giving his jaw a welcome break as he opens his belt and fly and shimmies out of his jeans, letting them fall in a heap on the floor. He climbs onto his mattress, kneels with his legs slightly open, and puts a pillow between his thighs. The pressure is sorely needed relief; he grinds hard against the pillow for a few seconds before stilling himself a bit to focus on the task of taking a dick down his throat.

He rocks the dildo like he's letting Pascal fuck his mouth, he holds it steady like he's pinning Pascal's hips and lets himself move his head forward and back along its length, he sucks, he swallows, he holds the base in his hand, massaging in place with his fingers or pumping slightly up and down as he concentrates on licking the head. He flicks his tongue at the very tip, presses his tongue flat up against the head and gives hard sucks, and nudges it against the end while rolled and then flattens it out as he pushes it down the underside—he used to undo Pascal so beautifully by repeating that trick a few times in a row. He humps the pillow steadily the whole time.

After a minute or two of again pushing the end of the dildo down his throat, again sliding it back and forth like it's being thrusted in, again holding it in as far as it can go while he swallows around it, he convinces himself he's adequately prepared for the real thing. He slips the dildo out, drawing a few unobstructed gasps, and wipes some spit from the corners of his mouth. Then he leans in and stands the dildo on his bedside table, rolls off the pillow onto his side and then his back, and shoves his underwear down to join his pants on the floor. 

He knows he's just given the dildo a fair amount of lubrication, but he's too far along to tolerate slowing down enough to work it inside himself—he just digs one hand into the sheets and jerks off with the other. 

Within seconds, his hips are rolling forcefully into his rhythm—his head falls to the side, he allows himself soft moans and sighs and whimpers of Pascal's name. He slides his hand up into his shirt, he thumbs his nipple, he strips the shirt off and winds his fingers into his own hair and tugs. 

"Pascal—" 

He imagines begging Pascal to make him cum.

"Pasc, please—"

He thinks of Pascal biting on his lip in the middle of a messy kiss; he draws a sharp gasp and pumps himself hard until he's right on the edge, then blessedly falls over it.

Once he feels like moving again, he sits up and touches his lip, grimacing slightly when he feels where he nipped at it a little too hard. He raises his arms and arches his back in a luxurious stretch, then slides out of bed to work on making himself presentable again.

He washes the dildo again, this time with soap and warm water, and applies some lemon-scented balm to his bottom lip. He cleans his mess off his torso and brushes his hair into place and slides his clothes back on.

Once again he's slowly pacing the kitchen, waiting for some water to boil. When the kettle starts to steam, he pours it into his cup, gives it half a minute to cool, and submerges his tea leaves. A few minutes later, he adds in a spoonful of honey for good measure, and carefully tips some down his throat.

—

Kip is up early for work, trying to shake off his lingering sleepiness as he trots down the stairs. He stifles a yawn as he opens the door into the first floor hallway, promising himself he can nap when he gets home.

"Oh, hey."

The jolt of surprise wakes him up like a slap to the face.

He turns around and sees, like an inversion of their previous meeting, Wallace coming out of the laundry room with a green basket in one arm. His voice had been quiet and rough and his hair is messy and he's clearly in pajamas and generally looks like he's barely just awake and Kip's feeling his own face flood with heat. Even this—even without Wallace drawing nearer to him in space or through words—even just seeing what Wallace looks like just out of bed on a random Thursday—it's making his heart skip and take off at a run.

"Oh—" Wallace seems to process Kip's slight bewilderment. "I forgot my laundry in the dryer last evening...I figured I should get it out of the way..."

"...Right," Kip says weakly, trying not to stare anymore. "Um. I'm up to go to work. Still kind of tired though, so...that sucks.”

"Oh man, I shouldn't rub it in then that I'm just gonna go right back to bed after this," Wallace laughs.

Oh god, climbing into bed with Wallace looking like this and kissing him and cuddling up for warmth as they drift back off to sleep—

"I'm kind of jealous," Kip allows, nervously and pointlessly brushing back a piece of his hair as though that will adequately distract Wallace from his fluorescent blush. As inadvertently tactless and clueless as Wallace can sometimes be, the guy must really be half-asleep if he has no idea at all what he's doing to Kip right now.

"What time do you work until? I might come by later." Wallace rubs his eyes as he speaks.

"Uh—until, uh, two." 

"Yeah? Two?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, I'll try to remember." Wallace laughs softly again. "See you later?"

"Sure," Kip says, giving a little smile and trying to not give in to the pressure to run away, instead turning slowly and taking steady strides like someone with much more confidence and coordination.

Why does Wallace do this to him? 

Wallace isn’t really outright handsome, he's not the only person in the world who's kind and outgoing and earnest—just because they've formed this unique relationship with each other—just because, despite possibly being the only person in the district who'd known nothing about who Kip was, Wallace had cared about him anyways, treated him like someone who mattered anyways, like he was interesting anyways, like he deserved respect anyways, like he should be protected anyways—like he was simply good to be around at face value.

Maybe if he didn't find Wallace's treatment so flattering, he would have an easier time letting go of this. Or maybe it's not that he's flattered, it's just that it's nice.

It would have to help if he wasn't running into Wallace in this hallway or at the front door or his own apartment or anywhere he didn't have a minute or two of warning beforehand.

He really feels like there's some simple element buried here somewhere, some ridiculous false assumption he's still holding on to, and all he has to do is realize it and get rid of it and this whole issue will unravel all at once and drift away. 

He doesn't want to cry over this again, or pine over Wallace, or feel like he's been shaken up and knocked off balance just by Wallace being his usual good-natured self, or simply looking a bit disheveled, or not treating Kip with distance and formality—

He throws himself into the distraction of work so aggressively that he has to deliberately slow himself down.

—

Wallace does come by as he said he might, and Kip is surprised to see Charlie following on his heels—it's the first time he's seen him in a good while, and the first time he's ever seen him in the café.

Kip slowly moves to the counter beside the register as the pair approach. Wallace looks cheerful as usual and he says something to Charlie, who also seems to have his usual demeanor—quiet and nervously shy, but Kip is glad to see he seems more relaxed than stressed or afraid. 

"Hey," Kip says to Wallace, nodding at him with a slight smile. Then he focuses his attention on Charlie, but softens. "Hey, Charlie. How've you been doing?"

"I've...been okay," he answers, glancing away a few times before finally looking back at Kip. "...You work here?" he asks with a slight tone of disbelief.

"Yeah." Kip smiles. "I'm kind of...a bunch of things here, I guess. I open and close and take orders, make drinks, bring food to people, do trash and dishes, keep things clean and stocked and everything..." He counts things off on his fingers. "Pretty much just the sort of stuff that keeps everything running day-to-day. Nothing too special."

"Oh," Charlie says quietly, fidgeting with the sleeve of his hoodie. "I thought you'd be...more like... I thought you wrote?" he finishes somewhat helplessly.

"Oh—yeah, just in my free time," Kip says. "This is the only thing I get paid for."

"Heh—that's cool." Charlie shrugs and smiles slightly.

"So you brought him over here and didn't mention I'd be here?" Kip asks Wallace, hoping the playfulness in his tone is coming off more knuckles-on-the-chin than flirtatious.

"Well—" Wallace laughs. "I said you'd be here, but I don't think I said you were working..."

"Nice."

"I had gone by Pascal's shop—" 

Kip's breath catches.

"And Charlie was there to see Louise, and we were all talking for a bit, and I said I was going to come by here for a coffee, and Charlie said he'd never been, so here we are! I couldn't let him keep missing out on this essential fixture of the area."

Kip scoffs.

"Sure," he says. "Charlie, this'll change your life."

But he's blushing a little; his mind is on the fact that Wallace probably saw Pascal, and went there on purpose, and they both knew about the other and knew that the other knew about them—Kip wishes he could've been a fly on the wall, mostly to see how comfortable Pascal was about it all.

And then there's the fact that Wallace had decided to deliberately visit Pascal. He may be trying to make this easier for all of them—he must really care about all this. He's putting in this extra effort when he isn't even obligated to do a single thing.

Kip has to be able to return this effort—at the very least, when he and Wallace are actually interacting.

He catches Wallace's eye and gives him a soft but genuine smile, and sees Wallace's expression light up a little in return.

A few minutes later Kip is putting the finishing touches on both their drinks; out of the corner of his eye he sees Charlie approach the counter, but he doesn't glance over. He takes his time while sealing lids over the drinks and putting the cups into sleeves. He carries them over to Charlie.

"You're really okay?" Kip murmurs as he sets the cups down. "Well...I'm sorry, it's not exactly my place to ask you for any detailed answer. It's just..."

"It's okay," Charlie says quietly. 

Kip looks at him.

"I'm doing fine. Some days are better than others, but I feel okay. For the first time in a really long time. I don't think I'll ever be my old self, but...this is pretty nice."

"...Yeah. It’s always gonna be different than it was, but it can still be okay.”

"Hey, can I ask you something, too?" Charlie's tone suddenly sounds much more conversational. Kip meets his gaze, somewhat surprised.

"Huh? Or—uh—sure, I mean, that's fine."

"I was wondering if you...um...still go to...you know, have appointments? Or..."

"Do I still go to therapy? Yes," Kip says, giving him a small smile. "I have for years."

"Oh—wow—" Charlie breathes a light laugh. "That's cool. I mean, I'm still going, too..." He rubs his arm and glances downwards.

"Yeah, I mean, a lot of people think that therapy has to be a huge deal, or you only go when there's a crisis or something, but honestly? You can go just because you like it, or because you want to preempt issues by working things out or understanding them better. Really, whatever you get out of it is fine—if you feel like you're done with it, it's okay to stop, and it's okay to pick it back up if you change your mind, or it's okay to just keep going, like I do. For me, I've just found myself dealing with both new developments and old problems, a whole mix of things big and small, and I've always liked knowing I had another appointment in the next week or two. And it's just good practice for me to talk about things openly. I can get a little too quiet sometimes, even around people I trust. Being in therapy doesn’t automatically mean your life’s a mess, you know? Really it means that at least things are going well enough to willingly face and discuss your issues on a regular basis.”

Charlie looks back up at him; Kip gives him another faint smile.

"Thanks," Charlie says, and picks up the coffees.

"That's yours on your left," Kip says. "And you’re welcome."

He watches Charlie walk back over to Wallace and pass him his drink; they speak to each other for a moment and the tone of the conversation is friendly and light.

The way that Wallace has clearly managed to win over not only Charlie's trust but his comfort as well is deeply appealing. Despite the inherently flawed approach he had when he first came to C, his earnestness—and likely moreso his surprising level of stubbornness—had made him actually begin to find success in reaching anyone. Plus, it helped that he had enough humility to weather a decent number of passionate chastisements from Kip, in which he'd laid into Wallace with an emotional ferocity when the human's clumsy attempts to break down a barrier ended up feeling like hurtful intrusions, even inadvertent insults, that could only be made due to ignorance, lack of respect, completely misguided assumptions—Kip hadn't always lost his temper with him, sometimes he just lectured him firmly but coldly. But somehow Wallace was able to ignore his pride enough to actually listen to what Kip was telling him, no matter if Kip was in tears or enraged or icily calm as he tried to shut it out. And he always seemed to take it to heart—he never made quite the same mistake twice. 

Maybe the same naïveté that had led Wallace to make serious mistakes and violate sensitive boundaries and even invoke implicit insults was somehow one of his advantages. He'd come from A, after all, but his biases against monsters were clearly more a matter of ignorance than of anything he'd been taught openly and directly. He'd clearly always been a humble, well-meaning person, and once he started to learn how much he didn't know and how wrong so much of what he did know really was, he became a lot more inclined to listen and to force himself to stop assuming he really knew anything about monsters. And this change happened impressively quickly—a huge number of humans from any of the districts, much less A, might never have been able to learn this simple lesson at all, say nothing of under a year. 

"Okay, we're heading out, Kip, good to see you!" Wallace says brightly, waving as they turn towards the door—Charlie smiles and lifts a hand towards Kip as well.

"Bye," Kip says, waving back. He watches them go.

There's just something about him. Several times over.

—

Kip doesn't usually write out notes on paper, preferring the ability to edit and move text as freely as he can with his laptop or his phone, but he's willing to use a different medium when he's sitting on a park bench. He'd kind of felt like getting out of the apartment, and the weather was so nice, and a walk of middling length over to the park had seemed appealing. 

It's the perfect level of quiet sounds all around to help him focus on his writing, though he doesn't mind letting his attention wander to things like people walking by in the distance and tree leaves waving in a breeze.

When he gets a text from Molly that mentions she's out, he lets her know that he's actually already out of the apartment too, and a minute later she's said she's heading over to where he is, just sit tight. He puts his pad of paper back into his bag and leans back, looking up at the skyline.

Molly joins him in a little over five minutes, sitting down next to him to rest and telling him a bit about how her day and her week is going. She talks about how her sandals are comfortable, and she wishes every day was as nice out as today is, and she's glad to see that Kip's enjoying himself outside as well, because he always seems a bit relaxed by getting some fresh air.

Kip invites her along on his walk to see Pascal at work—it's one of the couple of days Louise has the closing shift, and Pascal is done mid-afternoon. They set off at a leisurely pace—it's so nice out, and the shop isn't far, and it's another fifteen minutes or so before Pascal's shift will be over. On something of a whim, he tells Molly about the time he accidentally found himself taking the route back to his family's home out of habitual memory, and she takes his hand for a moment in a gentle hold.

He figures she knows he's still never gone back to that spot. Where the house had once been. He doesn't have to say that he still doesn't feel ready for anything like that, and he's not sure if he ever will.

Pascal's shop is a nice distance away from that address, but at least he's made some progress in no longer having a knee-jerk burst of anxiety at the very name of the street it's on. He doesn't even mind so much anymore the turned heads and double-takes and murmurations of his name that are way more common here than in the area of their own apartment. He can just ignore it. And maybe he's the one getting more used to it, but it seems like people are getting more used to him.

Pascal greets them warmly just seconds after they enter the shop; Kip brings up how he'd seen Wallace and Charlie the other day and they'd said they'd come over to the café from here, which Pascal confirms and Louise seconds from behind the counter. Molly asks Pascal if he can remember if there's any of his blends she hasn't tried yet—it still makes Kip blush to remember that she and Roy have a significant head start on him when it comes to frequenting his own boyfriend's store.

Pascal walks out with them and immediately comments on the nice weather too, saying it's even better than it had felt when the front door was opened for a few seconds. They go back to the park with him and sit on the same bench and talk—Kip puts his knee against Pascal's in lieu of holding his arm.

Pascal admits to having a few errands to run when they ask if he wants to go back to their apartment for a while, so Kip tells him he'll text before coming over tomorrow and kisses him briefly. Molly gives him a tight hug.

Back at their own apartment, Molly asks Kip if he's nervous about spending the weekend at Pascal's, and for once he can say that he's actually completely fine.

—

Roy is the only one still up as Kip types his writing into a document on his laptop. He sits on the couch in silence as Kip works, so quietly that Kip assumes he must be reading something until Kip glances over to see that he's not—he's just looking off thoughtfully at the wall.

Kip blushes and tries to finish up more quickly so his attention isn't taken up by this any longer—he can't really talk or listen and type something else out at the same time. But Roy seems content that they're just sharing the room.

"Hey, are you okay?" Kip asks quietly as he's glancing through the pages, checking that he got everything down.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I am, thanks—" Roy laughs.

"You're really quiet," Kip observes.

"Haha, yeah, I guess I am... I was just wanting to ask how you were, too, actually."

"Yeah? Do I seem sad?" Kip smiles over at him briefly and folds the screen of his laptop closed.

"No, but I just wanted to ask anyways..." Roy's voice fades and he seems a bit embarrassed.

"Oh, that's okay," Kip says quickly. "I'm fine, I'm doing alright. I'm...probably doing better than I've been for a while, you know?"

"Aw, Kip, that's great!" Roy perks up again at once. "Gosh, I'm so glad to here that..."

"Yeah," Kip laughs lightly. He stretches his back against the chair. "It's pretty nice."

"Are you happy, do you think?" Roy asks. "I mean, do you feel like you're happy in general and all?"

"Jeez, Roy—" Kip laughs a bit more nervously and blushes again. "That's a big question—"

Roy just gives him a smile.

"I...I mean, I really don't know, Roy," he says helplessly, gesturing vaguely with one hand. "It still feels like a lot of things are only just starting to settle. I just don't know."

"No, that makes sense," Roy says, his voice full of support. "So much has happened that it makes sense if it's gonna take a while to feel like all our lives are in order again."

"Yeah..."

"Does it feel to you, though, like where you are right now is where you want to be? Like, is it a place you're happy with?" 

Kip hides his face in his hands as he blushes harder and laughs.

"Oh my god, um...I guess? I really don't know how to answer, I'm sorry. It's just—"

He sighs and looks down at the table, wrapping his arms across his front.

"I don't know, Roy... It's been a long time since I really thought about stuff like that. I don't know when I'll be able to kind of...put things in that perspective again."

"You don't know how to tell if you're happy?" Roy sounds quietly crushed.

"Oh, Roy..." Kip gives him a slightly strained smile and walks over to sit down beside him on the couch. "It's not that I'm unhappy. And I know plenty of stuff that makes me happy, like being around everybody I care about, and knowing you're all safe... I just—I'm not totally sure all of what I want out of everything. Maybe I just...have to kind of go along and see what happens instead of trying to point things in any particular direction. Because right now I don't really—I don't know what I'd like to be doing in the future, you know?"

"Oh..." Roy pulls Kip sideways into a hug. "I just really want things to be as great as they can be, Kip."

"I know—" Kip laughs breathlessly, putting a hand on Roy's side in an attempt to return the embrace. "Don't worry. I'm doing fine."

"That's good." Roy pulls back and looks down at him with some concern. 

"C'mon—Roy, I'm fine."

"You are?"

"Yes!" Kip nudges Roy's shoulder with his fist in an attempt to be playful.

"Sorry—" Roy laughs. "It's just, me and Molly talk all the time, so we always know how we're doing, but...you know...you can be quieter than us sometimes."

"I mean, you can tell how I'm doing without my saying anything," Kip says. "I don't always ask you guys how you are to know if you're okay, because I can, uh... But, well, I guess maybe I should ask more often so that you know I'm thinking about it..." He trails off, embarrassed.

"It's different with you," Roy argues. "I mean, you know you...sometimes don't always show it when you're having a hard time."

Kip blushes.

"You guys do that too," he says quietly. "Just in a different way."

They're silent for a moment.

"Thank you for caring about me so much," Kip says. "Thank you for saying this kind of stuff and going out of your way to talk to me. It's really nice...and I aways appreciate it.”

"Aw—" All at once, Roy's hugging him again. "Of course you're welcome, Kip, I love you."

He squeezes the hug tighter.

"I love you, too."

Roy buries his face in Kip's hair; Kip laughs.

"Oh—" Kip twists around to face Roy. "Did Molly ever tell you I was trying to coerce her into believing that you guys should like, take a trip somewhere, or something? Just take a little break just for a few days, or a week, or whatever you want. You know, because I want to get rid of you."

Roy giggles.

"Yeah, she did mention it," he says cheerfully. "And I like the idea—although, you know, you should really think about doing the same thing."

Kip shrugs.

"I kind of like keeping my routine for now," he says. "But I'll probably look into it too at some point soon."

"Good," Roy says. "Molly said she really didn't have any ideas about where she might want to go, but I was kind of thinking about this place in D that was about half an hour from where we lived? I remember there was some bed and breakfasts out there in this really beautiful place—I mean, there isn't much out there, but there was hills and trees and flowers and open skies and I just remember it seemed really beautiful and peaceful..."

Kip watches Roy's face as he describes it.

"You should go," Kip says. "It sounds really nice."

"It is." Roy looks over at him with a smile. "I was thinking maybe we could go in a month or two. You know, we'll figure it out."

"Yeah."

"Speaking of getting rid of us, do you want to move in with Pascal?"

"What?" Kip sits up sharply.

"Oh—sorry if I shouldn't ask, I was just wondering if you already knew if you wanted to live with him..."

"I—I don't already know," Kip says. "I mean, I'm sure eventually we'll be living together again, but...I don't know, it still feels too soon for me to be thinking about that too seriously."

"Okay, that's fine!" Roy says. "I just wanted to ask."

"I mean—" Kip huffs a laugh. "I've been with you guys pretty much every day for like, six years now..."

"I know, but we were with Pascal for five of those. Plus, I mean, he lives super close by now..."

"Jeez, Roy!" Kip repeats, laughing quietly. "See, now I think you're the one who wants to get rid of me, not the other way around."

"Never." Roy sweeps Kip into the biggest hug yet, and for a minute Kip gets caught up in his own laughter.

—

Kip gets a bit on edge as the end of his shift approaches. Still, he feels like he's holding himself down well, considering that just seconds after he'd woken up his heart leapt as he remembered what day it was.

Kate is taking advantage of this opportunity to tease him, considering how much of a goldmine it is and how he's way too preoccupied to mind it.

"How are you gonna show up for your shift on Sunday if you'll be busy with your fuckfest all weekend?" she whispers to him in the back.

"Shut up," he says reproachfully. "I'm still coming in."

"I wish I could be here to see that." Kate shakes her head. "Good luck getting out of bed to drag yourself over here. Maybe I'll actually come by on my day off just to see how you're holding up."

"No, you won't."

"I will if I want to."

"Oh my god..."

She laughs and he stalks off back to the front of the store.

"Seriously, I'm happy for you, though," she says later as he tries to focus on stacking up used dishes. "You've been way behind on this for ages now. It must've been shitty."

It was, but he's not going to encourage her by giving actual answers.

And then she simply starts giving him updates on how much longer he has in his shift every half hour or so, which is actually kind of helpful as it keeps him from checking the time on his phone every two minutes.

The last hour is the worst, especially since business slows down; he spends the last twenty minutes or so essentially pacing around as he desperately searches for little tasks to take up another thirty seconds.

He's just handed a drink to a customer when Kate taps him on the shoulder and tells him he's finally reached the end of the hour.

"Oh god." His blush and his nerves both flare up. "You don't need me to do anything else before I go?"

She smirks at him and shakes her head.

His hands are actually shaking slightly by the time he clocks out and unties his apron in the back, picking up his keys from the basket he likes to keep them in. It's been forever since he's been so completely eagerly excited for something.

"I'll see you later," he says as Kate comes by.

"Get out of here, you horny bastard." She winks at him and smacks his hip and he only just manages to keep his sharp cry of surprise from being a loud swear. Kate bursts out into genuine laughter.

"God!" He can't help laughing too. "I hate you. I'm leaving."

He keeps smiling to himself until he's out on the sidewalk and once again too preoccupied with anticipation to think of anything else.

—

He turns on the shower, letting it warm up as he strips his clothes off and gets on the toilet. By the time he steps under the water, it's hot enough to make him pause for a bit to just let it run down his body.

But once he starts washing himself off, he switches back to a determined efficiency. He cleans himself thoroughly, scrubbing everywhere he can reach, as though he expects Pascal to put his mouth against every inch of his body. Once he's done, he repeats the whole process, a bit faster this time, and rinses himself off so meticulously that it's essentially like bathing himself another time over.

He rubs himself down with a fresh towel and doubles over to blowdry his hair, briefly turning the dryer towards his skin as well to further dry a few damp patches. He wraps the towel around himself and glances momentarily in the mirror, biting his lip.

He's already got a small travel bag in his room with a clean set of work clothes, a pair of jeans, a sweater, some socks and underwear and a tank top. He puts in a few last minute items—a comb, a toothbrush, a phone charger, a bottle of lube—and tries to get enough of a hold on his jittery thoughts to make sure he's not missing anything essential. Then he puts on clothes, just a soft pair of jeans and a softer t-shirt and a comfortable pair of old shoes. 

He looks nervously at his reflection a few times; he seems to have a permanent blush. He's not sure if he can see himself as handsome in the way he did when he'd found himself beautiful in a passing glance. But he has to presume he looks the same way as always.

He quickly throws deodorant and lip balm in a pocket on the side of his bag and hoists the strap over his shoulder. He checks that his keys and his wallet and his phone are in his pockets about half a dozen times in a row, then paces around as he sends out a text to Molly and Roy saying that he's heading out and should be back Monday evening after work and to text him whenever they want, and then texts Pascal to say he's on his way over. He sticks a note on his door that just says "back later" and heads out of the apartment.

—

"Kip!" 

Pascal calls out to him excitedly; Kip looks up to see his boyfriend waving at him from a block and a half away. 

"Pas!" he cries in return. "I thought I was just gonna meet you at the door—"

"C'mere!" Pascal is already walking towards him.

Kip grins and starts jogging forward, then breaks into a light run until he propels himself right into Pascal's arms, laughing as he's scooped up and spun around and kissed on his neck and jaw and cheek. 

"Hello," he coos, wrapping his arms around Pascal's shoulders. "I'm finally here, hello, hello hello hello—"

He kisses Pascal's lips and drops his embrace and Pascal lowers him back down onto his feet.

"Show me your place," says smiling up at Pascal. He holds his hand out for Pascal to take.

Pascal corkscrews his arm from Kip's elbow to palm and smiles back at him. He looks so completely happy that it makes Kip laugh again, feeling himself blush and being glad of it for once.

—

"It's not very fancy..." Pascal says as the key grinds in the lock on his door. 

"I don't care about that at all, don’t worry," Kip says simply. It does seem like a slightly old building with a bit of wear, but it seems decently cared for, and Kip finds it all kind of cozy and charming.

Pascal opens the door and Kip just gets this immediate sense of welcoming familiarity and belonging.

"Oh..." He follows Pascal inside into a tiny hallway that opens immediately into a small living room on one side and another tiny parallel hall branching off on the other with a little round table and chair on one end, and a room that must be the kitchen on the other. The air has a lovely subtle scent that Kip recognizes easily as Pascal's and he's hit with the memory of exactly what it felt like to be living with Pascal every day for years—the comfort and security and their sweetly dependable routine encounters they were guaranteed every single day.

"Pascal, this is so nice," he sighs, looking all around. The colors are all so warm and soft and inviting; the space has this balance between everything being kept in order but looking lived-in, with a hoodie draped over the back of a slightly worn but cushiony armchair, a few papers on the table, shoes by the door, half-full trashcans. "It looks so comfortable..."

"That's what I was going for," Pascal says with a soft laugh. "There's some furniture from our old place, but some of it I just sold and bought some new pieces with when I got here. Well, used, not new, but..."

"You've made it look so good." Kip moves slowly, touching his fingertips to the wall, moving his eyes from one spot to the next every moment and taking in as many details as he can. "Is the kitchen over here?"

"Oh, yeah, it is..." Pascal says. "It's not very big, but there's a stove and a fridge and a sink and a little bit of space to store things..."

He's sounding slightly self-conscious. Kip gives him a smile as he walks carefully into the kitchen, looking at the simple kettle resting on the stove and the jar of cooking utensils and the little plants in a window above the sink and it's all so nice. The pot-holders and the boxes lined against the wall on the counter and the spice rack and the tins of tea on top of the fridge. He goes back out to the living room where Pascal waits with a soft blush.

"It's so cute," Kip laughs. "I love it."

"Oh, good..." 

"Can I try out that chair? It looks soft."

"Definitely, yeah, it's really comfortable."

Kip turns around and sinks into it.

"Oh my god..." He leans against the backrest. "I could fall asleep in this."

"It's really comfortable," Pascal repeats, laughing. 

Kip glances at the modest couch and the small coffee table and a bookshelf against the wall before standing back up.

"Um, there's really just a closet there in the corner and a bathroom and my bedroom," Pascal says as he walks to the other set of doors adjacent to each other. "Here's the bathroom—" He opens one; Kip can see a sink by the door and then a toilet and then a shower, with grass green towels hanging from a rack. "And here's my room."

He opens the other door. Inside is a bed in the middle of the room with a heavy, deep purple comforter and two pillows at the head, a little table with a lamp on one side and a window on the other. Kip steps inside, absorbing it all. The carpet feels a bit soft, the walls are a neutral brown, there's a hamper full of clothes in the corner beside a chest of drawers. Kip turns in place just as a familiar scent hits his nose and he stares speechlessly at the small lilac bush in the corner across from him. 

"Is that...?" he says faintly. 

"It's yours," Pascal answers quietly. "I brought it with me."

"Oh," Kip says simply, suddenly a little hit with emotion. He walks over to it and gently touches a flower, then leans in to catch the scent floating up. "Pascal, I... This just...this was something I missed a lot when we moved. I mean, it's just a little thing to have cared about in the middle of all that, but I always loved it..."

He laughs softly and turns back to the doorway, where Pascal leans against the frame. 

He's not unaware of the effect of seeing Pascal in the bedroom doorway—having simply walked into the room, seen the bed they'd be sharing soon—he can definitely feel his desire coming a bit more to attention. He smiles at Pascal and stands up a little straighter. 

"Oh, you can put your bag down somewhere in here, if you want," Pascal says, gesturing vaguely into the room.

"Sure—" Kip shifts it off his shoulder and sets it down along the wall.

"Do you want, uh, some tea? Or..."

Kip walks towards Pascal and smiles softly at him, reaching up to brush his fingers along the side of Pascal's face. 

"Come here," he says quietly, and touches his arm as he walks back into the living room. He hears Pascal follow him. 

"Should I..." Pascal starts quietly, fading off. "I..."

Kip walks slowly over to the wall of the little entrance hallway and turns around to lean against it with a long sigh, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, he sees Pascal standing still in the middle of the room by the armchair, looking at him with slightly reddened cheeks, an arm curling up against his chest.

Kip holds his gaze for a moment, then quickly runs his hands back through his hair and arches his spine in a lengthy stretch, pushing his chest out and letting his head tilt back. He brings his arms back down, trailing his hands down his sides, down to his thighs, back up until his fingertips drag the end of his shirt up to his waist—then he slides his hands down his hips and into his pants.

He hears Pascal's inhale sharpen into a quiet gasp. He closes his eyes for a moment, keeping his head back. He pushes his hands further down until his jeans sit an inch or two lower on his hips, then pulls his hands back up, taking the waistband of his underwear with them so that a wide stripe of it is visible above his belt. He lets out another slow exhale.

"Oh my god," Pascal murmurs. "Kip..."

Kip opens his eyes and brings his head back down to lock his gaze with Pascal's, who blushes even harder. 

Kip brings his hands up into his shirt to touch his chest, at the same time tilting his hips down to show off as much of his bared stomach as possible. He sees Pascal's gaze jump back and forth between his crotch and stomach and chest and face; he's getting more confident and more turned on by Pascal’s reactions to his attempt at seduction.

"Kip..." 

Kip sees Pascal shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Pasc," Kip breathes, his tone outright erotic. He strategically shrugs while he pushes the cloth up a little further, and one end of the shirt's loose collar slips off his shoulder. Besides that it's comfortable and this color looks really good on him, he didn't pick a shirt with such a wide collar and soft fabric for nothing. He slowly brings his hands back down, slightly squeezing his arms in towards his middle as he lets his shirt slide further down his arm to expose the top of his chest.

"Oh my god—" Pascal repeats—he brings his arms to his face and laughs breathlessly. "Oh, Kip—"

"C'mere," Kip says, laughing in turn. He pushes his back up along the wall to drag the shirt further down until it's low enough to show part of his nipple. "Pascal..."

When Pascal looks back at him again, Kip can only keep a straight face for a couple of seconds before breaking into a smile. He tilts his head playfully to the side and rolls his hips slowly as he trails a hand to the inside of his thigh.

"Come here," he says again, laughing.

Pascal bites his lip as he smiles back. After a moment or two more of looking at Kip and fidgeting with one arm, Pascal approaches him slowly, seeming to relax as he does. Kip, on the other hand, is starting to feel like he's bubbling over with every step Pascal takes. 

Pascal seems to hesitate when he's just a few feet away, and Kip looks him right in the eyes and opens his mouth to encourage him when all at once Pascal pushes in and kisses him hard, nipping and sucking his lip before Kip hardly processes what's happened.

Kip parts his lips further for Pascal with a muffled vocalization that wouldn't have been a coherent word even if Pascal wasn't pushing his tongue deep inside his mouth. Pascal wraps his soft arms snug around Kip's back as he pushes harder against him.

Kip actually feels almost dizzy, his pulse is beating through his chest and into his throat and dick, he's a little short of breath, and he's so glad he can hang on to Pascal's shoulders while his boyfriend helps hold him up. 

Just as Kip is sucking on Pascal's tongue and dragging his fingernails down his spine, Pascal pulls away and straightens back up and Kip is completely bewildered for a second—until Pascal shoves his hips up against Kip's, pinning him to the wall, and starts grinding roughly against him.

Kip cries out sharply, grabbing at Pascal's arms, gritting his teeth as he rolls his hips against Pascal's rhythm.

He hasn't felt this in so so so long, this intense, heady rush from all this touching and kissing and groping and knee-buckling, pleasure-spiking friction—

He bites at Pascal's chest, at the base of his neck, working the skin between his teeth and sucking hard as he grinds back ferociously, he feels like he's going to lose his mind in just a matter of time—

"Kip..."

And oh god that groan is right in his ear and Kip helplessly whimpers and shoves a hand straight down the back of Pascal's sweatpants to grab his ass, pulling hard against it for leverage as he bucks into Pascal. He feels himself pressed even tighter between Pascal's body and the wall with every rolling shove. He can't deny himself the pleasure of gripping Pascal's bare ass with his other hand, too—skin warm and soft between his fingers, feeling every movement of Pascal's hips—

Their growing erections slide right up against each other.

"Fuck!" Kip's head knocks against the wall as he shoves it back. "Pascal!" His voice quavers as he cries out. "Fuck me—oh my god fuck me RIGHT now—"

"Oh my god—" Pascal has that deliciously low voice and he catches Kip's mouth in a messy, rough kiss and then shoves his arm up between Kip's legs, squeezing his balls and the base of his dick. Kip’s cry is rough and desperate.

They draw back and stare at each other for a heavily loaded second before Pascal steps away and starts working off his shoes. 

"Take off your shirt," he says simply.

Kip complies at once, then kicks off his own shoes and starts undoing his belt.

"Pick me up," he tells Pascal. "Take me into your room and fuck me."

He's partway through unbuttoning his pants when Pascal kisses him fiercely and takes him up in his arms in one powerful lift. And then with a quick adjustment, as if it's nothing, he turns Kip so that he's on his back in Pascal's hold, looking up at him. Kip puts his hand on Pascal's face, cupping his jaw and running his thumb across his lip, and watches Pascal’s look of quietly determined focus as he walks them into the bedroom.

Kip exhales as he's laid down on the bed. It's soft and wide and he's looking up at Pascal while he's on his bed and Pascal's actually, finally about to fuck him—Kip rubs at his own dick and rolls his ass back against the mattress as he stares at Pascal, sharply aroused by the feeling of the bed underneath him and the focused intent in Pascal's gaze.

Pascal circles around the frame and stands between Kip's feet. He takes hold of the end of his own shirt and strips it off in one smooth pull.

"Pas..." Kip breathes, rubbing harder at his erection through his jeans. Pascal rests a knee on the edge of the mattress and leans in, nudging Kip's hand away to put his mouth over Kip's cock. 

"Shit!" Kip cries. "Pascal!"

His hips stutter and then jerk up hard against the pressure before he has any hope of holding them back. But Pascal doesn't ease off, just presses his tongue against the denim and washes his hot breath over him before sitting up again, grabbing the waistband of Kip's jeans, and working them down. 

Biting his lip, Kip lifts his ass up to help; Pascal pulls his pants down all the way but leaves his briefs caught on his erection.

Kip sits up too.

"Here," he says, reaching for Pascal's hips. "Let me..."

He glances up at his face before taking hold of either side of Pascal's sweatpants and slowly pulling them downwards. He watches the fabric press against the shape of Pascal's half-hard erection; his mouth practically waters as more and more pubic hair emerges until finally the base of his dick appears—Kip pauses for a moment to stare and breathe. He uncovers the rest of its length inch by inch as he drags the sweatpants down. He lets out a shivering exhale as the flushed tip is freed, leaning in further and further as he moves Pascal's pants even lower down his thighs, his lips drawing nearer and nearer to Pascal's cock—

Pascal pushes the sweatpants the rest of the way off with his feet and steps out of them. Kip looks back up at him, feeling the heat of his own blush. 

"I wanna finish getting you hard," Kip murmurs weakly. "Can you get on the bed?" 

"Okay."

Pascal does so unhesitatingly, and Kip crawls over to him and pushes him onto his back.

"Kip..." Pascal breathes. He gives a beautiful choked whine as Kip takes his dick in his hand, squeezing gently. "Oh, fuck, Kip..."

"Oh my god, I've been wanting to do this SO bad. For SO long." 

Kip draws a few deep breathes. He slides his hand down to the base and takes half the length into his mouth in one go.

"Fuck!" 

Kip feels Pascal's body twist against the bed and he puts his hands on Pascal’s waist, reminding him to try to keep steady—although with how long it's been since either of them have had this, he won't blame him if he can't.

Pascal starts repeating Kip's name, in weak whispers, in long groans.

Pascal's dick is so warm and fills Kip's mouth and its soft surface and the taste and feel of pressing his tongue up against the head—Kip is thriving in all of it, soaking it up, gently humping the bed as he slides his lips down the length, aching for this to last for decades.

He focuses most of his attention on the end, sucking and licking it while he works the rest of it in his hand with easy strokes. He can feel Pascal growing under his touch—he can't stop himself from periodically taking the whole of it into his mouth.

Not to mention that he can hear Pascal's elevating arousal in the sound of his voice, his unsteady words and vibrating moans. It's just as evident in the movement of his body, growing sharper and stronger even as he tries to hold himself back.

Kip is getting a bit lost in the experience of blowing Pascal, making him harder and harder, tasting him—he successfully takes Pascal's fully erect length into his mouth and throat, sliding an inch or two out and then right back in, swallowing around him, giving low, stifled moans.

"Kip...Kip—" Pascal gently pushes his shoulders; Kip pulls off of him with a deep inhale. "Babe, come here..."

Kip wipes some spit off his chin and crawls over him until he's straddling his waist, panting, looking down at him. He's so gorgeous like that, on his back, hair spilled against the pillow like a halo, face flushed, eyes fixed steadily on Kip like there's nothing else to see in the world, giving him that small smile and that sweet look.

"You have to wait," Pascal says weakly, "Or you’ll make me cum."

Kip blushes and leans down and kisses him, slipping the tongue that had just licked the head of his cock in past his lips. Pascal hums into his mouth; Kip lightly swirls the tip of his tongue around Pascal's before pulling back.

"You're beautiful," Kip tells him, reaching down to feel the shape of Pascal's wide chest, stroking the soft hair growing there. "Even beyond that. God, I love you so much."

"I love you, too.”

Kip gasps softly as Pascal rolls him smoothly onto his back and pulls his underwear off completely. Kip glances down at the bright blue flush of his nearly-full erection, then looks up to see Pascal staring down at it, lips parted.

"Fuck," Pascal murmurs. "I just..."

He wraps his arm around the base of Kip's erection and bends down to lick at the very tip, then puts it between his lips and gives the gentlest suck. Kip's leg twitches as his hips jerk reflexively towards Pascal’s mouth; he whines loudly.

“Oh fuck me—Pasc—“

With another soft suck, Pascal pulls off.

"I just needed a taste." Pascal leans up with a lopsided grin, then kisses Kip's chest. "I really love your dick."

"Oh my god," Kip breathes, laughing quietly.

"It's true." Pascal kisses Kip's mouth and runs his arm up and down the length of Kip's erection as if to prove it, pinning it between his arm and Kip's stomach.

Kip can't help bucking into it; his cock slides between the two columns of soft, warm suckers. 

"The shape and color and size—it's wonderful—" Pascal murmurs against his lips between kisses. "I love the feel of it too, just touching it, or holding it against mine, or having it in my mouth, or in my ass—"

"Pas," Kip gasps, grinding hard. He's desperate for so much more, and this isn't helping him settle down. "God, please, fuck me—“

Pascal pauses, then kisses Kip's mouth more forcefully, scruff rubbing against Kip's cheeks and jaw. 

"Fuck me—"

Kip opens his mouth as Pascal kisses him again, teeth against his lips and tongue flicking against his. He expects Pascal to pull back after a few moments, but instead the kiss lasts a full few minutes—just this kiss that oscillates between aggressively messy and lovingly precise. It's like Pascal is trying to fit a hundred kisses into one. He keeps gravitating towards these effective little techniques their years together had taught him—he kisses Kip's top lip a lot, he brings his own lower lip to Kip's upper teeth to push its softness against his fangs, he slides his tongue underneath Kip's to press against its base.

Kip loses any sense of how long it lasts. His hands are traveling all over Pascal, wherever they can reach. His closed eyes keep drifting up. His small groans and sighs go right into Pascal's mouth. It’s all heat and pleasure and the pound of his heartbeat.

And then Pascal presses their lips together hard one more time, and sits up. Kip realizes how out of breath he is and lies there panting, not yet bothering to move or open his eyes. 

Until Pascal takes hold of Kip's thighs and lifts them up and back towards his chest. Kip blinks up at him, keeping his legs limp in Pascal's grasp.

"Hold them up," Pascal says quietly. 

Kip doesn't process his words for a few seconds, completely taken by the sight of Pascal's face, his hair messed by Kip's fingers and his lips almost as flushed as his cheeks from their kissing—

"Oh—sure..."

Kip hooks his wrists behind his knees and lets the weight of his arms pull them back against his torso. The position alone provides a slight thrill.

Their eyes meet for a few moments, and then Pascal looks down.

Kip's mouth opens soundlessly as Pascal slides his arm along the groove of the center of his ass; his head presses back hard into the mattress at the stimulation.

"...Do it again," he says towards the ceiling, voice shaky.

Pascal does, with deliberate, smooth strokes of his narrowed arm.

"Ah, fuck..." Kip whispers, squeezing his eyes closed, digging his fingers into his thighs.

The movement slows before Pascal gently pushes the tip of his arm into him, just enough that Kip feels himself squeeze around it as he reflexively clenches up.

"Oh—" He gasps, holding himself perfectly still for this. "Oh, yes—more—"

Pascal pushes just a little further, then eases his arm back out.

"Keep going," Kip breathes. "Fuck, that feels good..."

Already it's overwhelming him so much more than just trying to remember these sensations when he gets himself off. Even fingering himself or taking a dildo up his ass doesn't give the same experience as having it come from someone else—from Pascal.

And then he's hit with something he could never begin to replicate alone as Pascal pushes his face between Kip's legs, licks his balls, then drags his tongue downwards—then there’s the stubbled jaw and warm breath against his hypersensitive skin and then the sudden soft press of a tongue making him tighten and relax and tighten and relax—

Kip gives a few choked sounds before a loud moan bursts out; he lets one knee fall to his side so he can reach down and grab hold of his erection.

Pascal pushes the end of his tongue into him.

"Ah—Pascal!" Kip's back arches up off the bed and he gives his dick a few rapid pumps. "Pasc—!"

For the next several minutes, all that happens is Pascal teasing and stretching Kip, alternating between the use of his arm and his tongue. Kip has to deliberately slow down with touching himself or he could cum from this alone—he desperately wants this to last longer, for Pascal's dick to be inside him when he does finally reach his peak.

For now, the little sounds Pascal makes as he rims Kip are arousing enough to send extra jolts of electricity down Kip’s spine and right to his cock.

"Yes—yes—oh, god yes—" Kip chants breathlessly, rolling his hips against Pascal’s mouth.

Pascal leans away and stretches him tightly with the girth of his arm, holds it for a few heavy breaths, then carefully slides out. He buries his face there again and flicks his tongue against Kip's soft skin; Kip whines and delves his fingers into Pascal's thick hair to pull him down harder. The process repeats over and over, until Kip knows for sure he's ready to take his dick and is entirely desperate to do so—but Pascal continues even for a few minutes beyond that point.

Kip's about to beg him to take it to the next step, but doesn't have to say anything after all.

Pascal gets on his knees in front of Kip; Kip lets out a long exhale at the loss of stimulation.

"Pass me one of the pillows?"

Kip does.

"Lift your butt up a little."

He does. 

Pascal wedges the pillow underneath his raised hips, giving them support that keeps them tilted slightly up. Kip hugs his knee harder to his chest, staring at Pascal, at his look of serious concentration as he scoots his knees further along either side of Kip.

Kip gives an enthusiastically loud groan of approval when Pascal gets right up against him and slides his length along the rut of his ass. 

"You ready?" Pascal asks.

Kip nods quickly.

"Yes. Please."

"Okay...let me just get this..." 

Pascal leans in over Kip and reaches out slightly to his left; Kip turns his head and sees Pascal retrieve some lube from the drawer of his nightstand. Kip waits patiently as Pascal carefully applies it to both of them, breathing slow and deep while he still has the opportunity to do so.

"Okay." Pascal tosses it aside onto the mattress, takes hold of his own erection, and looks at Kip.

Kip looks back at him.

They keep their eyes locked as Pascal brings the warm head of his dick down against Kip's skin and drags it lower, millimeters at a time, until Kip tenses up in anticipation.

Pascal feels out the slight dip and centers himself perfectly, but applies no real pressure.

"Relax with it, sugardove."

Kip huffs at the nickname and nods, consciously relaxing his body with each exhale. Half a minute later, he feels himself easing against the gentle but steady press of Pascal's cock.

"You want this?" Pascal asks softly.

"Yes—I want it so much, please, Pasc, please..."

"Tell me what you want me to do," Pascal says in his beautiful low sweet voice.

"I want you to fuck me," Kip gasps, looking right at him. He sees Pascal's chest rise and fall quickly with a few silent, shallow breaths. "I wanna feel your dick, I wanna feel it all the way up in me.”

Pascal sighs a quiet moan.

"You're so... You're so goddamn gorgeous like this," Pascal says weakly.

Kip smiles at him and rolls his hips.

"Fuck me, Pasc,” he says, and watches Pascal's face redden in response.

Pascal rocks forward and all at once the whole head of his dick is inside Kip, who gasps and arches up.

"Yes!" he cries out loudly. "Yes! Yes, oh god, Pascal, keep going—YES!"

Pascal’s breath is caught on a moan—he thrusts further in again, and then again, and again, and Kip squeezes his eyes shut and lets go of his leg to grab onto the blankets.

"Oh GOD yes—get all the way inside me, babe, oh fuck—oh, FUCK me—"

He laughs at himself even as it turns into a moan—he can barely contain his crashing desire—his body is twisting and curling in ecstatic anticipation and he just wants more of this feeling of Pascal hot and thick and tight inside him, pushing and rubbing and filling him and it feels so good that he needs so much more, he needs it all—

Pascal groans Kip’s name and with one more buck of his hips, he smacks up against Kip's ass. 

Kip practically yells, tangling a hand in his own hair and immediately swinging his legs around to lock onto Pascal's waist, holding him inside.

"Oh god, Kip," Pascal groans hoarsely, inching his knees a little further forward to reposition his center of weight right here, with his hips right up against Kip's ass, pushed fully inside him.

"Oh fucking hell, oh, stay there for a second, let me feel it, let me feel it..." Kip begs, hooking his feet behind Pascal's back, pulling himself harder against him, getting just a bit more length, just a bit more pressure. "Oh god I've wanted this, Pasc—oh fuck, how bad I've wanted to feel this—oh—"

He curves his back and starts rocking himself on Pascal's dick, starting with a light, easy pace that immediately grows harder and faster.

Pascal whines.

"Oh—" Kip grabs his own chest with one hand, taking hold of Pascal's thigh with the other. "Pasc! Fuck me—please—PLEASE—“

Pascal slides out a few inches, pauses for an instant, and shoves back in until they collide.

"YES! Oh GOD yes, Pascal! Yes—!"

Kip's fervid encouragement seems to work, the confidence of Pascal's movements quickly increases—and so does their strength, until Kip is holding on to the headboard to brace himself.

Pascal finds his rhythm, hard and fast and smooth, and he bends down further and grabs on to Kip's leg and leans in so close that his hair is almost touching Kip's shoulder.

"This okay?" Pascal's voice is low, gravelly, ignitingly sexy.

"Lean in more," Kip says breathlessly, and Pascal complies and then thrusts again. "Just a little more..."

Those next few thrusts are euphorically good. 

"YES. There, right there, oh GOD keep going—don’t slow down—“

"Okay, good—“

Pascal holds that exact position, where every deep thrust nudges against Kip's prostate, and in no time at all Kip is being pounded into the mattress just like that. He's swearing and raking his nails against Pascal's shoulderblades and gripping the headboard for dear life; he's losing himself in Pascal's moans and the smell of their sweat and sex and the feel of Pascal's body in his arms and Pascal inside him fucking him and the striking beat of their hips and the heat and the arousal that's surging harder and rising higher with every passing moment. 

How could he possibly have lived a whole year without this. The consumingly, wondrously, rapturously good way this feels makes him think he can never go even a day without it again.

Cries of Pascal's name flowing from his throat like an impassioned hymn, Pascal's velvet moans and staccato whimpers like harmony, the percussive smack of their beating hips—it all blurs and blends together in Kip's spinning head, but it’s still symphonically gorgeous.

With what little coordination he has, Kip drags Pascal's arm towards his achingly neglected dick. Pascal gets the message at once and wraps his arm around it, fully encompassing it in his hold, immediately pumping him hard in time to their rhythm.

"YES, babe," Kip groans, head falling to the side. "Oh fuck yes, keep going—do it just like that—"

"Oh god, Kip..."

Pascal sounds like he's just moments away from orgasm. But the way he's working Kip's erection on top of the already magnificent performance he’s been giving means that Kip is just as close, if not closer. He wraps both arms around Pascal's shoulders and holds on as well as he can.

"Fuck me harder," he moans. "Please—"

"Shit—" Pascal swears under his breath and complies.

"Harder!"

Pascal leans in even more until his forehead bumps against Kip's chest, and bucks with so much strength and speed that Kip just lets his body go loose.

"Oh fuck! Ah—!" It's like his whole vocabulary has been knocked out of his head, but his enthusiasm is voiced anyways in a stream of loud moans and cries.

"Good?" Pascal manages between breaths.

"Yes!" Kip yells, grabbing hold of Pascal's hair and giving it a tug. 

Pascal responds by squeezing Kip's dick and giving it a few especially sharp pumps. Kip arches up, mouth open, sensing his imminent climax as the buildup from the overwhelming intensity flooding through him winds tighter and tighter in the pit of his stomach. 

"Oh god, more, keep going—I-I'm so close—I’ll—!”

Kip wouldn't have guessed it was even a possibility at this point, but Pascal shifts into overdrive, latching on to him tighter, fucking him like everything in the universe depends on giving him a knockout orgasm.

Kip is yelling and raking his hands across the sheets and Pascal’s body and crying Pascal's name in desperation and chanting yes yes yes yes YES—

He thrusts into the coiled arm and in the next instant cries Pascal’s name as every muscle tenses up, freezing him in place as he cums in long, powerful pulses that send shockwaves arcing and thundering through every nerve, saturating his body all the way to his fingertips.

For a while it's like the whole of existence has become this feeling, this mindblowingly electric, overpoweringly euphoric surge of pleasure. He loses his sense of time, every neuron devoted to taking it in.

Its grip slowly starts to loosen; as his thoughts flicker gradually back into coherency it occurs to him that he doesn’t remember exactly when he last came that hard, that long.

Definitely not since Pascal was the one to give it to him.

He blinks his eyes open and looks at Pascal looking back at him. For a breathless moment everything seems suspended, and then Kip hooks his legs around Pascal's waist and takes in every detail of Pascal that his senses can provide as his boyfriend pushes into him again. It feels so intense to Kip's hypersensitivity, but with what little strength he has he rocks his limp body against the strength of Pascal's thrusts.

Kip weakly caresses Pascal's hair and tensed shoulders; he feels Pascal's hot, rapid breaths washing across his skin. He strokes the smooth surface of the arm stuck along his side and runs his fingertips down the suckers of the arm gripping on to the headboard.

"Keep going, Pasc," he murmurs to him, managing to shove his ass a bit harder against him. "Like that, that's good..."

Pascal whimpers; Kip puts a hand on the side of his jaw, rubbing the short hairs there. He can feel Pascal's rhythm changing—growing rougher, more uneven, shortening into faster jerks of his hips—the sensation of Pascal's dick moving inside him, pushing in deep, the pressure of being filled by it are that much more sharpened—

"Kip," Pascal breathes in a small voice. "Oh, Kip—"

"Fuck me," Kip whispers. "Cum inside me. Come on, Pasc."

Pascal's back curves up and the force of his thrusts rock Kip's whole body into the mattress. And then he pushes his hips in hard and holds them there, his whole body stiff, curled in around Kip, his forehead pressing against Kip’s shoulder. His weight pins Kip to the bed, the muscles of his thighs twitch against Kip's sides, and he chokes out a loud, tremulous whine—Kip gasps and digs his fingers into Pascal’s back, feeling Pascal cum deep inside him.

After a few moments frozen in place like that, Kip lifts his arms and gently hugs them around Pascal's head, tangling the fingers of one hand into his hair. He feels Pascal slowly, slowly begin to relax, breaths deepening, until he's no longer pushing against him and is instead sinking down on top of him.

Kip stares down at Pascal lying against him, shoulders and back shifting with his heavy breathing, head cushioned by Kip's chest.

"How was that, love?" he whispers after Pascal heaves a deep sigh.

"Fuck," Pascal mumbles. "Better than absolutely anything in the world. ...God, I wish I could kiss you right now.”

Kip laughs softly and lifts his head to plant a kiss in Pascal's hair.

Pascal shifts and for a concerning moment Kip thinks he's going to move off, but he simply drags the pillow out from underneath Kip's pelvis and slowly pulls out of Kip before lying right back down where he'd been.

Kip relaxes back and closes his eyes, lazily petting Pascal's hair as they rest in their afterglow.

"I love you," Kip breathes after a few quiet minutes. "So much. I've missed you bad.”

His hand stills for a moment as he speaks. 

Pascal nuzzles his face against Kip's chest, then lifts his head to give him a gentle smile.

"I've missed all of this like hell," Pascal says weakly. "I’m so...so glad we're here."

Kip props himself up on one elbow and presses a lasting kiss to Pascal's forehead.

"I love you, Kip."

Pascal wraps both arms around Kip's shoulders.

Kip lets his head drift to one side. When he draws a deep breath, stomach pushing into Pascal's chest, he catches the sweet scent of lilac.


	4. Chapter 4

Pascal insists Kip should have the shower first, and Kip sits on the edge of the tub while waiting for the water to heat up, watching Pascal lean over the sink and spit out his mouthwash. 

With this unimpeded view of every bared inch of Pascal's gorgeous body, every little movement he makes is so captivatingly fascinating. Every part of him seems worth hours of study: his thick torso and arms and legs; his hair just long enough to rest against the tops of his shoulders; his handsome face; the landscape of smooth dips and curves formed by his muscles; the shading down his legs and across his front provided by his soft, earthen-red hair; his careful way of moving, so efficient with space as he keeps himself close to his center and such small, light shifts of his legs and feet and the delicate dexterity of his arms.

It's only when steam begins drifting from the shower that Kip’s focus returns to anything besides the way Pascal looks. 

He climbs inside and once again washes himself quickly but thoroughly. His body feels so different from when he'd taken his previous shower. It feels more real, more physical, more solid—some soreness had set in just after they'd finished, but the worst of it had ebbed while they'd recovered together on the bed, and now even the lingering ache is pleasant. It's like he's been rearranged right down to his atoms, his body made into something sturdier yet more comfortable.

He dries himself off before stepping out of the bathroom to find Pascal removing the sheets that Kip had already pulled halfway off anyways. Kip walks up and hugs Pascal from behind, enjoying his warm skin against his own and how Pascal fills the embrace of his arms and the way his stomach and chest feel against his hands. 

Pascal laughs softly as Kip hugs him close and kisses his spine. Kip slides a hand down as he moves away to briefly cup Pascal's butt and grins when Pascal returns the gesture with a light pat.

The simple act of walking around naked from room to room is a little refreshing, a little relaxing, and still a little novel—even when they'd used to live together, there weren't many times they had the place to themselves long enough to just hang around unclothed outside of their bedroom. This feels more like the visits Kip had made to Pascal when they'd first started dating, and first started having sex.

He likes it. He likes knowing Pascal sees his body. He likes just being naked together, this reminder of the fact that they're lovers even as they're in the middle of such mundane activities as showering off and stripping down a bed.

Kip tells Pascal to give him the fresh sheets so he can put them on while Pascal takes his turn washing off, and Kip lays back on the bed again once he's done, resting a hand on his stomach and staring at the ceiling as he listens to the falling water. 

He's entirely preoccupied for the rest of Pascal's shower by the idea of falling asleep together, holding each other all night, and what feeling he might experience when he wakes up to find himself lying in bed with Pascal.

—

Pascal sits on the side of the bed with a towel slung over his shoulder. Kip comes over and sits behind him, taking the towel and working the length of his hair between the fabric, lying it across the top of his head and pushing it against his scalp with his fingertips kneading like a massage.

"I really like your home," Kip says, bunching up the towel and stroking it down his hair.

"Thank you," Pascal says earnestly. "I was hoping you would, I know it's pretty small, but..."

"I don't mind that at all. I don't need much space. Not that—I mean, not that I..."

He laughs a little breathlessly, embarrassed by his implication.

"...This can be as much your place as mine," Pascal murmurs. "I'd like you to feel like this is a home for you, too."

Kip feels a burst of heat in his face as he blushes. He puts the towel back over Pascal's shoulders and starts smoothing his hair by gently dragging his fingers through.

"Thank you," he says quietly. He leans in and kisses behind Pascal's ear. 

—

"I do have condoms, by the way, so we don't have to stop and clean off between stuff if we have to worry about like, cross-contamination and all."

"Right—ass cross-contamination," Kip says matter-of-factly, and Pascal laughs under his breath.

"I have some in your size, too."

"You remember that?" Kip turns around to face him, slightly incredulous. 

"Yeah, of course? Like...I remember that the color of your eyes is like the ocean in the pictures of beaches that they use in travel ads, and I remember your favorite kind of ice cream, and I remember your condom size."

Beaming, Kip leans up and kisses Pascal on the cheek.

—

"Oh, fuck," Pascal whispers.

Pascal's hips shift forward just an inch closer to the edge of the bed as Kip pushes his palms up the inside of Pascal's thighs. Kip rises up on his knees a little bit more and presses a lingering kiss to his stomach, keeping his eyes fixed on Pascal's face.

Kip drags his lips just below his navel and plants evenly-spaced kisses along the way as he slowly drifts downwards.

He loves how Pascal reacts as he kisses and licks all over his erection. He coaxes it to grow even harder, teasing it with light touches as he reacquaints himself with every intimate detail—nuzzling his face against it, letting his lips and nose and cheeks rub along its length—

"Kip, please—" Pascal pleads quietly, tone strained with choked-off desperation.

Kip laughs softly and kisses the tip, wrapping his hand around the base. It feels so warm that it sends a shiver rolling through his body.

"Is my hand cold?" He looks up at Pascal, gratified by the redness of his cheeks and his almost-pained expression.

Pascal shakes his head.

"Please," he repeats.

Kip smiles and keeps eye contact with Pascal as he moves his lips to the head of his dick. He flicks his tongue against it just barely, just grazes the tip, and beams when it makes Pascal flinch.

He starts slowly, pumping at the base, and keeps watching Pascal watching him as he opens his mouth. For just a second he lets his breath wash over him, sees Pascal bite his lip and curl the end of his arms, and then smoothly slips a few inches of length into his mouth.

Pascal is usually either at his loudest or his quietest during blowjobs, and in this case its the former. He strokes his arms up and down the back of Kip's head as if he wants to grab on but won't and rocks himself helplessly into Kip's mouth.

The sound of Pascal's sharp moans is running through Kip's skin like electricity.

He keeps it simple for a few minutes, steadily working Pascal up, sucking as he pushes his head down and dragging his tongue along the underside as he pulls back up. He thinks of everything he'd practiced, once again proving he can take all of Pascal's full erection into his mouth and down his throat, pushing his nose hard into Pascal's lower stomach to emphasize the fact. But he focuses more on what his tongue can do, deepthroating him only occasionally in between working the top few inches while using his fingers to provide an alleviating touch to the neglected base.

He slowly rubs a hand up and down the outside of Pascal's leg, from his knee to his hip, and feels the tension in Pascal's muscles. He slides his mouth off and kisses the flushed head.

"You can move more," he says, panting quietly as he catches his breath a little.

Pascal gives a weak groan in response. 

"Fuck my mouth," Kip tells him. 

"Oh god, Kip..."

"Fuck my mouth," he repeats. "I'll like it."

After a few deep breaths he takes him in again, deliberately slow, sliding up and down his length with his hands on Pascal's ass, tugging against it to encourage him to thrust. Pascal acquiesces enough to start rolling his hips a little, which Kip rewards with a throaty hum of approval.

With just a half minute more of effort, Kip has Pascal bucking into his mouth—not without some restraint, but it's a decent increase in pace from before.

Pascal twists the end of his arm around a broad clutch of Kip’s hair and pulls his head further down, holds him there as he rocks up into the back of his mouth. Kip gives a low moan and keeps his throat open, reaching down to touch his own dick.

He puts both hands back on Pascal's thighs when he needs to brace himself a little against the growing thrusts. The ache of his own untouched erection is making Kip restless, but it turns him on as well to let his own arousal build up while Pascal is coming further undone second by second.

If the increased abandon of Pascal's movement wasn't enough, the sharpness and roughness of his moans is a decent sign that he's getting close.

Kip puts his hands on Pascal's hips and lightly pushes against them, prompting Pascal to slowly dampen their movement until he's only rolling a few inches back and forth.

"Kip..." There's a pleading tone to his voice.

Kip gives a hard suck and pulls off, wrapping both hands around his length and keeping his lips pressed to the tip, panting against it.

"Want me to make you cum?" he asks, looking up at the desperately beautiful sight of Pascal's face.

"Please," Pascal breathes. "Yes."

Kip kisses the tip and stares at Pascal, unmoving, then laughs lightly and slides the end past his lips again with a generous suck. 

As if Pascal's moans weren't intense enough before, every urgent sound he's making now is the best possible endorsement of Kip's skill. Kip's working at the end of Pascal's dick as well as he can, folding his tongue and sliding the head tightly through the middle and pressing his tongue flat against the leaking slit and then giving a few light sucks and swirling it around the end—anything he can do to overstimulate Pascal.

Kip senses Pascal's climax about ten seconds before it hits, and with a few pushes he takes Pascal's full length again, feeling the beating pulse of his cock, burying his nose in the hair on his pelvis. He manages to swallow twice before Pascal's body tenses completely up as he orgasms. He cries out Kip's name and leans forward and Kip feels his own dick twitch at the release of cum down his throat. He quickly slides off of Pascal's length to let the cum spill past and over his lips, then closes his eyes and lets the last small splashes adorn his face, his cheeks and forehead and nose and jawline.

He kneels there, panting slowly, Pascal's dick still in his hand, Pascal's cum across his face and in his mouth and throat and dripping down his fingers. Every bit of eager anticipation he'd had for getting Pascal's cock in his mouth again and sucking him off has been worth it, and then some. The feeling of cum clinging to his lips and sliding down the bridge of his nose while its taste fills his mouth—he loves this, he wants a moment simply to bask in this.

He slowly becomes aware of the sound of Pascal's heavy breathing. He opens his eyes and sees Pascal looking down at him, chest rising and falling, nothing short of awe and adoration in his expression.

Kip looks back at him as he slowly leans forward and licks off the cum that's dripping down Pascal's cock. Pascal's shoulders rise up as if he’s shivering under the stimulation. Kip lets go of him after cleaning him off and brings the now-free hand up to his mouth to lick the cum off it as well. 

Pascal is watching every movement as though it's the first time he's ever seen anything like it. Kip crooks the corner of his mouth in a knowing smile.

"How do I look?" he teases. He draws his bottom lip into his mouth to suck off the cum.

"You’re the best thing I’ve ever seen," Pascal answers weakly.

Kip laughs quietly and blushes, glancing down for a moment and putting his hand to Pascal's knee, stroking his thumb across it. He slides his palm to Pascal's thigh and rubs slow circles over his warm skin as he gradually cleans his own face, wiping off cum with his fingers and sucking them clean, aware of how closely Pascal is watching him.

Kip sighs happily when he's done, resting his head against Pascal's leg for a moment. 

“Fuck me but that was fantastic, Pasc. You feel so fucking good in my mouth..."

"Let me kiss you," Pascal says. "Come here."

He's reaching down to Kip's shoulders; Kip looks at him and slowly stands, letting Pascal guide him up and onto his lap. Kip straddles his thighs and loops his arms over Pascal's shoulders, staring at his gorgeous face just inches away. Pascal smiles warmly at him, gaze full of affection, then wraps his arms around Kip's back and pulls him into a tender kiss.

It's soft and slow and almost chaste, but it feels like it's gradually building up static in Kip's nerves. He takes a moment to open his eyes after Pascal pulls away, only to close them again as Pascal starts dropping kisses all over his face, everywhere he’d came, gently sucking and licking at the patches of slight stickiness on Kip's skin. Kip tangles the fingers of both hands into Pascal's hair and massages the back of his head as Pascal brings his mouth back to Kip's, now pushing his tongue past his lips and coaxing Kip's tongue into his own mouth.

Pascal is licking at Kip's upper teeth when he slips his arm between their bodies and lightly strokes it down Kip's erection. Kip exhales heavily and pulls out of the kiss; he locks eyes with Pascal as he starts shifting his hips back and forth. 

Pascal leans in an inch so that their foreheads rest together, noses brushing. Kip closes his eyes and gives a tiny whimper as Pascal wraps his arm snugly around the length of his dick.

When Kip is overcome and starts bucking his hips, Pascal pulls him in until he's cradling Kip's head against his shoulder with one arm while smoothly working his dick with the other. Kip buries his face in the crook of Pascal's neck and clings to his back, digging his fingers into his shoulderblades as he thrusts with abandon into the warm, tight, softly textured coil of Pascal's arm.

Pascal turns his head to kiss Kip's cheek when Kip starts moaning and dragging his nails down Pascal's back.

"Is this good enough?" Pascal whispers to him. He nudges Kip's head back far enough to kiss his throat.

"Yes," Kip breathes. "Keep going, this is good, I like this."

“You do?”

“I love it.”

“Mm—“

He hangs on to Pascal and lets his boyfriend kiss his face and shoulder and neck and ear, rolling his hips as his cock is squeezed and pumped.

His moans grow a little louder and his movements a little more forceful as his buildup evens out and starts inching towards the peak. He cries out Pascal's name, simultaneously begging and praising him by repeating it.

Kip brings his mouth to Pascal's and kisses him despite his own heavy breathing. Pascal kisses him back, looping the end of his free arm around Kip’s hand. Kip tightens his grip on the arm, squeezes his knees against Pascal's thighs, thrusts hard, and does all he can to keep his lips pressed to Pascal's.

Pascal gently bites Kip’s lower lip and gives him a burst of fast and hard pumps; Kip freezes up. He gasps, choking out a whine, and grabs on to both of Pascal's arms as he cums and the flood of pleasure and relief washes over him.

The tension in his body eases away. He manages to kiss Pascal softly and then slumps forward to hug him loosely, draping himself across Pascal's torso. Pascal laughs, and Kip feels it against his chest.

Pascal slowly leans back, bringing Kip with him until they're lying against the bed. And then he carefully rolls them over so that Kip is on his back; Pascal rests on his side next to him.

Kip exhales a long sigh before opening his eyes and turning his head to look at Pascal. Pascal smiles fondly at him, heading resting on a coiled arm. 

"Hello, beautiful," Pascal murmurs, smiling a little bit more.

Kip's heart sparks at the simple situation: lying close together in their afterglow, looking at each other, everything peaceful and safe, Pascal's expression so quietly filled with the deepest love at just the sight of Kip’s face. 

"Pascal," he says softly. He returns his gaze with the utmost steadiness, just watching his face, just seeing him there. He smiles. He could just lie like this for hours.

Pascal lifts the arm Kip came in and brings it to his lips, keeping eye contact as he licks and kisses it clean, thorough and slow. 

Kip curls one hand into a fist and glances down at Pascal's mouth a few times, feeling a deep warmth settle in his face and chest. His cum in Pascal's mouth. Pascal tasting and swallowing it, wanting it. He bites repeatedly at the inside of his lip as he watches.

"...Did it look this good when I did it?" he manages to ask.

"Better," Pascal says solemnly.

Kip wants to cum on Pascal's face too, look down and see Pascal's mouth around the base of his cock, wants to orgasm while pushed deep into his throat, see traces of his cum drip down Pascal's lips.

His own mouth opens slightly as Pascal finishes with a few sucks of his armtip.

"I've never missed any other taste so much." Pascal smiles at him, a touch flirtatiously.

Kip kisses him on impulse, catching a slight taste of himself. He looks at Pascal again, just two inches away, and rests one hand on the side of his face and softly strokes his hair.

"Hold me, love," he says quietly. "I haven't been fucked in a year, so nobody's been cuddling me after fucking me either."

Pascal takes his hand and brings it against his lips.

"I'll try to make up for that."

—

Kip finds such incredible comfort and satisfaction in lying in each other's arms that a full hour is spent just holding each other, talking sometimes, resting in silence, kissing slow. It feels just like it used to; Kip is quietly overjoyed to have it back, and keeps snuggling closer to Pascal.

Pascal's arms are heavy against his body but touch him so softly, they rest their legs together, they lie chest-to-chest and spoon and entangle themselves, Kip drags his fingertips all over Pascal's body and massages his knuckles into his back, Pascal grips on to Kip with several feet of suckers and pulls him in, holding Kip's body with his own.

Kip is so warm. Even falling asleep under a pile of soft blankets has never seemed to feel as relaxing as this. The background ache and exhaustion in his muscles only further highlights how wonderful it is to do nothing but lie here and be with Pascal.

—

The cuddling naturally turns into sex. At first it's just holding each other close, then gently grinding together, then both stroking the other off. Then Kip rolls Pascal onto his back, straddles him, and takes both their erections in his hand. He leans in and kisses him deeply as they frot until they both cum across Pascal's torso.

After a break that includes a bit of washing up and joking around and drinking some water and Pascal explaining what the usual routine of running his shop is like, they fuck in the armchair, Kip's back to Pascal's broad chest, riding him. Pascal has one arm around Kip's erection, the other moving freely across Kip's front, feeling and grasping and rubbing at him. He grips on around Kip's waist and holds him down sometimes, tucking Kip's shoulder underneath his chin and thrusting powerfully up into him, making Kip cry out and grab on to him. Pascal leans back into the chair for support when they're nearing the finish, but when he cums he squeezes their bodies together again and buries his face against the nape of Kip's neck. Gasping and shaking, Kip's bucking suddenly grows more erratic before he grasps the coil of Pascal's arm with both hands, shoves his cock as deep into it as he can, and orgasms with his spine curving and head falling back.

Pascal slips his arm around Kip's chest to slowly pull him down until he's lying against him, panting. Kip lifts Pascal's arm and kisses it.

Kip wonders for a moment what he looks like, out of breath and flushed and sweaty, cum between his legs and bright blue spots across his torso where Pascal's suckers had latched on to him, sitting on Pascal's lap, slumped back against his wide torso as though Pascal's body is enthroning his own.

"Sometimes I wish I could see ourselves when we do stuff like this," he mumbles, rolling his head to the side to kiss Pascal's jaw.

"I bet we look pretty hot," Pascal says.

Kip lets Pascal wind his soft, strong arms around him and keeps his body limp in the hold as Pascal works a hickey into the base of his throat.

—

Kip lies beside Pascal, looking at his face. He's lovely at first glance, but the sight of him only grows more gorgeous with every moment spent taking it in. 

Kip has plenty of reasons to be amazed that Pascal is with him. That he stayed after Kip was dramatically, permanently changed overnight by deep trauma and grief. He was willing to leave behind his security in D for another chance to be with Kip. He waited for him for months and months without ever pressuring Kip to decide on whether he wanted to be together or not. And he reacted with sympathy and patience when Kip told him he liked another person, too. 

All of it is amazing. But it's not just the circumstances of their relationship. It's not just that Pascal noticed him—Kip knows he's often found strikingly attractive by all kinds of people, and for a long time he's been easily recognizable as Kent Kaizer's little brother. It's not just that they both managed to work up the nerve to start dating. 

It's that even when Pascal got to know Kip better and found out that he wasn't the handsome boy with a mysterious smile most people seemed to think he was, he was still interested. Kip's just ordinary. He's not cool and collected—he's anxious, he's easily worked up, he loves to joke around and laugh and have fun with the people he loves. He's like anyone else. He's not special, and Pascal loves him anyway. Kip marvels at that.

Kip loves to see Pascal's face even when he's asleep. But when he turns towards Kip and gives him that smile and gets that look in his eyes—it makes Kip think he'll never see anything so breathtaking.

—

Back in the bedroom, Kip has the chance to use the condoms Pascal got for him. He spends a good amount of time beforehand just kissing all over Pascal's body, feeling and caressing and following the shape of every part of him with his hands, planting kisses along the way, across his chest and stomach and on his knees and thighs and ankles and his neck and shoulders and along his hipbones and around his arms. Then he lies atop him for a little while and kisses his mouth and plays with his hair before he has Pascal roll over to lie on his front, and Kip repeats the process, kissing the nape of his neck, his spine, his sides, his arms, his shoulderblades, his ass, his legs. He lies beside Pascal to kiss him again, which quickly becomes making out, and Pascal's tiny sighs and moans into his mouth turn Kip on too much to maintain the slow pace anymore.

He ends up straddling Pascal's thighs and grinding against his ass, a hand resting on the small of his back for balance. He thrusts hard enough to push Pascal's hips into the mattress for him, then sucks on his fingers and carefully sinks the middle one into Pascal. It's not very long until he's put three fingers in at Pascal's encouragement, massaging his prostate while stretching him until Pascal all but begs to be fucked.

Kip slides off to get a condom and lube, and watching Pascal panting and whimpering and tugging at the sheets while humping the bed is one of the hottest things he's ever seen. He rolls the condom on quickly and coats it in lube and then gives Pascal a layer as well before straddling him again, widening the stance of his knees.

He keeps a hand flat against Pascal's spine as he slowly pushes into him; he can feel Pascal's body subtly arching and tensing at the sensation. He's not sure whether the feeling of being inside Pascal or the way Pascal breathes his name and moans approval spikes his arousal harder.

Once Pascal says he's ready, Kip begins rolling his hips at a gentle, steady pace. He shifts angles, holding Pascal's waist and leaning into him. He feels a little jolt in Pascal's muscles and knows he's got it and pauses, adjusts his knees slightly, and starts to thrust.

One part of him wants to draw this out as long as he can, but it's not nearly as strong as the part of him that wants to let go of his self-control and just fuck Pascal as hard as he wants. He's finding it increasingly difficult to resist doing so, and Pascal is coaxing him on, grinding back and moaning responsively whenever Kip thrusts harder.

He slows down for a moment, deepening the rocks of his hips to compensate. He always needs a moment to regain his composure before deciding to drop it entirely.

Pascal is breathlessly repeating his name and grinding back hard, clearly ready for more. Kip takes hold of Pascal's waist with one hand and leans in, reaching around and palming his dick, feeling its heat and slick traces of precum. 

If he drops his restraint, Pascal will too. And if he's retained his near-instinctive knowledge of both their bodies, he's pretty sure at this point it shouldn't be too impossible of a challenge to make Pascal cum at the same time as him.

He gets a firm grip on Pascal's waist and pulls as he rocks his hips forward hard. Pascal responds passionately, shoving himself back against Kip, sliding an arm down the headboard with an enthusiastic groan. Between Pascal’s encouragement and how good it all feels, Kip has no problem bucking harder and faster into him.

His rhythm and his increasing pleasure alike reach a steady intensity and his thoughts fall behind as he loses himself a little more with every beat of their hips. But the reaction he's getting from Pascal is just as intoxicating—his pleasure is obvious in his shaky voice and forceful movements and rough gasps for air.

Kip leans in and puts one hand on Pascal's shoulder and starts stroking him off with the other. The way Pascal moans his name, the heat of his cock, watching him bury his face into the pillow and curl the tips of his arms—it's all basically just about the best experience Kip can imagine.

Kip can feel himself getting close; he bites his tongue and grips Pascal's shoulder and forces his own thrusts to be more shallow, aiming for Pascal's prostate and swiping his thumb across the tip of Pascal's erection every few strokes. But Pascal's whimpers and shivering muscles are a good sign that he must be close, too. So Kip bears down and pumps harder at Pascal's dick and tangles his hand in Pascal's thick hair, pulling it slightly as he kisses his spine and bucks into him.

Pascal is breathing heavily, but still manages to moan Kip's name louder and more frequently. Kip works Pascal's erection as though it was his own and rubs his other hand over the soft hair of his broad chest. 

The moment he feels Pascal tensing up beneath him, he lets go of his own restraint and thrusts hard into Pascal to nudge them both towards the edge.

Pascal shoves back against him and then his whole body tightens beautifully, squeezing Kip’s dick, arching up. Cum spills between Kip’s fingers. Kip grabs hold of Pascal's waist and watches him climax just as he's brought to his own orgasm, pushing deep into Pascal.

Kip sinks down as it subsides, bracing himself with his elbows on either side of Pascal, resting his forehead against Pascal's back.

He seems to recover some of his strength quicker than Pascal, and sits up to gently coax him to roll over onto his back. The fact that Pascal is a mess only makes the sight of him even more gorgeous—his hair is in his deeply flushed face and he's shining with sweat and completely boneless against the bed, torso rising and falling quickly as he tries to catch his breath. 

Kip leans in and kisses Pascal's forehead and cheek and the corner of his mouth, then gets up and goes to the bathroom and throws away the condom and washes the cum off his hand. By the time he walks back into the bedroom, Pascal has opened his eyes and weakly reaches out to Kip as he approaches.

Just lying side-by-side is so relaxing. Kip trails his fingertips over Pascal's chest, trying to send slight washes of coolness over his skin. He listens to Pascal's breathing slow down and even out as he recovers, and takes a gentle hold of one of his arms. Kip laughs softly when Pascal rolls over to lie half on top of Kip, an arm and a leg across his body and his temple on Kip's shoulder. Kip cradles Pascal's head and kisses his hair.

Holding Pascal feels so nice, having him so close, skin soft and smooth and blessedly warm against the length of Kip's body. His weight is perfect too, pressing Kip snugly against the bed. Kip starts gently massaging Pascal's back at a lazy pace, moving his knuckles in slow circles, and accompanies it by dragging his fingertips through Pascal's hair. 

Pascal is still for so long that it takes Kip by surprise when he smoothly pushes himself up and kisses Kip on the lips. Kip opens his mouth after a few gentle licks from Pascal and lets their tongues meet, and they kiss deeply for several minutes on end, taking several breaks to breathe during which Pascal kisses Kip’s nose and cheeks.

Pascal apologizes when he realizes the suckers on his arm have involuntarily latched on to Kip's side, but Kip shushes him and cuddles closer.

—

"Before we start, I wanted to ask if you'd rather cum on my face or in my mouth?" Pascal looks up at Kip with a faint smile, slowly coiling his arm around the base of Kip's erection. "Or both, really. Because I'm fine with anything."

Kip blushes harder and puts his hands flat against the wall behind him, digging his fingertips against the surface as if he could hold on to it the way Pascal can. He draws a deep breath.

Pascal kisses the tip of his dick—Kip's legs twitch and he gasps. Pascal presses a steadying arm against Kip's right hip. 

"What would you prefer, love?" Pascal asks gently, squeezing his hold on Kip's erection and pointing it towards his mouth. The warmth of his breath, his parted lips, the unwavering gaze of his gorgeous brown eyes—Kip is completely caught up in the moment.

"I—" he begins weakly, laying a hand in Pascal's hair, sliding it gently down the side of his head. 

Pascal touches him with his soft lips and licks the crest of the head. Kip breaks.

"Your face," Kip gasps, leaning into the arm on his hip and clenching a hand into a fist. "Both. But especially your face."

Pascal smiles at him and blushes harder.

"Got it."

Kip figures he can be deeply proud of himself if he’d given Pascal anything like what Pascal's giving him. He drops his self-control within the minute that Pascal takes his cock into his mouth; he keeps his back against the wall but can't help bucking into Pascal’s mouth.

His thoughts stumble and mix and overlap, he grows loud and incoherent with groans and whines and sharp cries. It's like everything he has is devoted to processing the sensation, absorbing its full intensity as best he can. He has no sense of whether five minutes or an hour goes by. He's completely consumed by this rapturous feeling—he's not sure he could keep his head in this situation even if he was trying, but he has no interest in doing so. 

He lets Pascal control everything and do whatever he feels like doing—and he seems to want to make Kip freeze himself to the wall with how good this blowjob is. Kip puts a hand helplessly on Pascal's head and whimpers and tries to keep his knees from buckling, and Pascal gives a few hard sucks as he winds his arm tighter around the base of Kip's dick.

It had already seemed as overwhelming as possible, but then Pascal gives a low moan while holding Kip's entire length in his mouth and throat, and locks eyes with Kip while he tongues the head of his cock. Kip feels as though he can be shaken apart into a million shivering pieces.

The only way he can inform Pascal that he thinks he's close is with a loud, long groan while giving a fistful of his hair a light tug. Pascal hums and slides an arm up between Kip's legs to rim him with the end while he deepthroats him. Kip crumbles.

He can barely hear his own cries; he thrusts forward and stiffens; Pascal gathers him in off the wall, holding him in his mouth as he starts to cum. And then Pascal pulls off to let the rest of the cum hit his face and fall on his chest; Kip watches breathlessly and tries not to outright collapse as his orgasm bursts through him in a powerful, transcendently blissful rush. 

As soon as his climax begins to fade into his afterglow, Kip sinks to his knees in front of Pascal and cups his face in his hands, studying every minute detail of the sight. Pascal smiles softly at him, catching his own breath, then licks the cum from his lips. Kip pulls him in and interrupts his own "I love you" with a kiss.

—

Pascal holds on to the wall with his suckers as Kip fucks him up against it, resting his forehead over Pascal's spine. He keeps it slow, keeps his movements even and deep and controlled. He touches and kisses all over Pascal's skin and hugs him as they move together, feeling his warmth and the shift of his muscles.

He can talk to Pascal through the easy pace, murmur compliments and encouragement to him as he fucks him, stroke Pascal's cock to makes his voice waver as he answers. He kisses the base of Pascal's neck, working him up gently and slowly, taking as much time as he wants—which he wishes was all the time in the world.

—

Making out in the kitchen leads to Kip bent over the counter as Pascal grinds hard against his ass. Kip tries his best to grip on to the countertop with his hands splayed flat against it; his breathless laughs quickly turn into moans.

—

"Here you go, babe."

Pascal sets a mug of green tea on the table beside the couch, where Kip has spent several minutes engaging in a number of stretches of his back, shoulders, and arms.

"Thank you," Kip says, tilting his head towards his shoulder with the help of a hand on his temple. He straightens up after a few seconds, arches his back for a few more, and then sits with his legs crossed as he takes the warm tea in his hands.

He glances up to see Pascal watching him from where he sits in the armchair.

"...What's up?" Kip laughs quietly, feeling himself blush.

Pascal blushes too and gives him a smile.

"Sorry, it's nothing, I just..." He rubs an arm over his knee. "It's really nice just being able to see you sitting there. I love having you here so much, it's...it's something I used to daydream about since back when I first got this place."

Kip gets a fluttery feeling in his chest and holds his tea a bit tighter, self-conscious in a pleasant way.

"Back then I didn't try to get my hopes up that this would ever really happen, but that didn't keep me from wishing for it anyways. I guess that part of me's really happy just to be able to give you tea and sit here with you."

Kip touches his ear and smiles at the floor. Pascal makes him feel so wanted, so valued, even when he’s doing nothing.

He puts his tea down and walks over, directing Pascal's face upwards with a caress to his jawline, and kisses him softly.

—

Pascal goes to start dinner, but Kip works him over once more before he can. He fingers him and sucks his dick until he cums hard, then sends him off to continue with a warm kiss.

—

They sit together at the small, round table to eat, and with their close proximity and the lighting from a tea candle, it feels something like a night out at a restaurant. Save for the fact that a t-shirt, a tank top, and their underwear are the only clothing they have between them. Maybe it's the relaxation brought on by all the sex, maybe it's the simple fact that he's with Pascal, but Kip finds it naturally effortless to keep up a decent pace of conversation. He doesn't feel the slightest pressure to impress anymore. Pascal doesn't leave him with any doubt about what he thinks of Kip and how he feels about him.

—

Kip insists on helping Pascal clean up, but even now he's still so starved for touch that he keeps distracting himself by brushing his fingertips down Pascal's back, touching his side, rising on tiptoe to kiss his jaw, bumping their arms. But Pascal seems just as eager for little moments of contact as Kip is. 

His favorite just might be when he's rinsing his hands off at the sink and Pascal walks up behind him and slips his arms around his waist, pulling Kip back against his chest, and kisses him behind the ear. It gives him such a nice moment of surprise and such a lasting, warm, affectionate feeling.

It's been so long since he's openly engaged with these emotions, since they've had any use save as echoes of themselves while he's remembered his past or dreamt of his future. He loves this part of himself, he loves feeling this way, sharing this with Pascal.

When he pivots in Pascal's arms to face him, his attempt at kissing him is thwarted by the fact that he starts giggling, which just makes him laugh harder when he tries to power through it. Pascal smiles and scatters light kisses all across his face.

—

"Oh my god..." Pascal sighs, closing his eyes.

Kip has put him in an apparent state of ecstasy for the past half hour by lightly scratching his back and shoulders and occasionally kneading his knuckles into his muscles. Pascal has gone from sitting up against the couch to lying boneless on his stomach; Kip straddles his thighs and leans in to let his weight intensify the massage. 

"Here, tell me where it feels best." Kip slowly drifts his touch down Pascal's spine, from between his shoulderblades towards the small of his back.

"Oh, there," Pascal groans. He nuzzles his face into the cushion and pushes up slightly against Kip's hands.

"Okay." Kip digs in harder and grins when Pascal swears quietly in breathless euphoria. "Is your back sore there?" 

"A little..."

Kip puts his weight into it even further. 

He continues even as his arms get a little tired, basking in the glow of Pascal's deep contentment. He intersperses it with gentle scratches of his nails along Pascal's skin, pushing his hands up along the slopes his back in smooth, wide sweeps. Feeling the tiny, responsive shifts of Pascal's body beneath his touch and seeing Pascal's arm spill further and further over the side of the couch is so satisfyingly lovely.

When his arms finally grow too tired, he murmurs an apology for having to stop. Pascal rolls over onto his side and pulls Kip down to lie with him, chest to chest, thighs pushed together.

Pascal wraps a hold around Kip's hand and lifts it up to kiss it.

"Are your hands cold?" he asks.

"A little," Kip answers.

Pascal presses the hand to his own chest and holds the other against his lips, bathing it in warm exhales. 

Kip closes his eyes.

—

They talk for hours into the night, sometimes laughing and swapping anecdotes, voices quieting other times under the intimate weight of deeply personal subjects. Not for the first time, Kip has another little experience of falling in love with Pascal as his boyfriend describes the certainty he had that he would always carry a deep regret if he didn't try moving to C, yet how afraid he was—of living somewhere so different from the area he'd known all his life, of trying something so new as being a shopkeeper, of facing the risks Kip had warned him of, and of potentially losing any relationship with Kip permanently. He talks of how unsure he'd been of how he ought to reach out to Kip, or when he'd work up the confidence to do so. Part of him had been relieved that Kip had accidentally walked into his shop, and part of him had been worried that it had been too much, too soon. But he says he had an inherent trust in Kip that no amount of worrying could shake—and the look on his face when he speaks of it makes Kip curl his toes.

He tells Kip about the time he got off at the wrong station when taking that train line for the second time ever and didn't realize it for about half an hour, about which he liked best of the movies he'd seen in the past year, about how he'd recently taken up a sculpting class and found he'd liked it, though it was sometimes difficult to wash his arms off completely afterwards. 

Kip tells him about all the worries he's been having lately—all of them, including more elaboration on what he'd struggled with before deciding he wanted to ask out Pascal, his fears that he's never been able to know himself and that he has no idea what he really wants from his future, his feelings about Wallace, Ben, Molly, Roy, his bouts of loneliness and depression and grief and anxiety and overall stress, his enduring sense of inadequacy—and at times, inferiority. He tells him how he still feels he lacks the confidence or energy to play even a semi-public role, but worries the choice has never really been in his hands. He tells him how he sometimes feels that, in everything that's been happening in recent years, he's lost the ability to let his hair down and enjoy himself without cares the way he used to. He tells him that in the back of his mind he at times still dreads going to bed, as he associates it with unpleasant dreams, nightmares so terrible they're almost flashbacks, and night terrors that left him badly anxious the next day.

"Are you worried about that right now?" Pascal asks, drawing his legs up further onto the couch.

Kip can't help smiling.

"No. I'm actually kind of excited. I've missed sharing a bed with you really badly ever since we moved."

Pascal blushes and smiles in turn.

"Yeah," he says quietly. "Me too. It's a lot harder to relax without being able to wake up to you."

"Aw..." Kip laughs and touches his heated cheek. 

Minutes later, he's in Pascal's lap again while Pascal kisses him and jerks him off. It's gentle and gradual, Kip moves his hips slowly, holds on to Pascal, and only begins to get out of breath towards the end. His orgasm is subdued but lovely; he stills his body with a long inhale, shivering as he peaks in Pascal's embrace with a satisfying wash of pleasure. Pascal cradles him even closer and they kiss softly for a quarter of an hour.

—

Kip looks at himself in the mirror after toweling off from his bath. He figures he's just imagining it, but it does look like his neutral expression is somehow softer, like his features look nicer, like they inherently radiate his contentment and relaxation. He knows it's likely just his own state of mind making him feel more positive towards himself, but at the same time, he wouldn't be surprised at all to find that Pascal makes him more beautiful.

—

Pascal draws back the sheets for him, and Kip approaches the bed almost reverently. He hesitates for just a moment and looks at Pascal lying there, and then crawls up onto the mattress and slips his legs under the blankets.

"Oh," he breathes. "It's warm..."

His heartbeat quickens as he settles on his side and puts his head on the pillow. Pascal lowers the blankets and they look at each other.

Pascal looks so handsome. Kip feels so lucky to have ever even met him.

"How are you?" Pascal smiles softly at him.

"This is so nice," Kip says. "I'm really happy, Pasc."

Pascal grins and kisses Kip's forehead; Kip laughs and puts his hand on Pascal's chest. 

"I missed you," Pascal murmurs against his skin, so earnestly that Kip blushes.

"I know," Kip whispers. "I missed you, too."

He puts his arm around Pascal.

—

They cuddle for ages. Kip is so enamored with this, Pascal so close to him, every inch of their bodies together, feeling as though he's reliving what it had been like to be with Pascal every day. 

They keep having several-minute periods of kissing, Kip keeps snuggling up to Pascal as though, even with no space between them, they can get even closer. Inevitably, they start slowly grinding together, but keep it relaxed and easy—it's just fun and feels good, like any of the other times they've worked each other up without the intent to take it all the way to orgasm. As they slow down, Kip puts his hand on Pascal's back and, after a few moments of focus, bathes them in gentle coolness to counter the heat they've generated. Pascal sighs with relief and kisses the top of his head.

But what feels most incredible is when they start to drift off, and Kip finds himself half-asleep in Pascal's embrace. He hasn't felt so warm and safe and comfortable in way too long. This alone is enough to make everything feel okay.

—

Kip wakes slowly, growing a bit confused as his senses return to him. But the moment he identifies the soft weight across his chest as Pascal's arm, he's fully alert. He looks over to see Pascal inches away, sleeping, and the realization is so powerful it catches his breath. He looks at Pascal's face as his remembers the prior evening, and feels a deep satisfaction fill his whole body. After a minute or two spent simply soaking in the moment, he closes his eyes again with a long exhale. He'd be happy to be here for years.

—

The whole of the next day is worthy of any of the jokes Kate cracked about this visit. They have plenty of breaks to rest and rehydrate and hold each other and have long conversations full of laughter, but from the start of their day to the finish, they have sex over and over and over and over and over, incessantly drawn right back to each other.

—

Kip takes a hot bath while Pascal makes them dinner, and lies back in the warmth of the water, eyes closed, listening to the quiet sounds of Pascal moving around outside.

—

Kip wakes up in the middle of the night to pee, and when he climbs back into bed, Pascal's mostly-asleep, mumbled "I love you" melts his heart.

—

It takes him a bit to drag himself out of bed and away from Pascal after his phone wakes him up, and he takes a warm shower simply as a reward for standing upright. He tries to keep quiet as he changes into his work clothes in the corner of his bedroom, but can't help pressing a light kiss to Pascal's forehead before he goes. 

Leaving the apartment is slightly miserable, but he manages to lift his mood on the walk to work by reminding himself he's going to be returning to Pascal in a few hours. The empty café is lonely, but he tries to take advantage of the solitude to dwell on the past day and a half as he goes about the routine of getting ready to open. It renders him fairly absentminded, but Sunday mornings are usually quiet, and, luckily, this one's not an exception. 

But even only a couple of hours after being with him and a few hours more away from being with him again, he misses Pascal. He supposes that when he has to leave tomorrow afternoon he'll miss Pascal even worse. But maybe, as it does now, the promise of seeing him again in the future will be a comfort.

—

He gets a text from Pascal saying "I missed waking up with you. I can't wait until you get back."

It sits light in his chest for the rest of his shift. There's this hint of a sense of total belonging that he hasn't really had since the fire, and the way it feels to be with Pascal like this—he can't doubt that it's the right thing for him.

—

The last hour definitely drags on. When Molly shows up he's nervously wringing the hem of his apron. The second his shift is over, before he even gets a chance to get a word in, she all but pushes him out the door with the order that he not keep Pascal waiting. 

The clouds spit rain on him as he steps outside, but he doesn't mind in the least. He gets to go back to Pascal. He hasn't felt this eager and lighthearted in so long that he'd practically forgotten what it's like. He only gets about two blocks away from the café before he starts to jog.

—

He uses the key that Pascal had left for him to get back inside the building and only takes a few seconds to remember where the stairway is. He's at the door to the apartment in half a minute, and the moment he's back inside is so gratifying. He immediately empties his pockets, putting everything on the living room table with his apron, just before Pascal walks in from the bedroom and wraps him up in a hug.

The hug immediately becomes a kiss, and within half a minute becomes sexual. They playfully bite each other's lips and tug at each other's bodies, clumsily pushing one another up against furniture and walls in something of a game. But when Kip’s pinned down with his back arched over the arm of the couch, one hand on Pascal's side and the other in Pascal's hair as his boyfriend sucks on his throat, Kip is way too turned on to continue playing along. He instead pulls Pascal closer and grinds up against him with a prolonged, sighing moan, and is delighted when Pascal's immediate response is to grab his ass and help him grind even harder.

Pascal has to concentrate when he undoes Kip's shirt, working each button open with slow, deliberate care. Kip luxuriates in the attention, in the time and focus Pascal is more than willing to invest in the process of gradually baring his torso. Pascal keeps pausing every couple of buttons to kiss across the wedge of blue skin he's uncovered, Kip's collarbones and chest and sternum and stomach. He kisses Kip's mouth once the shirt is fully opened, sliding his arms around to Kip's back to further push the fabric off of him. Kip rolls his hips and shrugs the shirt away, pushing himself up further into Pascal's arms. And then Pascal gets to work on his belt, and Kip has to momentarily bury his face in his hands to keep still.

Pascal ends up fucking him on the floor. Kip accidentally pulls one of the cushions off the couch. He's left feeling so well worked over that he only bothers moving enough to make room for Pascal to lie down next to him and snuggle in close.

—

"I love that we're together like this," Pascal murmurs. 

There's such an intensity in his gaze, but it doesn't make Kip glance away. He likes everything about this; he knows he wants to carry with him every little detail he can hold.

Pascal loops his arm around Kip's wrist to lift his hand up, lowering his head and nudging the loosely curled-in fingers with his nose until he can kiss Kip's palm.

Kip closes his eyes, relaxing against Pascal's side.

He lets Pascal slowly press kisses to the back of his hands and fingers and thumb, then sits up and leans in to catch Pascal's lips with a kiss. He holds it for several seconds, then leans away and looks at his boyfriend's face, gently brushing some of his long hair aside.

"I love you," he says quietly.

Pascal smiles and draws him into a hug, tucking his face against the crook of Kip's neck. 

Kip puts his arms around him.

As they hold each other, peaceful and still, Kip feels his own body lose its coolness until he shares the same warmth as Pascal.

—

Kip kneels by Pascal's side, kissing him at length, and trails a hand down Pascal's front until he's petting his crotch. It makes Pascal's kisses grow more and more heated until they're passionately making out; soon they're dry-humping on the couch, laughing breathlessly and pulling each other closer.

The ensuing sex ends up lasting almost two hours. There were enough periods when things slowed down that they're not completely exhausted afterwards, but for a good while Kip rests against Pascal, lazily caressing his chest and gently cooling them both as Pascal traces meandering shapes on the small of Kip's back.

—

A bit after their late lunch, Pascal lays Kip down on the bed and feels all over his body with his mouth and arms, tirelessly thorough. Kip lets Pascal touch his body however he wants, keeping his own muscles relaxed as Pascal lifts and rotates his leg to kiss his ankle or nudges him slightly onto his side to get at his back. 

He grows warmer and even more relaxed as the touching progresses. It gives him this relationship with his body that's different from everyday. Normally it's just there, moving and supporting and letting him interact with the world, but he doesn't need to think about it or give it any attention. But when he's in Pascal's arms, it's like he experiences his body in the way Pascal does, exploring and feeling himself and understanding every inch of his skin as something desirable and nice.

Pascal settles over him and kisses along the front of his torso, from the base of his throat to the muscles beneath his navel, his sides and shoulders. The light-as-air kisses grow slightly heavier; Pascal licks his nipple and breathes warm air on it, his lips millimeters from Kip's skin. By the time Pascal lies down beside Kip and kisses his mouth, Kip is effortlessly aware of his whole body and every movement he makes and how it touches Pascal.

When he's rolled over onto his stomach to let Pascal touch the rest of him, Pascal lingers at the patch of skin on the left side of the small of his back, a spot above his hip that's just slightly waxier than the smooth skin around it, just a little darker yet brighter in color. Kip closes his eyes and inhales deeply as Pascal runs the tip of his arm around its nebulous border and then kisses it. 

It's a small region, hardly different from the unburnt skin around it, just barely scarred, always hidden under a shirt. Only a lover would ever notice it, and only Pascal out of anyone in existence would recognize it as a change to his body.

"It's left from before." Kip's quiet affirmation is further muffled by the pillow. 

Pascal plants soft kisses there over and over and over.

—

"I remember when I first met you. When I first saw you. I thought you were so beautiful I stopped right where I was."

Kip cuddles closer to Pascal. He nuzzles his forehead against his chest.

"And even once I'd gotten brave enough to even try talking with you, I was sure I could never date you, and that you wouldn't ever be interested anyways. I hoped so much, though. God, I couldn't help but hope so, so hard."

Kip smiles softly.

"I wanted to be with you so badly, Kip. But you seemed totally untouchable, and I thought I must be lying to myself when it seemed like you were interested back. I could hardly believe it that I got your number, and when we would have these long phone calls it felt like I was just living out this fantasy, or I'd stepped into someone else's life. It didn't seem real that we might be dating. Even when we met up and started hanging out, I couldn't quite convince myself to believe it was a date."

"Did it help that time I suggested we stop somewhere for dinner?" Kip asks quietly, rubbing Pascal's arm with his thumb.

Pascal laughs.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I felt like that must be a good sign. I could barely think straight after I went home because part of me kept saying: what if Kip Kaizer is your boyfriend? And I would get this burst of happiness fighting to come out, and have to try to hold it back, because I still couldn't be completely sure. It just seemed so impossible that...I don't know, that you didn't already have a thousand people lined up to date you already, and that if you weren't with someone already, you'd want to be with me, of all people."

"You held my hand," Kip murmurs, closing his eyes.

"Yeah...” Pascal gives a quiet laugh. “I was so nervous to try it that there were about a million times I wanted to touch your hand before I actually did. And of course when I did, it was only after you'd accidentally touched me first—"

"It wasn't an accident."

"It wasn't?" Pascal sounds genuinely surprised.

"No," Kip laughs.

"Oh, gosh..." Pascal laughs too. "Then I guess it worked. I mean, I was able to convince myself to take your hand in part because, if you hated it or it seemed weird, I figured I could act like I had done it without thinking."

"I didn't hate it. I'd wished it had lasted longer."

"It was shorter than I would ever want it to be," Pascal agrees. "But really, once I'd held your hand for just a few seconds and you seemed okay with it, I was so excited that it made me nervous and I felt like I had to let go while I was still ahead."

Kip slips his hand down to rest on Pascal's hip.

"I was pretty much over the stars when you kissed me." Pascal's voice quiets. "That day, and just knowing we were really together, that you really liked me, it was absolutely like living a dream."

"Babe—" Kip wraps an arm around him and looks up at his face. "You made me so, so happy, too."

He kisses him softly, twice.

"From my perspective?" he continues. "This gorgeous boy just appeared out of nowhere, looking at me and talking to me like I was the most interesting person to him out of everyone around. It felt a little like something out of a story. I wanted us to kiss from that very first moment."

Now Pascal kisses him. 

"I'm so glad I'm with you again," Pascal says.

"...I feel the same," Kip answers.

Pascal smiles and wraps his arm around Kip's hand and puts his lips against Kip's forehead.

—

The sex they have all day is in this lovely place where it feels like its a familiar indulgence again. The magnetic charge they've built up from being apart so long means they rarely go over half an hour without someone being pushed against the wall or bent over furniture, without falling onto the bed or reaching into underwear. Kip can't get enough of touching Pascal, blowing him, being pushed down by his weight while being fucked by him, watching Pascal come undone at his touch and then cede all control as Kip fucks him. Pascal seems to want him just as badly as Kip wants Pascal. And it only feels better the more they get each other off.

Sharing the afterglow is one of Kip's favorite kinds of cuddling. Laughing as they catch their breaths, kissing messily, tucking their heads together while they rest. 

Kip's desire for sex seems insatiable; every time Pascal starts seducing him, it's a mere handful of moments before he's completely turned on; soon after their last round, Kip will find himself drawn to Pascal again. He loves it, and knows it's only fair they get to fuck as many times as they could possibly want—he figures he could even keep this pace up for a week or more, if they had that long.

Pascal is so beautiful and caring and gentle and sweet. Kip is continuously amazed just by being in his presence, in this radiance of warmth and love and intimacy that flows from him. The deep and unabashed love for Kip that he expresses is as good an aphrodisiac as anything.

Flat on his back, Kip weakly lifts himself onto his elbows to look at Pascal. Pascal looks up at him, and despite his mouth being otherwise occupied, unmistakably smiles at Kip with his eyes. Kip sighs an equal blend of a laugh and a moan.

—

"Can I bring you your tea?" Pascal's voice floats through the wall.

"Sure." Kip sits up slightly. "The door's open already."

A minute later Pascal enters the bathroom, carrying his kettle and a cup on a saucer.

"Thank you," Kip murmurs as Pascal sets the tea on the border of the tub. The ruby liquid ripples gently and issues fresh, curling folds of steam. 

"Would you like the rest of the water in the tub?"

"Oh, sure—"

Kip draws his legs in and Pascal tips the near-boiling water from the kettle into the foot of the tub, splashing down gently as it diffuses through the bathwater. Kip shivers as the heat embraces him, reaching his calves and then thighs and then stomach and waist and back.

"Is that okay?" Pascal asks. "Do you need more?"

Kip smiles and shakes his head.

"This is nice. Thank you, Pas."

He tilts his head up and Pascal brings their lips together. Kip feels the steam spill against his chest and throat.

—

Kip wrinkles his nose at his reflection as he combs his hair into place; Pascal comes to the doorway and leans against it.

"I could take you out for dinner," he says. 

"Hm? Oh—yeah, we could do that," Kip answers, meeting his own eyes in the mirror.

"There's a nice little place that's just a short walk away, it's not too fancy or anything, but I think it's pretty good. I usually stop by at least once a month or so." 

"Sure," Kip says.

"It's quiet there. So’s the walk over.”

Kip at once understands the implication. He feels gently relieved and brushes his fingers through his hair.

"Okay," he says softly. He turns and smiles at Pascal.

Pascal blushes and Kip sees him try to hold back a laugh until it spills out of him in a giggle.

"I really want to take you out," he says, grinning. "But it doesn't have to be now, or here. I can go out and bring some stuff home, too..."

"It's fine, I can go out with you," Kip says.

"Okay." The excitement behind Pascal's voice is obvious; Kip smiles to himself, a warmth in his chest at Pascal's happiness, and laughs when Pascal leans down and kisses his cheek. 

—

Kip is a little anxious at walking down the street outside, still only a few blocks away from Berkley, but the pleasure of walking with Pascal soon distracts him from his concerns—along with the fact that no one seems to pay him any mind. It had often been the case anyhow, back when they lived in D, that people's attention was drawn more by the guy standing beside him who was over twice his size.

They have a nice evening meal, enjoying both the benefits of being in public and the privacy of their little table tucked against the wall in one of the corners. Pascal's company is so restorative, Kip feels parts of himself stirring to life that had been dormant ever since he watched Pascal disappear through the back windshield of a cab. He feels more fully and genuinely himself, just sitting across from Pascal as his boyfriend, in the awareness that they're really and actually together again.

Pascal grimaces at a noodle that fell off his fork.

"I like this place," Kip says.

Pascal looks up at him and a soft smile pulls at his mouth.

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh. It's nice."

He reaches across the table and lays his hand on Pascal's arm and strokes it with his thumb.

Being on a date with Pascal. 

He's glad he's here.

—

Minutes after they arrive back home, they pull each other close and kiss, and somehow manage to make it all the way to the bed. Kip can't help but laugh at how eagerly Pascal kisses and touches him, and he relaxes into the pull of gravity to let Pascal do whatever he wants. But Pascal is even more driven by what feels good for Kip, keenly attentive to the slightest breath of a moan or softest push into the touch of his mouth, responding at once to any cue of especial pleasure from Kip with an enthusiastic repetition of its apparent cause.

Kip tells Pascal he'd like this to last especially long and the buildup to be slow, and Pascal complies wonderfully. Although their pace eventually grows more athletic, for a good while their efforts are calm and leisurely; they indulge in their arousal but continually return to a close embrace and a slow grind, kissing sweetly, bringing their mouths to each other's face, throat, shoulders, chest. 

Pascal has so much strength—he keeps sliding an arm around Kip's back and lifting his upper body right up off the bed to pull him closer, touch him further. Kip relaxes into the hold and sighs with bliss as Pascal drags his lips across his chest and slides an arm down to stroke and grip his ass and thighs.

Kip brings his knees in to hold Pascal's hips and grinds harder against him. Pascal reciprocates at once and to Kip's delight grinds forcefully against him, pinning him to the mattress. They quickly create a thrilling friction that makes Kip laugh loudly, wrap his arms around Pascal's shoulders, and shove back against the rhythm as best as he can. His heart leaps to hear Pascal's breath catching.

The whole time they're nearing their climaxes, Kip keeps a hand against the nape of Pascal's neck, palm resting against the base of his skull, cradling his head. When Pascal rolls them onto their sides so he can wrap a few loops of his arm around their erections, Kip puts a hand in his hair again. Pascal's warm exhales spill against his skin; they quicken and intensify and Kip holds on to him tighter.

Pascal reaches his orgasm first, low moans of Kip's name replaced by a whimper as he buries his face in Kip's shoulder. He tightens the grip of his arm for Kip's sake even as the rest of his limbs relax in the wake of his climax. Pascal leans back and Kip whines softly, missing the pressure and heat of Pascal's dick. But it's not a complete loss—his own erection is now completely encircled by Pascal's suckers and lubricated with Pascal's cum.

Pascal bites the side of Kip's neck and pumps his arm, working Kip rapidly to his peak. Kip hooks a leg around Pascal and digs his fingers into Pascal's spine; Pascal bites down harder and rolls his hips to rock Kip's body and Kip pushes his head back and grits his teeth and thrusts as hard as he can manage into Pascal's arm, trying to get as much stimulation as possible.

Pascal holds Kip so close when he finishes. He's shuddering afterwards, his muscles trembling—Pascal rolls them over again so that Kip is lying on top, resting boneless against Pascal's larger body. 

Pascal murmurs affection to him as Kip pants and weakly strokes Pascal's soft, broad chest. When he recovers a bit more energy, he lifts his head some and presses soft kisses to Pascal's collarbones, throat, and jaw. Pascal lays an arm across the small of his back and rubs gentle circles over his spine, and nuzzles the side of his face against Kip's to guide him until he lies his head against Pascal's shoulder.

Every time they've found themselves in this position, Kip's wished it wouldn't end. But now that he knows he's going to be leaving tomorrow, the feeling creeps in even stronger.

He closes his eyes and tries not to mourn this before it's even over, to keep his little pangs of anxiety from interfering with fully experiencing how lovely and peaceful this feels. He buries his face in Pascal's hair and clenches his hand.

—

"I wish I didn't have to leave tomorrow." 

Kip confesses quietly as they sit together on the couch, warmed by a shared blanket. Two cups of tea sit on the coffee table.

Pascal leans gently against him.

"I know. Me too."

Pascal's voice has this familiar tone, one that's deeply understanding but so good-natured in its sadness that Kip can't help a small smile. 

"I guess we'll have to keep reminding ourselves that we'll see each other again soon," Kip sighs. "It's not like this is the last and only time I can visit. We're so close to each other... I mean, surely I could visit at least once a week?"

"Oh, our schedules would have to line up at least that often," Pascal says. "Even if it's not overnight like this, or as many days in a row as this, we'd have to always be able to find an afternoon or something somewhere."

"Yeah..."

Kip absentmindedly pets the side of Pascal's arm.

"Just because I've been here, though, doesn't mean I don't want to keep seeing you other places," he says. "The way we've already been doing, I mean. It's really nice to see you anywhere at any time of day, even if its just for a few minutes."

"I know what you mean. No matter how good or bad a day is, it makes me like things more just by getting to talk to you."

Kip smiles again and gently squeezes Pascal's arm.

"But we aren't even at that point yet," Pascal says. "We'll be together tomorrow until you need to start your shift, and that's not until the afternoon. And we're together right now."

"...We are," Kip affirms. He wants to enjoy every moment spent like this, and once he focuses his attention on that fact, his slight stress is gently swept away. "We're together, and I'm so happy."

He spends the next hour in his boyfriend's arms, talking with him and cuddling close to his warmth. He lies contentedly against him while Pascal pets his hair. For just right now, he doesn't worry about a blessed thing in the world.

—

Kip lies Pascal back onto the bed and against his lap, resting Pascal's head on his own thigh, and occupies him with soft kisses to his arm while slowly bringing the hand that cups his face down to his chest, down to his stomach, down to his hip, his thigh—slowly, slowly drifting down between his legs. 

He can feel Pascal's excitement, the telltale hint of tension in his muscles and the way he just barely moves to turn his body towards Kip's touch. When Kip brushes his fingers over Pascal's dick, Pascal moans softly and Kip squeezes his arm and licks it during a kiss. 

He keeps it all gentle, slow, and close. He sits up as he pets and rubs Pascal's erection to life, watching his work's progress as he slides his hand up and down the growing length. He continually looks back and forth between Pascal's cock and his face; he keeps getting caught in the sight of Pascal's eyes closing and lips parting, color blooming into his cheeks and brow twitching as he grows more restless. But he also loves this chance to watch unimpeded as he jerks Pascal off, just stare at his dick as he touches it, soak it in. Both sights are so lovely—he keeps dropping occasional kisses to Pascal's arm, and wishes he could kiss his lips.

He works Pascal up steadily, pumping harder and playing with the tip. He cradles Pascal's head with his other hand, soothingly stroking his hair. Pascal turns his face towards Kip's stomach, squeezing his eyes shut and groaning quietly; Kip brushes the backs of his fingers down Pascal's cheek.

Pascal's arms curl and draw in onto his chest. He whines softly and his body shifts against the bed as he rocks his hips. Kip leans in to make it easier to speed his rhythm a bit more. He watches Pascal's face closely as he does, noticing the smallest twitches of his muscles, the momentary bite at his lip. He can practically feel the vibration of Pascal's low groan; he gasps silently as Pascal thrusts hard into his hand.

To be with Pascal like this, to see and touch him like this, hold him, turn him on, bring him to orgasm—it's so deeply satisfying. He has to be so lucky to be here, to be the person Pascal wants for this. How lucky he has to be to be so happy with Pascal, to be so sure in his love for him and in how he's loved right back, to have this one part of his life where he has absolutely no doubts that he's doing the right thing.

He could draw this out longer, but he can sense that Pascal is aching to finish, so he kisses Pascal's suckers and focuses in on making him cum. 

The way Pascal says his name as he grows close is so sweet and appealing that Kip laughs breathlessly out of sheer happiness. Pascal slips his arm around Kip's back and he feels the limb grab onto him. 

In the last few moments, Pascal turns his head and lifts it weakly; Kip is momentarily bemused until he realizes that Pascal is blindly seeking out his mouth. He has to quickly scoot back and lean in carefully and it’s an awkward position—but he pushes their lips together and Pascal pulls him in hard, kissing him with such surprising intensity that Kip almost forgets to keep moving his hand. But between his own flow and the enthusiastic roll of Pascal's hips, he doesn't have anything to worry about on that front.

Pascal moans softly into Kip's mouth just before crying out—Kip's breath catches as he realizes what's happening and he slides his nose alongside Pascal's, smiling softly when he feels cum spill against his fingers.

He strokes Pascal's hair back from his forehead while he catches his breath; he gets on his knees and brings his lips to Pascal's stomach and spends a minute kissing and licking his cum off his skin. He lies himself carefully across Pascal's chest when he's done, closing his eyes with a satisfied sigh and rubbing his cheek against the soft hair. Pascal's taste lingers in his mouth.

He's completely surprised when Pascal sweeps him into his arms and all at once they're lying on their sides, foreheads together and chest to chest. Kip's heartbeat speeds, but just as quickly he's relaxed in the head to toe embrace, in so much soft contact and warmth. He wraps an arm around Pascal's back and tangles their legs and Pascal draws him in just that much closer.

—

The shower space is small, but they'd gotten enough practice in over the years that it's no trouble sharing it. Kip uses the advantage his hands provide to do the bulk of the washing for both of them, but it's hardly a sacrifice. It's a messy way to clean and completely impractical, but they have fun with it.

Pascal's suckers provide an advantage when Kip grinds up against his ass and between his thighs until Pascal leans towards the wall and encourages him to penetrate—Kip holds on to Pascal's hips for support while he's fucking him and Pascal keeps them both steady with a secure grip on the steamed-up tiles, his rich moans amplified beautifully in the small space.

The playfulness remains even after they leave the shower; Kip is wholly lighthearted and sings to himself while he doubles over and holds his head upside-down to dry off his hair. A minute after he's right-side-up again, Pascal comes over to kiss him smartly on the lips and grab his ass with both arms. Kip's laughter is stifled, but the glow of his blush isn't.

—

Just when everything seems to be quietly winding down for the night, Pascal pushes Kip to the wall and kneels in front of him and sucks his dick. Kip can hardly catch his breath or his thoughts from the moment Pascal brings their tongues together to the moment he cums in his boyfriends mouth. He gasps for air as Pascal stands back up, looking perfectly satisfied with himself. He licks a drop of cum off his lips before smiling at Kip.

"I fucking love you," Kip says, and helplessly laughs.

—

It's just these plain, unspectacular moments that have the greatest tendency to give Kip this pleasant shiver inside that melts him like ice cream in summer sunlight. Pascal passing through the next room over, glancing over at Kip and at once gaining an affectionately warm expression. Making some offhanded remark and being surprised with laughter from Pascal, a lovely sound that's balanced between its lightness and the inherent depth of Pascal's voice. Feeling a gently tugging urge to just go over and hug Pascal tight, and actually being able to act on it.

Pascal would be too good to be true if he wasn’t right in front of Kip. More than a few times over the years it’s occurred to Kip that if he didn’t already know Pascal, he probably never would’ve dreamed of being with someone like him.

—

Kip has Pascal laid on his stomach, working at his shoulders with slow but strong kneads of his fingers. They joke and chat for a good while, but when Kip finds himself suddenly talking about intimate, personal feelings, it feels just as natural to keep the conversation going in that direction.

"I missed the obvious things, the big picture stuff. I missed our relationship, I missed being with you, and I just missed being around you. No matter how many noises were going on in our new place and how loud they are, it's like they couldn't drown out this huge silence. The big stuff I missed was always coming through in all these little things I missed. Like seeing your clothes around when I got dressed in the morning. And having the weight of your arm lying across my waist to help me sleep. And, you know, I'd go through a normal, boring day, and I'd have at least a dozen moments where something little happened and I'd think: 'I'll tell Pascal about this later.' And then, of course, I'd remember that I couldn't. And that always felt so weird, and wrong. And for the first month or two it kept making me kind of relive how hard it seemed to face the fact I might never even talk to you again. That felt really wrong. But eventually I just started to convince myself that it was true whether I liked it or not. And it got easier to remember every morning that I was waking up on my own, and every evening that you wouldn't be back in our apartment with us. But I could tell I'd always miss you. I could tell that was something I could only get used to, not get over."

Pascal is silent when Kip pauses. Kip pushes the heels of his hands against Pascal's muscles.

"I was so conscious of your absence. I missed being able to see you and talk to you. I knew you could live your life without me, but it was hard to remember I wouldn't get to be there for you. Or even with you."

He places his palms on the small of Pascal's back and slides them up along either side of his spine as though smoothing out fabric.

"Of course I'd always try to talk myself through it, and try to tell myself it would be easier tomorrow if I learned from whatever I was currently feeling and braced myself against it in the future. But it was really just a matter of going through it over and over again."

He brushes some of Pascal's hair off the back of his neck, just so he can touch his fingertips to the bare skin there. 

"I knew we didn't have to get back together, you know? I figured there wasn't a choice. I really always thought in the back of my mind that I was at risk of being killed. And with Molly and Roy I knew that at least if they were okay, they could look out for each other. But that wasn't enough to keep me from being scared of the danger we could be in. And I couldn't even think of having you with us here. If I was a target, it felt like you'd be laying right across the bullseye, and I was so afraid of imagining it that I knew if you were ever really here I would be too scared of what might happen to you to let you just live your life without boundaries. I knew we couldn't be so cautious that I'd ever feel like you were really safe. And I knew it would affect us, that...that you would feel like you had to choose between being able to have the kind of life you liked and having a boyfriend who wasn't way too stressed out about you doing so."

He pushes his weight into it as he massages Pascal's upper back. 

"It was...sadder than I can describe to think of having to be apart from you forever. It broke my heart before we’d even left. But I knew I what I couldn't ever bear was the thought of...our relationship becoming something bad, something that would hurt you."

He takes a deep, slow breath. Even now that they're together and he knows it's good, it's still hard to even think of that.

"But, no matter what, of course I had to miss you. I couldn't talk myself out of that. And I was trying to think of myself as single, and like...even if I knew I missed my old boyfriend and even if I didn't think I could find and date somebody new, I didn't have to think of myself as walled off from the rest of the world. But it was only a few months. I was still having these moments of missing you every day when we ran into each other. I never got the chance to figure out if I could think of myself as really being past it."

"I'm sorry," Pascal murmurs. He's been listening for so long that Kip is surprised to hear him speak, even as briefly and quietly as he does.

"It's alright," he assures him with a soft laugh. 

"You might not have been ready to see me," Pascal says. "I knew it was a possibility you might just happen to see me one day. I'm honestly really lucky that it was face-to-face, where I had the chance to talk to you for a moment. I can't imagine it would have felt okay for you if you'd just seen me out a window one day, going down the street."

Kip imagines it. The shock, the disbelief, the doubt, struggling to come up with reasons and explanations while his pulse beats in his throat and he's upset at being caught so unawares and stressed about the way his heart leapt and frustrated he's not over Pascal and scared that Pascal may have ventured into their district after all, and hurt by that possibility. And if he had talked with Roy and Molly about it and had not only learned that they'd known but had it confirmed then that Pascal lived in C now? How much harder would it have been to hear? How long would it have taken to get in touch with Pascal, and what would he have chosen to say?

It had been such a thunderbolt to realize he was in Pascal's store, and that Pascal was seconds away from walking out right in front of him. As hard as it would've been to learn of Pascal's presence from a greater distance, he can't imagine it wasn't so much more stressful for him to be having those revelations and churning anxieties while in front of Pascal himself—and making it so much worse, Wallace. 

But he can't doubt that while the initial encounter would've been somewhat easier to bear if it hadn't been as direct, the aftermath would've been so much messier. He'd gotten over the worst of it so quickly after all, and in retrospect that was due almost entirely to the brief but somehow healing encounter when Pascal came after him and let Kip know how he felt and what he wanted. It had been so gentle that, although still severely frazzled, Kip had been given a lovely spark of quiet happiness underneath all his stress and bewilderment. He'd known he still loved Pascal, and that Pascal still loved him.

"...I don't know if the choices we made and the things that happened were the ones that would've made things easiest for us," Kip says slowly. "But seeing as we're here like this, and things turned out the way they did...I can't say whether I feel like we did things the wrong way and worked out our own mistakes, or if we did the only things we could and there was no way to avoid taking a rougher path. Nobody could know that. So while I do wish it had been easier on us...I can't say I regret any of it."

His hands have been absently rubbing Pascal's shoulderblades. He leans down and kisses the side of Pascal's head.

"But like I was saying, remembering how I felt about you when I was missing you so badly and thinking I wouldn't be able to see you for...probably years, and maybe not ever, it... It just made it the clearest it had ever been how much being with you meant to me, since I knew for sure exactly what it felt like to lose that. I knew what it was like to just go through the day and feel like part of me was missing because it was supposed to be with you, and knowing that you wouldn't just turn up at the end of the day. I knew exactly how much I wanted to be with you because I felt it every night and morning and afternoon. And I...well, when I decided to tell you I wanted to be with you again, it wasn't just because I felt lonely. Because I'd been feeling that way ever since I left. I wanted to tell you because, if you wanted to be with me again too, I was certain that really getting together again was the right thing."

He starts kneading at his broad shoulders again. 

"I knew even better just how much I'd loved you. And how much I loved you still. And here I am. And I love you."

He kisses the side of Pascal's forehead and pets his hair.

"I wish I could reach back to myself a year ago and let him know he'd get to see you again," he murmurs. He kisses Pascal again. "But I guess it's like I have him with me. Because I know that how bad I felt is part of how good I feel now."

He leans back up and continues his massage, gently rolling his knuckles into either side of Pascal's spine.

"It just feels so perfect to be with you, Pas. And I don't mean just when we're in the same room. I definitely miss living in the same place as you, but just knowing that we're together again is enough to make me happy."

His tone has been growing incrementally softer over the past several minutes. He's been getting gradually more emotional, but he's proud of how his voice has always been steady and his speech hasn't started tripping over itself. 

"I love you," he says softly. "I know you know that already. But I'll keep telling you anyways. It means so much to have you with me and to be able to be with you, too. I really love you."

He leans back down, resting his forehead to the base of Pascal's neck as something of an embrace. 

"I like hearing your voice," he says. "Even if you aren't talking to me. And there's this tiny change to your sound when you ARE talking to me—I love that. And I love the way you look at people you feel protective of, there's these moments where you're not even talking to someone but you look at them like you just want to watch for a second and see if they seem okay. I don't know, you're really attentive to everyone around you, it's so clear how generous you are. You care about so much and about so many people, and I don't know, it makes me feel really... I mean, I admire you so much, you're such an amazing person, and knowing that I'm important to you, it makes me..."

"Feel important?" Pascal murmurs.

Kip blushes and curls his fingers against Pascal's skin. 

"I guess so," he admits quietly. 

"Then that makes me feel important, too."

That sends a little flicker of electricity through Kip. 

He drags his fingernails lightly up and down Pascal's back.

"I like touching you. And looking at you,” he says.

Pascal laughs softly.

"I know that's obvious, but I do. Just thinking about it isn't nearly the same as being able to actually do it. You're real and solid and...after we met the first time, I used to dream about just...being able to touch you in so many ways—and of course that definitely included sex, but also just...I really wanted to lie down against you, with my head on your chest or on your shoulder, and I wanted to put my hand on the back of your head and just look at you, and stand behind you and hug you around your waist, and just put my hands on your bare stomach and chest and back and—"

He strokes Pascal's hair again and kisses his spine.

"And maybe even more than I wanted that, I'd try to think about how it would feel to have you touch me. I mean, back when we'd just been together only a few times in our entire lives, we hadn't even really touched at all before I brushed my bare elbow against your arm on accident and I know I blushed so hard just at that. And I was trying to imagine us just being able to have all these affectionate and loving touches and..."

He has to let himself lie down completely against Pascal. Pascal's warm skin pressed to his cheek, his wide back against his chest, the soft curve of his butt beneath his hips, the hair of his legs brushing against the hair on his slightly shorter limbs.

"I could barely imagine it," he sighs. "But I tried anyway, even though I had no idea if it was something I could ever look forward to or if it would all just be in my dreams. And so often I just wanted to be able to stare at you and learn every detail of your face and just sit there for hours and watch you just go about your day, just see what you looked like when you're talking or working or cooking or resting or—or putting together a scrapbook, anything."

He laughs quietly.

"I just wanted to learn as much about you as I could. I wanted to know you. Seeing you was such a special occasion back then, but I—" He laughs again. "I wanted so badly for it to become everyday, literally everyday. I wanted to—to be completely in your life and have you in mine. I wanted you to know how much I wanted to hold on to you."

He puts his hand on Pascal's side and lightly squeezes, turns his head just slightly to press his lips to his skin.

"I was so happy when it started to come true, and when I was without that for the first time I was...I was just so shaken inside, even if I could go through the days on my own all the same. It was such a huge loss. I knew exactly what I was feeling. I couldn't focus on it without being upset, so I didn't. I knew I would get through it fine. I knew you would get through it fine, too. But god, it hurt. I wished so bad that things were different, that everything had been simple and we'd been able to stay together without any of...all that shit touching our lives."

He stares at a tiny freckle on the crest of Pascal's shoulder. He lets out a soft sigh.

"I just want you to know how happy I am being with you," he says. "Even if I hadn't had to spend that time without you. It's not just because we split up that I'm glad I'm here with you now. It did give me a more thorough understanding of my feelings and what our relationship had been, but...back when we'd already been together for years, you made me so happy then, too. I just love you, is all. I really, really love you. You're so good and beautiful to be with and I—I'm so, so glad we met—I love you, sweetest. I love you—"

He's put a few kisses to Pascal's neck and beneath his ear when a slightly hissed breath and tightening of the shoulders makes Kip draw back, worried that Pascal's in pain.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes."

There's another sharp little breath, and then Kip understands.

"Oh..." He strokes a hand down Pascal's hair, blushing and unsure whether he feels like laughing or crying as well. "Oh, come here, babe..."

Pascal coughs a laugh and sniffs as he slowly pushes himself upright. Kip has his arms out, drawing Pascal in until he's holding him across the chest. He takes in Pascal's face carefully—his cheeks are a little red, his eyes brim with tears, but only one drop seems to have spilled down alongside his nose—his features aren't too tensed, he's not too upset.

"Are you alright?" Kip repeats earnestly. He rubs Pascal's arm.

Pascal nods and then suddenly is moving towards Kip, who drops the embrace and sits up straight and keeps still as Pascal pushes his whole bulk over Kip's lap, head to his shoulder, shoulders to his chest, soft arms resting atop his thighs. 

Kip's heart flutters, immobilizing him for a moment. Then he loops his arms over Pascal's shoulders, one hand flat against his back, the other hand in his hair, cradling the back of his head. He stays quiet; he has the sense that Pascal doesn't need to be comforted—he just wants to be held. 

Pascal's breathing feels steady, his body doesn't tremble; he does sniff sometimes and draw rougher, shakier breaths through his mouth, the sounds muted and snuffly. Kip kisses his hair and smiles softly as Pascal shifts even closer.

A couple of minutes later, Pascal wraps his arms around Kip's back but sits up away from Kip's chest. Kip smiles at him when their eyes meet; the only evidence he'd been crying is a slight flush of his skin and eyes. His expression is fairly relaxed, he smiles back.

"You're okay?" Kip asks quietly.

"Yes." Pascal laughs, wiping the back of his arm across his eye. "Nothing's wrong. I just had strong feelings about everything you were saying, is all."

"Uh...good ones?" Kip tries, wrinkling his nose.

"Yes." Pascal laughs again and sniffs and lifts the stomach of his loose tank top up to wipe his face and nose. 

He meets Kip's eyes again and gives him a smile, and it's that look that could melt Kip's heart in a blizzard in the dead of an arctic night. Kip smiles back, a little helplessly.

"I'm fine," Pascal says. "I wasn't upset, it's alright."

He takes Kip's hand and squeezes it, then lifts it to his lips. Kip blushes. 

"I love you, too," Pascal says. 

"Oh, I know—"

"I really do. I've never stopped wanting to be with you since I first met you. I've always wanted us to be as close as we could be. It always makes me so happy to think that’s what we have."

Kip nods and touches Pascal's face.

Pascal leans in and presses a kiss to Kip's forehead, holding it for several quiet seconds.

Kip puts his free hand overtop the arm holding the other, just barely rubbing his fingertips across the smooth skin. He closes his eyes and takes a moment before opening them again when Pascal leans away.

Kip leans against the back of the couch and holds his arms out to Pascal.

"Lie against me again," he says. "I like holding you. I like having your head on my chest."

With a blush and a smile, Pascal immediately scoots closer and carefully lowers himself down until his torso is atop Kip's. He puts the side of his head against Kip's chest and nuzzles it slightly; Kip strokes his hair and rests his other hand on Pascal's shoulder.

For a minute, they don't speak.

"I love how blue you are." Pascal touches the soft skin of Kip's bicep. "I know it makes you stand out, and that's not always helpful. But I'm always reminded of you whenever I see this color. And everything about you is just part of what makes you beautiful, after all."

"I look like I've been living in a freezer for ten months," Kip grouses.

"You look like a summer sky filled with sunlight," Pascal counters gently.

Kip is flattered enough to immediately concede.

They cuddle so close that before too long Kip has to carefully pry Pascal's arm off his side. He's dotted with bright blue ovals from the suction; Pascal kisses along their trail and then works a more lasting mark into Kip's chest.

—

As he's not exactly looking forward to waking up and knowing he'll leave in a few hours, Kip isn't eager to go to bed. But when he sees that Pascal is a getting a bit tired, he acquiesces to the inevitable. 

Seemingly all his life, Kip's had trouble sleeping or a reason to worry about falling asleep. But of course that worsened considerably after the fire. 

He doesn't remember dreaming the first night. He was with Eno, he fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion—even when he was so dead on his feet he could barely keep his balance, Eno almost had to pull him down onto the couch. Kip, while violently loathing the idea of going to sleep at all, had vehemently refused the bedroom, afraid of being alone when he woke up and remembered.

He was sleeping alongside Pascal within less than a month. During that time, he didn't sleep regularly at all. He tended to stay up and fall asleep whenever his exhaustion demanded it; he was trying sometimes to force himself to sleep every night, but he despised anything that felt like an attempt at routine. And whenever he woke up, he not only first thought of what had happened to him, but he felt another day further away from his family, it felt another day realer and more permanent. He couldn't stand the experience—he often refused to sleep simply so that he wouldn’t have to go through waking up. But with the stress he was suffering, he could really only go one sleepless night before he would find himself slowly collapsing halfway through the next day.

When he did sleep, Pascal made sure to lie beside him and hold him whenever he was there with Kip. It was the only thing that could offer any trace of comfort. But almost as soon as Kip finally started to resign himself to a more consistent sleeping pattern, Pascal had the night terrors to deal with.

Kip rarely remembered those, they usually didn't even wake him up. The only reason he knew when he started having them was that the next morning Pascal had tentatively asked Kip if he was alright after that nightmare, and Kip had asked him what nightmare, and Pascal had told him he'd been crying out and thrashing in his sleep for several minutes before quieting again. Kip couldn't even remember it. But apparently when he had these terrors he'd often grow so loud that sometimes Molly or Roy woke up as well—despite Pascal explaining to them that there was nothing to do when this happened but wait it out, the concerned glances Kip would receive in the morning would make him ask if he'd done it again. 

Kip was slightly embarrassed and much more ashamed that he was causing them even more worry than he already was—and keeping them up at night now too. But as bad as the night terrors must have been for him in the moment, he only sometimes retained a fleeting speck of the experience upon waking. Overall, his conscious self didn't have to deal with it at all. The nightmares and flashbacks were a different story. Those would actually wake him up, those he would more often than not remember—if not details, then at least vague images and the feeling the dreams had given him.

Even the quieter nightmares were enough to make him dread sleeping, but the more intense nightmares could keep him from sleeping at all the rest of the night. If he was lucky he would wake up without disturbing Pascal and could comfort himself just by looking at his boyfriend’s face and touching his arm. Other times he would cry out or groan and kick as he woke up—not half as violently as with the night terrors, but still enough to rouse Pascal, too. Pascal was never anything but patient and loving no matter how exhausted he was—Kip loved him so deeply for that, but felt guilty about waking him anyhow. Pascal would comfort him and soothe him, but some nights Kip just couldn't relax again, and would lie in bed, spooned by Pascal, simply letting the hours drag by until morning came.

The flashbacks were the worst of all. He couldn't weather them with any kind of stoicism—when Pascal woke him and calmed him enough to stop struggling, Kip almost always broke down into tears. Pascal would simply pull him in and hold him close while he cried. The aftershocks of trauma would bleed into a fresh stab of grief, which made Kip feel as though his whole body was being clutched and squeezed by searingly cold claws; he shook all over and gasped for breath and unsuccessfully tried to bite back sobs. 

One night in particular had been bad, a nightmare turned dream turned nightmare turned unusually lengthy flashback. When the stress finally woke him up, he understood why it had lasted so long—he must have kept still during the dream, as Pascal remained undisturbed. His impulse was to avoid waking Pascal or the others above all else, so before his stress could catch up with him, he slipped out of the bed and crept into the kitchen. Either he'd managed it just in time or he'd subconsciously waited until he was out of the bedroom to start crumbling apart, but his knees were shaking underneath him and his arms trembling even worse by the time he flipped on the small overhead light and leaned heavily against the countertop. In an attempt to distract himself from the imagery still slicing through his thoughts, he made himself a hot cup of tea, standing with the kettle so he could take it off the stove before it made any noise.

It had only helped so much. He held the cup close to his chest; the heat was already working to counteract the smothering chill that always started in his hands. But the moment he'd sat down with the tea he'd started to cry, and in a matter of seconds was fighting too hard to stifle it to take even a sip of his drink. It was surely worsened by the fact he'd been fighting for a few days in a row to keep himself from breaking down, and he now seemed to be dealing with the buildup. He bowed his head over his drink, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched, and fought to keep his sobs quiet.

It had seemed to work; when the remnants of panic had eroded and his shivering stopped and it felt like he could breathe again, he tore off a segment of paper towel and wiped the snot and tears from his face. He sat, crying more softly, despairing for the death of his family and whatever was left of himself, what his friends now had to deal with too.

He had managed to be so quiet, but all the same he was only a third of the way through his tea when Pascal came in behind him. He was so startled he flinched and bumped his knee. He barely glanced at Pascal's face before rigidly turning away, hyperaware of how pathetic he must look—the worst of sleep mixed with crying, this weak and cowardly mess that had snuck off to huddle up alone in a dark corner.

But Pascal didn't grimace or sigh, or fix him with a long, sad look, or murmur his name with a softly imploring, pitying tone. He touched Kip's shoulder, kissed his temple, and whispered "Hello, nightingale."

Pascal had sat with him and rubbed his shoulders slowly. He neither left Kip's side nor pressured him to return to bed—he just gave him company. As awful as Kip felt, he was glad that Pascal had somehow woken up after all. Pascal was just infinitely patient with him at all times. But really, he was easier to deal with at times like that, in the middle of the night, when Kip was crushed by grief and trauma. It was when his pain was kept under the surface, when he was trying to be steadier, that he had to be handled much more carefully. Anyone could comfort him when he collapsed—not so much when he was hurting badly but trying to keep it hidden. But he felt best in Pascal's arms all the same, no matter his mood.

That night, as Pascal sat with him, Kip had started crying again, because how could he not. It wasn't a total loss of composure, but it was still something of a mess; he sobbed and gripped his knees and buried his face in Pascal's shirt, and that was the easy part. Just being held by Pascal while he wept and ached. The more impressive feat was when Pascal sat up with him even after he had settled down a bit. He was clearly sad too, but didn't seem so pained that Kip felt like he was hurting Pascal. He stayed while Kip finished his tea, he stayed for the additional half hour it took Kip to want to even try getting back to bed. He told Kip that he'd hold him, and maybe the physical comfort would transfer through into his dreams, reminding his subconscious that he was in no danger. 

Kip was afraid of the flashbacks and nightmares alike, both managing to be more damaging than the other. But he could brave it so that Pascal could try sleeping too. He knew he had no real way to avoid it. So he let Pascal take him back to bed, and he was so tense while lying down that he started trembling again, and Pascal took him up in his arms like he said he would and kissed him and looked at him and murmured sweet consolations and promises that he would be right beside him all night. It took the worst of the stress away.

Pascal had dozed off first, but even when he'd been asleep for a quarter of an hour, his arm remained attached to Kip's back. 

Kip had been so irritable and distant the next day that he wasn't sure Pascal wouldn't try to give him as much space in the bed as possible. But when he finally crawled onto the mattress and tried nervously to relax, Pascal's voice came low and quiet through the dark and asked Kip if he wanted to be held. Kip accepted without hesitation and when Pascal's warm, soft skin pushed against the back of his body, he felt such a rush of love and gratitude for Pascal that he shed a few silent tears onto his pillow.

He knew he didn't have any choice but to experience all the bad dreams that were in store for him. But Pascal helped to alleviate some of the suffering, and he always suspected that if he'd been more stressed and fearful about his dreams, it would've made them worse. Instead, he'd known that no matter how horrible everything seemed when he woke up, Pascal would be there to comfort him. And when his dreams got too agonizing, Pascal would pull him out of them. 

The bad dreams eventually became more infrequent, and their impact on Kip less crushing, and Kip more confident that he could cope with them, until in the end he was no longer avoiding sleep because of them. He knew that Pascal had made it easier, had soothed his nervousness sooner than would've been possible without him. Each night, he quietly faced the possibility of nightmares with grim acceptance. And whenever they came, he woke up and knew that as bad as it was, he would eventually comfort himself.

After a year or two, he was simply used to it. When he knew he had to leave for C, the reasons he dreaded sleeping without Pascal had little to do with his fear of his bad dreams. 

While he's never really gotten to be truly comfortable with sleeping, it feels like he's been able to grow familiar with it. He doesn't know what it says that one of the first things he felt capable of dealing with was something he had such little control over and that struck him when he was completely defenseless. But, especially back then, even the smallest scraps of relief were infinitely welcome.

He's been fine sleeping alone, even with unpleasant dreams and outright nightmares still being an occasional issue. The flashbacks had faded out, but when Wallace's arrival brought on a surge in both the frequency and intensity of his bad dreams, he had the flashbacks again. Still much more rarely, but it was enough.

Sometimes when he was struggling with the damage of such dreams he would remember the kinds of things Pascal used to say to him, the way he would touch him and hold him. It was worth the risk of heartache in such moments, when he desperately needed more solid, positive imagery to anchor him to his present. The thought of Pascal could pull him out of the flames.

The dreams he's had while lying next to Pascal again have been calm. He doesn't much remember them. He knows none of them caused him stress. He knows that he hasn't slept so deeply and peacefully for more than one night in a row for years—maybe even years before the fire.

When it's like this, getting into bed feels like every kind of a blessing.

—

"Pasc..."

"Uh-huh." Pascal's voice is soft and low.

"If you wake up before me, wake me up too."

"Okay."

"Could you kiss me awake?"

"Sure."

"Okay."

Kip hears and feels Pascal shifting beneath the covers, then feels their noses bump. He opens his eyes just enough to align their faces for a kiss, then brushes their mouths together. Pascal gently presses into it. His breath and skin are so warm against Kip, his lips are so soft it feels like kissing a rose petal. Kip draws a deep inhale, lets it out as a sigh.

He feels so much better in so many ways.

—

It's not easy for Pascal to get on or off a mattress without the reverberations moving Kip around—Kip wakes up when Pascal slips out of bed and is momentarily confused about what time it is.

"Is it morning?" he mumbles, feeling the absence of Pascal's weight and warmth. "Are you getting up?"

"No, I just have to pee." Pascal kisses his temple and smooths his hair and quietly leaves the room. 

Kip lies still, squinting up at the ceiling it's too dark to see and listening for the sound of the bathroom door opening and Pascal's returning footsteps. The sounds are soft when they do occur—Pascal always seems to move gently and precisely through the world and somehow manages to be light-footed. 

"You alright?" Pascal murmurs when their eyes meet.

"Better," Kip answers.

As Pascal gets back into bed, Kip rolls over to face him and maneuvers himself in until he can kiss Pascal's throat. 

"Mm..." Pascal puts an arm around Kip. "Now?" 

"If you like," Kip says, drawing him closer.

At first they're just slowly grinding together, picking up a little energy as they further wake themselves up. Kip hooks a leg around one of Pascal's for better leverage, which makes Pascal's breath catch and shudder. But after it becomes more heated, Kip pulls himself away just long enough to flip himself around and push his ass back against Pascal's erection. 

He goes limp so that Pascal can pull him back harder, then plants a foot against the mattress and grinds back to meet the roll of Pascal's hips. After a few minutes he puts his knees together and tells Pascal he can fuck him in between his legs; he reaches back at a slightly awkward angle to try lubricating Pascal's erection with its own precum and then spits on his fingers to wet the inside of his thighs a little. Then he guides Pascal as he adjusts the angle of his own hips, and closes his eyes as Pascal's cock slides between his legs—it's hot and hard against Kip's soft and warm and sensitive skin and so close to his own dick—he draws his knees up a little and takes a breath and tells Pascal to move.

It's not quite as intense as having Pascal grind against his ass, but that doesn't matter. Pascal is still grinding against him, pushing against his legs and ass and back, arm around his front, rubbing and squeezing at his stomach and chest, breath hot against the back of his neck and soft moans inches from Kip's ears.

It's all straightforward and hot and, best of all, easy enough to accomplish even though neither of them are fully awake.

It's almost relaxing—Kip just hugs Pascal's arm to his chest with one hand, gently strokes himself with the other, and squeezes his legs together to provide more pressure for Pascal. He keeps the rest of his body relaxed enough to let Pascal's thrusts rock him back and forth. 

"Do you think you can cum from this?" Kip asks, a little breathlessly.

"Y-yeah, I think so—is that okay?"

"Mmhm. I want you to."

Pascal gasps and buries his face against Kip's shoulder.

When it seems like Pascal is coming unraveled, Kip puts a hand on Pascal's hip and grinds himself smoothly back, making each buck of Pascal's hips more forceful. He doesn't outright tease Pascal, but does try to work him up even further. As always, just repeating a slightly charged “yes” or "fuck me" is wondrously effective in undoing Pascal.

Kip doesn't have to put on any kind of act, though. It feels beautifully good and he's completely turned on, the rhythm and heat and the smell of Pascal's sweat and the texture of his low, throaty voice and the feeling of his kisses and bites—it's all getting to Kip in a heady rush; he's not too far off either.

Kip's breath catches when he feels the first shot of Pascal's cum. A few pulses more, and then Pascal's tension loosens and he draws a long inhale. He stops squeezing Kip so hard, stops pressing into him, but still lies close up against him and keeps his arm draped over Kip's side. Kip musters just enough focus to let a light coating of coolness slowly melt over them. 

He shifts his knees a little and feels the lubrication of hot, slick cum between his thighs. He touches the head of his dick and rubs his legs together some more, relishing how much he seems to have gotten out of Pascal. 

"Sorry about the mess," Pascal murmurs, as though he can tell Kip is thinking about it.

"Don't apologize," Kip responds. "Besides, I like it."

"God..." Pascal leans in over Kip to push a firm kiss to his cheek. "Fuck, Kip, I love you."

He coaxes Kip to twist his shoulders so that the back of his head is against the pillow, so that Pascal can lick his mouth open and flick his tongue against Kip's teeth and stroke it along the roof of his mouth. Kip swirls his thumb slowly around the head of his erection as he puts his tongue into Pascal's mouth in turn. 

After just a minute of this, Pascal nips at Kip's bottom lip as he pulls away, panting lightly. Kip swirls his fingers absently through Pascal's chest hair. 

"Want me to finish you off?" Pascal asks.

Kip smiles.

"I'll do it. I'm gonna go to the bathroom anyway to clean up before this dries too much. You just relax."

"You sure?"

Kip kisses him and pats his shoulder.

"I can handle it." He kisses him once more and sits up. "Thanks for the offer, though. I'll be back in bed before you have the chance to fall asleep again, promise."

"Okay," Pascal heaves a good-natured exaggeration of a sigh and lies back. Kip laughs and strokes his hand down Pascal's chest as he gets up.

His own arousal is such that he's impatient to alleviate it, and he turns his attention to that issue first. He drags his fingers through some of Pascal's cum and wipes it onto the length of his cock, then adds some spit, and gets to work. He has a nice climax; he takes his cum that's dripped down his hand and smears it between his legs with Pascal's, mixing it together. He sucks his own hand and sits back against the wall for a couple of minutes and then cleans himself up. 

"Babe," he whispers as he reenters the bedroom. 

"Mm," Pascal acknowledges. 

"Wanna lie against me?"

"Yes, please." 

Kip climbs into bed, lies on his back, and gathers Pascal in. The weight of Pascal's head against his chest, arm across his ribs, hips leaning into his side, and leg hooked overtop his own presses Kip further into the mattress. Kip holds the end of Pascal's arm with little caressing rubs and squeezes of his hand, lazily stroking Pascal's hair with the other, and synchronizes his respiration to Pascal's deep and slow breathing until they've both drifted off again.

—

Kip wakes up incrementally to gentle, light touches. He feels a kiss on his lips, he doesn't entirely process it—it's the friction of the scruff on Pascal's jaw that finally pulls Kip into greater alertness. 

He gives a soft groan as he begins to understand that he'd been asleep and is now awake. The same sensations happen again; he squeezes his eyes shut harder and rolls his head to the side. 

After several long seconds he's blinking at the opposite wall, bringing it into focus. He looks at the pillow beside his. Pascal's not there. He turns slightly, looking up. Pascal is there.

"Hi, babe," he mumbles hoarsely. 

Pascal smiles. 

"I kissed you until you woke up," he explains. "Is that okay?"

"Oh, yeah, it is," Kip says, rubbing his eyes. He laughs quietly. "It's hard to understand anything that's happening when I'm half-asleep."

"Want me to knock it off?" 

"Not even a little."

—

Kip finds the feeling of every touch heightened in his still not fully wakeful state. Pascal kissed him a few times before his arms started to wander along Kip's body; he's felt his way down Kip's chest, trailed the soft tip of his arm down Kip's side. Soon he's kissing Kip's torso, caressing all over every part of his body, but carefully avoiding his crotch. 

The contact only grows heavier as Kip becomes more excited by it, but both their sounds and movements remain on the soft and slow side. Kip lets himself stay completely relaxed against the mattress. Pascal teases him until he's more than completely turned on, but brings him to climax right before it begins to ache too badly.

Kip pulls Pascal in until he's being straddled, then encourages Pascal to grind on him. He does, humping Kip until he reaches his completion.

After catching their breath, they briefly discuss getting up, but the conversation wanders until they're just lying with each other, talking and laughing. In the back of his mind, Kip is aware that he doesn't have all day to spend with Pascal anymore, but he's feeling so nice that the worry of it can't seem to reach him. Looking into Pascal's face looking back at him is too good to let his focus wander to anything else. 

Eventually Pascal offers to get up and make them some breakfast, but Kip easily manages to persuade him to stay put. After a few minutes of messing around, Kip sucks Pascal until he's completely hard—and then for a little while longer. His mouth is too dry to take in more than the first couple of inches, but he works the rest with his hand and is certain that Pascal doesn't mind—the evidence unfolds right in front of him, after all. Then he gets a condom, rolls it onto Pascal, and pours some lube into his hand. Some of it he spreads over Pascal's length, the rest he covers his own fingers with. Those he pushes one by one inside himself, easing himself open while making out with Pascal, trying to be patient in both activities.

Although they're no longer more asleep than awake, Kip enjoys the relative leisure of kneeling over Pascal, the only movement between them being one which isn't active at all: just Kip's careful, gradual acquiescence to gravity. He stops whenever he clenches and glances at Pascal, who winces under the stimulation and curls in the ends of his arms. It's slow and precise and it feels like twice as much length goes into Kip as he knows is actually there, yet it's also sooner than he expects that he finds himself sitting on his boyfriend’s pelvis, Pascal’s dick pushed fully up inside him.

It feels as wonderfully nice as ever, the different pressures from Pascal's thickness and length seeming both distinct and intermingled, the rhythm of their breathing rocking them gently together, Kip's own weight seeming to continually press Pascal in even deeper. Then Pascal starts gently, slowly stroking his arms down Kip's thighs while gazing steadily up at him like he can't miss even a second of this. Kip takes it as a signal to relax, and starts easing away more tension in the muscles of his legs than he knew was held there until he's resting even more heavily against Pascal.

Pascal only seems to like it more. Kip starts carefully rising, pausing, then sinking back down, keeping his eyes locked on Pascal's face. It becomes easier with every stroke.

When Pascal starts fucking him, he's maybe only moving an inch or two up with each thrust, but that's stimulation enough. Even without that, with just feeling the depth of the penetration, enhancing the sensation by slightly rocking his hips—it's such a good, sweet wash of pleasure, and the more Kip relaxes the better it is.

Although there are some interludes of more forceful, enthusiastic movement, most of it is rocking together at a leisurely pace, coordinating an easy roll of their hips. Pascal helps things along by looping his arm around Kip's erection, and Kip rides Pascal harder when he sees him getting more worked up.

Kip can tell Pascal wants to make him cum first, so he lets that happen. Pascal stills all movement while Kip orgasms—once he comes back down, Kip tells Pascal to just go ahead and fuck him. Pascal runs his arms up Kip's thighs and hips and sides and grips on, lifting him up a few inches and bucking up into him for about twenty seconds more. He cries out weakly just as he's on the edge—he pulls Kip down hard, Kip clenches around him, Pascal squeezes his eyes shut and seems to be holding his breath—so much so that Kip slides his hand over Pascal's chest and is about to tell him to breathe when Pascal's body relaxes underneath him and Pascal draws a long, deep inhale.

He opens his eyes, looks up at Kip, and smiles at the sight of him.

"Good morning," Kip says.

—

Kip climbs off of him and throws away the condom and is back in bed with him all in about half a minute. It's not until half an hour later that they try getting out of bed again. This time it's Kip who leads the way, and Pascal who ruins it—he wraps Kip up in a hug before they're even halfway across the room and kisses him, then they sink to the ground as Pascal bites Kip's neck and Kip drags his nails down Pascal's back. They're both laughing, it's more joking than not, even when Pascal starts grinding against Kip. 

Soon enough it's in earnest, but remains messy and playful. Pascal seems to be trying to make Kip louder, and is pushing and dragging his arms over Kip's shoulders and chest and sides, giving his face and throat kisses and sucks and bites, humping him and answering his moans with grunting sighs of his own.

Kip holds tightly to Pascal's back, gives light tugs to his hair, slides his fingertips down his spine and cups his ass. When the climb of his arousal evens out and reaches its height, he puts his hand on Pascal's jaw and slides it over to his mouth, and Pascal licks his palm before Kip can even ask him to.

Kip keeps one hand on the back of Pascal's neck and the other wrapped around their dicks until they've both cum. He's grateful to already be lying down in the aftermath; Pascal has his forehead resting on Kip's collarbone and is straddling him heavily but keeps his back curved up to hover over Kip's torso, despite panting and intermittently trembling with the effort and exhaustion. Kip pulls him down.

They take a quick shower and then Pascal finally gets around to making breakfast, with Kip managing to sneak in some help here and there.

—

It makes Kip blush how happy Pascal is just cooking eggs and making toast for him. He can tell that Pascal is trying to act more casual than he really feels, that there's a bright energy behind it all setting Pascal's words and expression aglow. It's all so gorgeously domestic that Kip can feel some of his own excitement. In just a little over two days, he's already begun to feel genuinely at home in this completely new apartment. It's so clearly Pascal's space that there's no way it could remain unfamiliar to him for long. 

He eats at the small table, Pascal leans against the countertop, legs crossed at the ankle, foot absently rocking on its heel like an uneven metronome. Just having the blurry, peripheral shape of him in the corner of his vision keeps Kip's mood light and relaxed.

—

"Were you scared to start your own store?" Kip asks. 

He finishes drying his hands on the dishtowel and turns slightly towards Pascal, glancing over a time or two.

"Oh—" Pascal seems a little thrown by the change of subject, but recovers quickly enough. "Oh, uh—well, yes. I was kind of nervous. But I eventually just decided I had to look at stuff in manageable pieces, and once I committed to taking the first few steps, everything just kind of happened a little smoother—and a lot quicker—than I expected. Things could be kind of messy, and I know a good part of this was just luck that more stuff didn't go wrong, but I just...tried to tell myself as often as I could that it would be okay. And if it didn't work out, it wouldn't be the end of the world."

Kip looks at him; he's not being self-deprecating about his last line, he seems to genuinely be unconcerned with the success or even stability of his own life compared to the big picture of everyone else's. To have good-naturedly accepted the possibility of disaster, that he may have risked everything he had and wound up with nothing—even less than nothing. Kip's always been prone to worrying about the littlest details, even when there are no stakes at all, stressed over anxieties and constrained by worst-case scenarios that run through his head. 

He knows Pascal is just a real, fallible person with vulnerabilities, as much as any of them are—even maybe as much as himself. But there's parts of Pascal he's in awe of, and it definitely includes this. Pascal has a passionate side—which maybe most people don't get to see—and that can knock Kip off his feet for sure. But the soft, unassuming elements of Pascal's personality leave him just as breathless as anything. His quiet steadiness, his everyday kindheartedness, and right now, this deep serenity he's shrugging off—it sends a shiver through the pit of Kip's stomach and momentarily grips his heart.

He doesn't stifle the impulse to walk over and stoop down to kiss Pascal on the cheek. Pascal blinks up at him with a slight blush. Kip doesn't stifle the impulse to try explaining to Pascal why he was just reminded of how much he loves him, either. 

"Kip—" Pascal laughs and blushes that much deeper. "Oh, Kip, I was thinking about you half the time I was trying not to worry."

Kip is wholly bemused.

"...Pasc, I worry more than anyone I know," he says slowly.

"I don't mean when it comes to stuff like that, I mean... Kip, what you got through," Pascal says gently.

Kip stands up a little straighter.

"What... What about that, though? There wasn't anything good about any of that."

"No, I know," Pascal says quickly, leaning slightly forwards. "It was the worst, it was the hardest thing to go through, and—and I've never seen anything as amazing as...just, you. You went through that, one day at a time, you just...you're here. I saw you get through that. I've never seen anything stronger than you just...being you. Back then and now. I'd think of what you did and...it made it pretty impossible to get too stressed out over anything."

Kip shrugs and folds his arms, hugging himself a little. 

"But I didn't have to do anything. Anyone who was in my place would've gone through what I did, it's not like there was anything special about me. And I think if right now I had to start my own place, I'd be pretty scared. Really scared."

Pascal smiles and looks down at the table for a moment.

"I was nervous," he says. "I still am, sometimes. I haven't even been in business a full year, yet. And it's better that it's so small and simple, actually, because it's easier for things to settle down sooner and if it was bigger it'd have bigger expenses, and..."

He sighs softly and shrugs.

"I know that this scenario isn't anything like what you were going through. And I know that what you were dealing with was a whole lot more than just being afraid. I was with you. I know it was so much more. But I saw you manage to steady yourself under the worst feelings and I saw how much you suffered, and sometimes you had to take things hour by hour or even minute to minute. And I tried to help you take things in tiny pieces, and I saw you do it. And so when I told myself to try looking at everything in smaller pieces, I had to think of you. And it was barely a fraction of what you had to do, but it still helped to try to think of being even a little bit as strong as you were."

"I wasn't strong," Kip murmurs.

"You're the strongest person I've ever known, Kip."

"I'm not, I'm still scared of so much and hung up on little things and I still run from everything—"

"Kip..." Pascal touches his arm. "Being more afraid of things doesn't have anything to do with how strong you are. You're incredible. You were so strong and so amazing even before it happened. I always saw that. I've always admired that."

Kip blinks hard and twists his fingers together. Pascal gazes up at him steadily.

"I don't think I'm amazing," he says somewhat weakly. "Bad things just happened and I was stuck with the consequences whether I liked it or not. It was never a choice, I never had options..."

"I know," Pascal says. "You didn't, but that doesn't make you any less strong either."

"But..."

"I still think you're amazing."

"Why?"

Pascal pulls him forward to hug him; Kip lets him.

"That was just reflex," Kip mumbles as Pascal's head rests against his chest. "I didn't really mean to ask why."

"I have a lot of reasons," Pascal says. "You know you're a good person. You know that."

Kip presses his lips together.

"I'm alright," he allows. 

"You are. And I know neither of us is the only person in the world with the traits we like in each other, but..." Pascal laughs. "Kip, I love you. I think you're really fantastic and I always have. And you'd be this great even if I wasn't around to notice it."

Kip is stroking Pascal's hair absently.

"It's just that I..." Kip sighs. "I feel like I've always been making so many mistakes and bad decisions along the way, even if things did end up here. And I feel like I shouldn't get any credit for...for being special because of anything that happened because of what was done to me."

"...I don't think you're the only strong person in the world," Pascal says quietly. "But that doesn't mean I don't think you're strong."

"But anybody who was forced to go through what I did would've seemed just as strong," Kip argues. "It doesn't matter what you're like, people think you must be brave and tough and I wasn't either of those things. I was just...every day was so awful and I just. Had to endure it anyways. Because it was happening. There was nothing about that to celebrate."

Pascal squeezes him tightly and buries his face harder against Kip's chest. Kip stills for a moment and then slowly puts his arms around Pascal, lightly stroking his back.

"I'm sorry." Pascal's voice is muffled. "I should've thought more about everything you felt before I said something. I only meant that because of what I'd personally known about you, because I'd been there with you...you're who I think of whenever I think of needing to try to get through anything at all. Even when you were facing down much smaller things, little problems you dealt with every day, you were just as impressive to me. It's... All your life you've had so many extra things to be nervous about, and you've always had to deal with that, even when those problems are invisible to everyone around you. Stuff that seems effortless to other people can be really difficult for you. And you had to go through something where—where literally everything was made difficult for you, where just being alive to know what had happened to you was its own burden, and you—and talking and sleeping and getting up and eating and—and finding clothes, and going out, and hearing certain things, and having to say certain things, it's all—I know it was all so hard for so many reasons, I saw that. I know you were kind of...made out to be this symbol to some people, but I know that wasn't the fight you were really having. I saw how you had to push and suffer. I've never known anything more impressive than—than when—"

Pascal squeezes them even tighter together, almost startling Kip.

"Those days you would wake up and start to cry, where it took you a few seconds to remember what had happened and it was just already too horrible for you, and I was there and I saw that, I saw how bad you were hurting, and—and I'd lie there to be beside you and...when you sat up, it was the most unbelievable thing. To see you still face getting up after that. To face having to feel that for the whole rest of the day. I swear I felt like I might as well have been watching you lift an oak tree up out of the ground by its roots. Every time I saw that I was...I was just so in awe of you. Even the times you couldn't get out of bed after all. It didn't matter, you were having to feel all that either way. It's like you say, you had to deal with all of that no matter what you did, and it was so much that I can't imagine how it felt, I know I couldn't, I just wanted to try and help in any way I could manage—"

"You did," Kip says quickly. He stoops down so he can better embrace Pascal. "You did help, Pascal. You helped me so much. I don't know if we would've found a place without you, for starters, but more than that, I don't know if I...if I'd be where I am, I don't know how much harder it would've been to go through all that and how much more damage the aftermath would've done to me if it wasn't for you. Just knowing you were with me gave me so much comfort, I—that I didn't have to be alone was always so much help, but that it was you in particular..."

He kisses behind Pascal's ear.

“There wasn’t much I could think of that I could feel at all okay about, but thinking of you always helped me,” he says. “Back when I wanted so little I could hardly even feel hungry or tired...I still wanted to do things to help you and try to make anything even a little easier on you.”

He kisses him again.

“You helped me all the time. Just being able to think of you helped me. If I ever seemed strong to you, you have yourself to thank for that.”

“...I felt stronger than I ever had before back then,” Pascal murmurs, shifting his arms around Kip’s back. “From the moment I heard what had happened. First I felt a lot of shock and fear and confusion, but underneath that all, I—I already knew that I would do everything I could to keep you safe. It wasn’t even a question. I knew I’d do anything possible to protect and help you. I didn’t even have to think about it, and I was so certain. I’d never felt that way before.”

Kip smiles and softly tangles his fingers in Pascal’s hair.

“The only times I’ve felt strong were when I thought I had to protect someone,” Kip says. “Even though I never really thought of myself as someone who could.”

Pascal pulls away from Kip’s chest and sits up slightly, looking up at him. Kip blushes a little and drops his gaze to Pascal’s stomach.

“I’ve always looked up to how steady you are around other people,” Kip says quietly. “I guess I’ve always been kind of...impatient and excitable sometimes, and I could get really anxious, and that’s before I even had to worry about really falling apart in front of anyone. I guess it’s just always been part of who I am, but I still—I love that even when you get worried or upset about something, you’re still so patient about it. And you’re so patient with me, I used to be—back when we first started dating, I was worried that you’d see me when I was stressed over something or...or just realize I wasn’t very...I’m not very put together, and you wouldn’t like it. But you only seemed to like me more the more that you saw of me, and I...that made me feel even more comfortable around you, and...I feel less shaken up by things just by knowing that you’re around.”

Kip’s gently scratching the back of Pascal’s neck; he meets his eyes.

“...I guess we help each other,” Pascal says. “Because I don’t feel quite as calm or steady on my own as I do when I get to be with you.”

Kip smiles and slides his hands to Pascal’s shoulders. He feels his heart beat a little harder.

“I guess we do,” he agrees.

—

Pascal is like soft rain. His presence is peaceful and comforting, almost cozy; his love is nurturing, invigorating, steady, all-encompassing. Kip wants to lie down for hours, close his eyes, and relax, soak him in, feel him on every inch of his skin. Every breath feels fresher, better. Everything is gentle and good.

Pascal is so much, so quietly. 

Kip loves him.

There was a day years ago when it had snowed for the first time since Kip’s family died. In spite of his deep aversion to the winter season, Kip had used to love the year’s first snowfall regardless—the beauty of it, the way it slowed and quieted everything, the enjoyment he shared with his siblings, playing around outside in the snowflakes until Kip was shivering all over but insisting it was fine, then recovering inside with soft, dry clothes, hot drinks, cozy blankets, and a warm and happy mood that lasted the rest of the day. But after they were gone, it was just making him think of how much he missed them.

At first he hadn’t even wanted to look at the snow or even acknowledge it at all. Then he admitted to Pascal that he used to think it was kind of lovely and had liked to sit and watch for a while, but now it was reminding him so much of his family that he wished he could ignore it completely. It almost angered him that it would snow when his family was no longer alive, that the seasons would still dare to change, the world dare to turn and pull him even further from them.

Pascal had touched his back and gently offered the option of going outside with heat packs and blankets, sitting together so closely that Pascal could hold Kip the whole time to remind him he was safe and still loved, and they could go back to the apartment whenever Kip liked. And Kip had surprised himself by tentatively agreeing to try it. He still didn’t have a completely full wardrobe of clothes—he was struggling to come to terms with buying even the most essential things—but he had a t-shirt, a secondhand sweater, socks, jeans. Pascal gave him one of his hats to cover his sensitive ears, gave him a sweatshirt multiple sizes too big to put on over it all, helped wrap his throat in a thick scarf he could easily tuck his chin or nose into. Pascal himself put on a decent coat and tucked a blanket under his arm and they headed out of the building together. Pascal took Kip’s hand as they stepped outside.

By Pascal’s suggestion, they had walked a few blocks over to a bench that happened to have an unobstructed view of a small park that was dotted with trees. The snow by that point had started to settle in a light but even dusting all over everything in sight, and it was undeniably beautiful. Kip did feel the absence of his siblings heavily, but Pascal held on to him with both arms wrapped around him, holding him against his side.

Kip said out loud that it was really pretty, and Pascal agreed. 

Kip stared at the scenery, where even the most mundane and unsightly features were made somewhat pretty, where the simple change made even the most familiar sight look new. He looked at the still sea of clouds above them, the snowflakes drifting down, dancing around each other. Everything seemed tranquil and soft.

He’d looked down at Pascal’s knees and listened to his steady breathing, wondering what he was thinking of, whether he was enjoying this. He’d rested his hand on Pascal’s thigh and gently rubbed it with his thumb. He’d tried to make himself focus fully on appreciating the present experience.

You know, Pascal had said after a long period of quiet. Snow can keep you warm.

Kip had turned and looked up at him.

It can, Pascal said. Snow is a good insulator. If you built yourself a shelter out of snow, it would help protect you from the low temperature outside. And it can keep what’s underground protected from the temperature in the wintertime, too.

Really, Kip had said.

Yeah. And it can fertilize the ground, Pascal continued. Closer to springtime, though, when everything isn’t already frozen. It helps everything grow.

Snow is a fertilizer?

Yeah, snow and rain both bring down nitrogen. When the snow melts, the soil can absorb that.

I didn’t know that, Kip said. I figured snow just killed plants.

Yeah, Pascal said. But snow can protect things from the cold, too, and then help them grow back again.

Kip had looked back out over the thickening blanket of snow, and nestled in just a bit closer to Pascal.

Pascal is like gentle snow.

—

With just a handful of hours left before his shift begins, Kip tries to focus on every detail of the apartment and how each moment makes him feel. He wants to imprint the constant sense of warmth and comfort and belonging into his heart, to have it to turn to whenever he’s upset or unhappy. He’s never without Pascal for more than a minute—they both seem to be physically holding on to each other even more as their separation grows nearer.

Pascal keeps looking at Kip, just staring quietly at his face for a spell. Kip will glance over and catch him doing it, but Pascal never seems embarrassed, simply reacting with a small smile and the lightest blush. It makes Kip laugh momentarily and lay a hand on Pascal’s arm in what he intends as a soothing gesture.

Though Kip makes no attempt to seriously confront the thought of his departure, he finds that what nervousness he does have is conquered by the affection he and Pascal are continuously sharing. Everything he notes about Pascal’s demeanor suggests that he’s also holding up well. He doesn’t bother pointing out the time or referencing the end of their long weekend at all; he knows they’re both aware of it.

Kip wavers for a moment in the middle of a quiet conversation, an unexpectedly sharp twinge of stress makes him pause and stare motionlessly at the tabletop as though it’s just done something to concern him. It only lasts a couple of seconds before he rouses himself to complete his sentence, but Pascal seems to have read between the lines anyhow—he stands and easily lifts Kip up off the couch, straightening up to hold him about four feet above the floor. Kip tenses for an instant from the sheer surprise of it, but quickly relaxes again, leaning against Pascal’s chest and only partially succeeded in stifling a bright smile. 

If anything is going to be okay, it’s this.

—

Pascal takes a ceramic bowl from the cabinet and holds it out; Kip inhales deeply and carefully takes it in his hands.

“Oh my god,” he says, rotating it slowly. “You did all these colors?”

“Yes.” Pascal kneels across from him. “The first glaze, the dark blue one, I did in class, and the rest I did after I brought it home, with different paints and smaller brushes to get all the details. And then I put on another glaze once it was all finished.”

Kip turns it over as Pascal speaks, marveling at its beauty. The bowl itself is smooth and symmetrical and must have been done on a wheel, but around the outside edge of the bowl is an organic arrangement of small, rose-like flowers, petals carefully placed and delicate and impressively realistic. The bowl is a deep, almost-greenish blue while the flowers are a lighter, more desaturated tone of blue. There’s a subtle gradient from their cores to their outer petals, and each individual flower seems to be a slightly different color from the one beside it. The lip of the bowl is rimmed with a thin, shimmering gold ring, which is also speckled in patches on the sides of the bowl like astral clusters.

“Pascal, this is so good,” Kip says emphatically. “And you’ve just started this?”

“Yeah...” Pascal glances aside, blushing. “It’s been a few months since I started, but...”

“Pasc, this is beautiful, you’re amazing. The colors are just gorgeous, and the petals on the flowers are so tiny and thin and you even made some of the edges wavy? That’s so incredible, Pas.”

“I mean, once you’ve figured out how to make one, you’ve made them all...”

“Still! I know you had to put a lot of time and focus into that. How long did this take you?”

“Well, I was working on the sculpting part for a few classtimes in a row, probably about six or seven hours there, not counting being put in the kiln. And when I took it home and did the extra painting, I’d just be working on it here and there some afternoons or evenings after coming home, sometimes I’d work on it while watching a movie or something.”

“Well, it really shows how much care you put into this. I can’t get over this detailing, it’s so precise and little and I don’t think I could handle something that small—I cannot believe you’ve only just gotten into this, you’re so good it looks like you’ve been doing this for years! Pasc, you have to keep this up, you’re amazing, you’re so talented! You said you like taking the class, right?”

He looks over at Pascal and is pleased to see he’s blushing deeply—it gives him a lovely kind of jolt behind his sternum.

“Yeah, I like it,” Pascal answers, brushing some of his hair behind his ear. “I was just looking for something to try mostly for the social aspect of it, and as something to kind of unwind, be around other people and give me an excuse to get out of the house, seeing as how I’m new in town and all...”

Kip is reminded of Wallace.

“Oh, yeah, that’s a good idea... I never really considered anything about any kind of school stuff myself. But I bet it has a whole variety of people in it. Did you make any friends yet?”

Pascal smiles.

“Not really, there’s people I’m friendly with and talk to while I’m there, but I’m not sure it’s to the point where I’d hang out with any of them outside class. But if they invited me to something, I might say yes? And speaking of, there’s one or two people who might have kind of a crush on me, or maybe they’re just shy around me, I don’t know.”

Now Kip feels himself blush.

“Oh, really?” he teases. “Well, they must have good taste. It’d only fair I give my blessing if you wanted to go out with any cute sculptor.”

Pascal laughs warmly.

“I’m not interested in anybody there, unfortunately,” he says. “I guess they’re not my type. People are nice, though.”

“They better be, you’re so kind and a half to everybody you ever meet. If I hear of anybody being mean to you, I’d...”

He clenches a fist and bares his fangs demonstratively. Pascal leans in and plants a kiss between his eyes.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says. “It’s just a nice couple of hours of working on different projects, making things...some days I don’t even much feel like talking, I just listen to music and put all my attention into putting something together.”

“Well, you’re great at it. This is completely beautiful,” Kip says, lifting the bowl. “You’re an artist and a natural.”

“Aw...” Pascal laughs and blushes again. “I do like working with clay, but I don’t think I can justify making too many things. This class I’m in now ends in another few months and I already have this bowl I don’t need... I mean, I guess it can be decorative, but I only have so much space to decorate, and so much space to store things...and even if everything I made was totally functional, I live by myself, I don’t exactly need very many dishes.”

“Well...” Kip looks down at the bowl again. “Well—hey, I mean, you already have a shop! You could make teapots, or teacups, and saucers—whole sets or just different items, and sell them! You’d be able to make them totally beautiful and unique and they’d be yours, it’s just like your tea blends, nobody can make them like you, and you’re so, so good at it. You’d have two kinds of your art there, and they’d look so nice on display, and people would come in to check for new pieces...”

“Gosh...I dunno, I...” Pascal trails off quietly, touching his lip.

“I mean, you could sell them separately, online or something, though I guess shipping could be expensive...or have a table at the town festivals or something, or... Really, you could just give them away if that gave you an excuse to keep making more ceramics. I think you should keep going with it if you like it, class or no class. There’s art supply stores, I’m sure you could get ahold of things you’d need through some of them.”

Pascal shrugs and smiles at him.

“Maybe so,” he says. “I’ll think about all that stuff.”

He leans in to kiss Kip on the mouth, twice, then harder a third time, then deeper a fourth. Kip pulls back to breathlessly insist Pascal put the bowl away quick before anything happens to it.

—

Kip is lifted up again and carried to the bed, but once he and Pascal are together on the mattress he begins to push for control. Pascal gives way as soon as he realizes what Kip’s doing, and lets Kip take off his shirt and boxers and lie him down on his back. Kip leans against Pascal’s chest and kisses him for a long time before he starts to move his hands across his body—he touches him almost as though it’s a massage, rubbing in circles, pushing slightly into his strokes. He slides his fingertips across his warm skin. He scratches gently at the more sensitive spots.

Pascal moves subtly to follow the contact but stays relaxed against the bed, breathing quietly and steadily. Whenever Kip feels Pascal’s muscles twitch beneath his touch, he reaches over to pet his hair or softly drag the back of his curled fingers down the side of his face. He pauses sometimes to just look at him, cups his jaw gently, slides his fingers over to the corner of his lips.

Pascal starts getting fairly hard prior before Kip’s even directly touched his dick, but he stays fairly still and relaxed regardless. When subtle signs of his restlessness begin to get away from him, Kip slides a hand down to take hold of his developing erection and gently, slowly work him to his full length. Without warning he throws in a more intensely stimulating maneuver to see what reaction it gets—Pascal audibly gasps and an arm curls in and slides onto his chest. Kip leans in and kisses the head of his cock, his stomach, his arm, his chest, his lips.

After a minute, Kip settles in a more comfortable position, sitting up against Pascal’s hip for the convenience of both the increased support and the contact for his own untended erection. He puts his hand against the underside of Pascal’s dick and brings it down to lie against Pascal’s pelvis, keeping his palm resting atop it to pin it in place. He reaches down with his free hand and cups him, evenly spreading his fingers out around his balls, stroking lightly with a beckoning motion of his fingertips and the softest pressure. A couple of minutes later he readjusts his position, slides his hand down, leans in, and takes hold of Pascal’s erection with the other. 

Soon he’s simultaneously massaging Pascal’s prostate with two fingers, sucking at his balls, and stroking his cock. He can feel Pascal’s legs rotate inwards and then stretch out as though trying to touch the opposite wall; Pascal’s arms begin trembling periodically.

It’s a matter of seconds before a loud, long groan is drawn from Pascal, followed by quiet, strained swearing and the restless shift of his hips. He breathes Kip’s name and then gasps and whines so beautifully that Kip pumps harder at his dick to hear more of the same. The results are everything he could’ve wished for, throaty whimpers and rich moans and increasingly loud repetitions of his name—Pascal blindly reaches down and slides his arm across Kip’s back, hugs his shoulders, strokes his hair.

When all of Pascal’s reactions signal a growing desperation and he’s begging Kip for something he’s yet to articulate, Kip pushes him for another few solid minutes before sitting back up and letting go of his dick—though he continues to steadily nudge his fingers against his prostate. He looks over—Pascal is visibly breathing heavily, his head tossed to one side against a pillow, his face deeply reddened. Kip watches for just a few more seconds before he has to indulge in this—he pulls out and climbs on top of him, grinding their dicks together and taking hold of Pascal’s face to kiss him fiercely. Pascal responds with unhesitating passion, kissing him back and wrapping an arm around his waist to hold them closer together while he grinds up hard against Kip. 

It all happens in a heady rush, but when Kip finds himself both hot and sweaty and giving off pulses of chilled air, he leans back and forces himself to slow their pace, reluctantly sliding off of Pascal’s waist to kneel between his legs. Pascal groans and slowly twists and arches against the bed, panting; he raised his shoulders up just enough to look at Kip. Kip holds his gaze for a few seconds, then bends down and kisses his stomach, biting and licking the skin. 

He takes Pascal’s dick in his mouth. He slides his fingers back inside him to continue pushing against his prostate. And with his other hand he alternates cupping him and stroking him off. Pascal only lasts a handful of minutes more—when Kip senses how close he is, he only pushes him harder. He swallows as Pascal orgasms and sucks him a few more times even as he’s quieting down, then removes all of his touch and sits up. He takes a moment to just catch his breath and take in the lovely sight of Pascal.

After a still and quiet minute Kip slides off the bed and walks around the side to kiss Pascal’s cheek—Pascal whispers his name and Kip brushes some of his hair out of his eyes for him.

Kip goes over into the bathroom and washes his hands and his face, drinks a few paper cupfuls of water, then soaks a washcloth and wipes down his neck and chest. He wrings it out, wets it again, and brings it back to Pascal. He kisses him and cleans some of his sweat off, then trails his hand down his body, from his throat down his chest and stomach and down his left leg to his toes, carefully generating a quick, gentle wash of cold all along the way. Pascal gives a deep, long sigh and thanks him, then reaches out to him. Kip walks into his arms and is drawn into a soft, sweet kiss.

Kip lies beside Pascal, looking at his face and absentmindedly touching his chest. He’s more than content to just do this, just lie with him and take in the sight of his gorgeous face and body and listen to his breathing even out, feel him grow almost as relaxed as if he was asleep. 

After a little while Pascal turns and rolls slightly more onto his side to look back at Kip. He smiles, and Kip smiles. Pascal rests his arm over Kip’s hip, then slides it down and pets slowly at his dick. Kip’s breath catches, but he keeps looking at Pascal and puts his arm over his shoulders, cupping the back of his head and playing with his hair. 

Quicker than Kip realizes, Pascal is ready to go again. Minutes later, Kip is on all fours on the mattress, back arching as he’s swept up in his growing waves of pleasure. Pascal keeps a secure grip on his waist as he fucks him hard and steady. The buildup is overwhelmingly gratifying, only moreso when Pascal finally pulls one arm from Kip’s side and spools it around his erection instead.

Kip cries out Pascal’s name and grips the edge of the mattress when he cums. Pascal leans in to hug his chest and latch onto the headboard, holding him up, and pushes into him just a couple more times before reaching his own climax, which starts before Kip’s has even ended. 

Pascal lets Kip sink slowly down to the mattress, then slumps down beside him. With what little energy he has, Kip pushes himself back against Pascal, who drapes an arm around him. Kip hugs the limb to his chest and closes his eyes, feeling Pascal’s inhalations pressing against his back. 

Eventually Kip rolls over to face Pascal, and draws himself in so close that he can tuck his head underneath Pascal’s chin. They’re quiet—just holding each other, communicating their attention and affection with subtle, light touches, little caresses, soothing rubs. 

For a moment it tugs at Kip that he’s not going to be able to fall asleep with Pascal tonight. It catches his breath for a moment; he furrows his brow and exhales slowly. Pascal kisses the top of his head and strokes Kip’s spine at the dip of his back. Kip squeezes his eyes shut and curls his toes and tells himself to just memorize this, every detail, draw it in and hold on to it.

—

Pascal gets up to make them some tea, and Kip only goes about a minute and a half before he feels like he just wants to be exactly where Pascal is for every moment until he has to leave. He gets out from under the covers and walks through the little hallway, through the living room, around the corner, and stands against the threshold of the kitchen doorway.

Pascal looks up from the lid he’s screwing back onto a tin of tea. 

“Hey...everything okay?” he asks. He sets the tin aside and walks towards him.

Kip smiles.

“Yeah,” he says. “I just wanted to be over here, I...wanna see as much of you as I can for these last couple hours.”

Pascal unhesitating draws him into a close hug. Kip returns it at once, looping his arms around Pascal’s waist and resting his forehead against the center of Pascal’s chest; Pascal rests his cheek on the top of Kip’s head and holds him both around the shoulders and around his butt. They stand like that, their breathing providing the only movement and sound, until the kettle starts to wail with steam. 

Pascal pours the water into their cups, then waits in front of them for half a minute before putting the leaves in to steep. The moment he turns back to Kip, Kip walks over to him, and they resume their embrace exactly as it had been.

—

Kip gives Pascal another backscratching massage, and it goes on long enough for them to exchange conversation that leaps and wanders between a variety of topics.

Kip asks if Pascal’s work is intimidating or stressful; Pascal says it’s usually smooth sailing as it’s a small and simple place and he’s built up a routine for it, though he does worry about some unforeseeable disaster or string of bad luck ruining everything.

Kip says he still has appointments with Eno.

He talks about how he’s been trying to read for fun again, how that’s been something that’s faded out for a couple of years more than once.

Pascal says he’s gotten more into listening to music as a way to try to relax or distract himself when he’s stressed.

Kip says he’s been putting off buying new socks for work even though one by one all his current pairs are getting work out.

Pascal says he’s been thinking about trying to figure out if he can plant a window garden.

Kip pushes at Pascal’s lower back, slowly but forcefully, then moves the treatment up around his shoulders. He can feel Pascal relaxing even further under his hands and tries to work out any ounce of tension or ache he might be carrying.

“Is this good?” Kip says. “Does this ever seem to help?”

“It feels really nice,” Pascal mumbles against the mattress. “I could do this all day.”

Kip smiles and massages the very top of his shoulders, kneading and squeezing. 

“I wish I could do this for you,” Pascal says. “It’s so good.”

“It’s alright,” Kip laughs. “I wish that when I hold you it could fell the way it does when you hold me.”

“It feels great being held by you, what are you talking about?” Pascal argues. “I love it even better than this. Hug me right now.”

Kip grins as Pascal pushes himself onto his back; Pascal reaches out to pull him in and Kip bursts into laughter. But he plays along and lies on top of Pascal, wrapping his arms around him and nuzzling his face against his shoulder with a contented hum. Pascal sighs happily and puts his arms around Kip’s back, heavy and soft and warm, their weight pressing Kip down harder against his boyfriend.

“...I can’t even say how glad I am that we’re here,” Kip murmurs. “I’m so happy that you want to be with me, even with everything that’s happened. It makes me so, so happy to get to be with you, too. I love you more every time I see you.”

Pascal pulls him in just that much closer and pushes a kiss to his cheek.

“That was never in doubt for even a second,” Pascal says. “It could hardly be easier to choose this.”

Kip laughs again, burying his face against Pascal’s neck.

“I mean it,” Pascal emphasizes. “The instant I thought there was a chance we could be together again, I knew exactly what I wanted. I was just waiting to see if you wanted the same. There was never anything else I was considering.”

Pascal rubs Kip’s back.

“You mean so much to me,” he continues quietly. “I could talk about it all day and still not even cover half of it.”

He brushes his arm along the back of Kip’s neck. Kip melts further against him, exhaling deeply. He nudges his lips against Pascal’s throat and presses his fingertips a little harder into the back of Pascal’s shoulders. 

“The feelings I get when I think about you—it’s so strong.” Pascal’s voice is soft and close. “It’s so strong that I know it’s tougher than anything. It’s not even just a feeling, it’s...it’s what we’ve done and been through together, and it’s knowing you, everything I know about you, and knowing I’ll always get to learn more, and that I’ll never know everything about you because you’re even more than that, there would be no way to know and understand everything even if there was an eternity. And how beautiful that seems, and how I couldn’t even know as much as I do about myself without you, and...knowing who I get to be with you, and how you bring things out in me, and...it’s just everything. Everything about you, everything about being with you, everything.”

Kip exhales a helpless laugh as quiet passion rises in Pascal’s voice; his heart is beating a blush into his face. He kisses the corner of Pascal’s jaw.

“Pasc—“ He slides off to lie beside Pascal, facing him; Pascal rolls over to face him too.

Kip takes hold of Pascal’s arm and kisses it, threads his fingers into Pascal’s hair and kisses his mouth. He kisses him again and again, trying to communicate through it how much he loves Pascal and treasures him, how much he thrives in their relationship, how much he wants this.

When he pulls a few inches away to say something, he looks Pascal in the face and sees him with his eyes still closed, blushing slightly, clearly waiting for the next kiss. So Kip doesn’t disappoint him.

It goes so slowly that it takes a while for Kip to start feeling out of breath; when he does, he tilts his head up so his lips touch Pascal’s forehead. 

“Hold me,” he says quietly.

He’s gathered up in Pascal’s arms.

Kip closes his eyes. He glides his fingertips over Pascal’s skin, gently drags his nails back in circles against his shoulderblades. 

They’re quiet for a few minutes until Kip breaks it with a hesitant question.

“So, uh...hey.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’re you—or, what do you think your day’s gonna be?”

Pascal is silent for a couple of seconds.

“...Like, after this?” he says.

“Yeah...like after I leave.”

“Oh...well, I guess I’ll probably do some cleaning to distract myself a little. Then I’m gonna go over to work too a couple hours after you do. And that should keep me busy into the evening. And then at the end of the day I’ll eat something and do something to relax before bed. Should all be pretty exciting.”

“Mm. What kind of disaster do you think is gonna be waiting for you after you’ve been gone for two whole days?”

“Things get about as chaotic as you’d expect a small tea shop run by me to be.”

Kip smiles and lies his hand on Pascal’s waist.

“Well, that sounds pretty close to what I’m going to be doing. Work until close and then drag myself back to the apartment to pass out.”

“Try not to have more fun than I’ll be having,” Pascal says.

“I’ll do what I can.”

“I mean, try not to ever have any fun if I’m not around.”

“Right, I don’t.”

“Don’t ever enjoy yourself without me, you know? Sit in your room and stare at the floor until you see me again—unless the floor becomes interesting somehow, because then you’ll have to find something else that’s even less enjoyable to replace it.”

“I’ll be sure to tear out the carpet if I start enjoying myself too much by counting the individual fibers,” Kip says seriously.

“Hmm—what would you replace it with? If you’re walking around on the bare floor underneath, you’d get the thrill of having to avoid stepping on carpet tacks.”

“Uh...I could do that sort of tan vinyl tiling that’s used in schools and offices and stuff,” he suggests.

“I dunno, I know I sometimes look for shapes in the weird textures on those. Sounds like it might be too exciting.”

“I could...have the floor painted over.”

“Mm. What color?”

“Grey? Or maybe black.”

“That sounds a little risky.”

“Wh—how is that risky?” Kip demands. “That’s the least amount of visual stimulation I could choose!”

“Well, I’d just be over here worrying that one day you’ll decide to imagine your bed is a rocket and your floor is outer space. That would be way too fun.”

Kip breaks with a momentary giggle and hugs Pascal tightly against himself. Pascal huffs a low laugh as well and pushes Kip onto his back; Kip looks up at him and smiles and Pascal leans in to bring his face inches away from Kip’s.

Kip unexpectedly feels his heart beating harder and his face warming—as though they haven’t shared thousands of kisses already and this is still something intimidatingly new. 

“You know we’ll still just be a little over a mile away from each other,” Pascal says quietly.

“Yeah...”

“And we can text each other now, and call and everything.”

“Yeah. That helps a lot.”

Kip tilts his head up and closes his eyes as Pascal dips down and kisses him. He pulls Pascal back in for another when the first is done. When that one’s over, he sits up and holds both of Pascal’s arms in his hands, then can’t help one more quick kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

“Thank you—“ He kisses his cheek. “For everything you do for me. I’ve always noticed it. I’ve always appreciated it.”

Pascal leans back and smiles at him with his warm, sweet look.

“I can say the same to you,” Pascal says. “And I know you do things that you try not to be noticed for, or things you think don’t count. But everything you do counts. And you’re so good to me, love.”

Kip has to smile in turn.

“Well, it’s easy, because I love you so much.” 

“I love YOU so much!” Pascal laughs and squeezes Kip close in a tight hug.

Kip hugs him back just as tightly, tucking his face against Pascal’s shoulder. Pascal makes him feel so loved, and so wanted. He adores Pascal so much—this incredible person who knows and loves his warmest and coldest—who unhesitatingly supported him with everything he had during the worst part of Kip’s life—who softly lights up every time he so much as catches sight of Kip—who makes Kip laugh and feel the deepest love and relax and not only feel like he can be himself, but like he wants to—who generates this sense of peace and safety and belonging that floats around him like a warm and gentle halo. 

“Pasc,” Kip murmurs.

“Uh-huh?”

“I wanna stay with you.”

“I know. I want you to stay, too.”

“No, I mean—not just here, not just today. I mean, just...wherever and whenever, I just...I mean, whether or not we’re in the same place, I wanna be with you. I wanna stay with you.”

Pascal draws back and looks at Kip.

“Like...” Kip holds Pascal’s gaze and touches his neck. “I want to keep being with you, next month and next year and however long there is. I’ll stay with you. I want to be with you.”

Pascal blinks at him for a moment and then lets out a heavy exhale as though he was holding his breath.

“Kip,” he says simply.

Kip is about to respond when Pascal leans in and shoves his face against Kip’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around Kip’s waist. Kip is frozen for a moment, then slides his arms around Pascal’s back. He leans into the embrace and rests his cheek against Pascal’s hair and closes his eyes, breathing deeply.

Pascal turns his head and kisses Kip’s throat, then leans back up and looks at Kip again. He looks gorgeous, his hair somewhat messed, his eyes brought out by a solid blush. Kip glances back and forth between his eyes and lips, too distracted by his handsome face and the desire to kiss him to think of what to say. 

But Pascal speaks first.

“I want to stay with you, too.”

—

Kip is so completely in love with Pascal. 

He feels as close to him now as he did before they’d ever broken off from each other—closer even, with their experiences apart only serving to tie them together even more securely. It’s different, better than it was before—better than when they were first dating, when they took to each other like birds to the sky but were in a relationship too new to make plans; better than when they moved in together, when despite how quickly they adapted and how well they did, it was still the result of an accident, of something they’d never want, something completely removed from anything they’d ever choose for themselves.

But this is chosen. This is so deeply wanted and wished for and waited upon. This feels so right that Kip can’t sense the smallest flicker of doubt no matter how far he searches for any. Even with his deeply anxious instincts, his inevitable tendency to fear and expect the worst out of anything—the concept and experience of being with Pascal registers in his heart as nothing but good.

This feels like their relationship again. The dynamic, the communication, the connection—it feels like it’s slipped smoothly back into place, fitting perfectly, operating seamlessly. It makes Kip feel so at home not only with Pascal but with himself. Being with Pascal, being next to him and being with him, it lets Kip exist without self-doubt, without self-consciousness, without feeling out of place or obtrusive or overlooked, without worrying about being disappointing or stifling or just too much of himself. Too anxious, too avoidant, too passive, too tense, too impatient, too excitable, too much of a landmine.

With Pascal, he’s softened and intensified at once, in all the best ways. His fears are comforted, his passions are fueled, he talks and laughs more easily and sees himself more clearly and feels less disappointment in who he is, replaced with more appreciation and understanding. He’s more patient, he’s less irritable, he’s more relaxed and comfortable and content. He feels closer than he ever does to who he was years before the fire, and closest to who he’s become after it, feeling safe enough for the former and loved enough for the latter. 

Even he could never talk himself out of this now.

The way Pascal smiles at him, looks at him, Kip could never question if Pascal loves and wants him, if he makes Pascal happy. 

It was all true then, and that truth is just as present now. 

This feels like them again.

—

Kip walks over beside the chair and strokes a hand down the back of Pascal’s head until he’s cradling its base; Pascal looks up at him.

“Don’t forget how much I love you while I’m gone, okay?” Kip smiles and gently scratches his fingers against the roots of Pascal’s thick hair.

“I won’t.” 

Pascal rubs his arm up and down Kip’s side, and when it bunches up the tee Kip’s wearing he leans in and kisses the exposed blue stripe of stomach. Kip giggles and so Pascal does it again and again and again until Kip is outright laughing.

Kip grabs Pascal’s shoulders and pushes him back and it makes him smile even brighter to see that Pascal is laughing quietly too.

“God, Pasc,” he sighs heavily, looking at his gorgeous brown eyes. “I missed you so, so bad. I missed you so much.”

It’s all too easy to remember the stinging ache that came when he’d lay in bed alone and think about how he’d never see Pascal again.

“I missed you,” he says again, and then he climbs into Pascal’s lap and hugs him with his arms and legs alike. “So much.”

“I know,” Pascal says against Kip’s shoulder. 

“I remember it,” Kip says, squeezing Pascal tight. “It’s so easy to remember it—thinking I’d never be with you again, and trying to sleep alone and get used to not seeing you every day, and even worse, never talking to you, and how much it felt like I was actually hurt or sick or something—“

“I know. I know exactly what you mean.”

“I just...wanted to talk to you. I’d see things or do things and put them in my head to tell you about later or I’d think of a question I wanted to ask or I’d just think of talking about how our days went—“

“I know,” Pascal murmurs. “I felt that too.”

“God, Pasc, it was such shit...”

“Yeah,” Pascal says quietly.

Kip slowly places his hands on either side of Pascal’s jaw, staring intently at his face and lightly caressing his cheeks with his thumbs. 

Pascal smiles a little.

“There’s this look you get sometimes,” he tells Kip softly. “Like this is your only chance to look at me, and you’ll have to remember it forever.”

Kip blinks and slips his fingers down the sides of Pascal’s neck to his shoulders.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I guess I do that.”

Pascal takes hold of one of Kip’s wrists and brings it around to kiss its knuckles.

“Your hands are getting a little cold.” Pascal’s voice is just above a whisper.

“Sorry—“ Kip tries to pull them back.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Pascal says. “I don’t ever mind you touching me no matter how warm or cold you are.”

He pulls Kip’s palms to his chest and keeps his arms overtop them, holding them firmly against the warm skin, between soft hair and soft suckers. Kip breathes out slowly and looks up at Pascal. A shiver rolls through him at the warmth.

“You should just fuck me here,” Pascal murmurs.

“What—here?”

“Yeah. Do me on my kitchen floor.”

Kip blushes. His fingers twitch against Pascal’s chest.

Pascal leans in and presses their lips together.

—

Kip manages to hold out long enough to bring Pascal to the brink and pull him back several times in a row before they finally orgasm together. The climax drowns Kip in several long, dizzyingly intense waves until he finds his limbs are trembling and weak; he pulls out of Pascal and touches his boyfriend’s stomach, watching his arms twitch and curl as he pants for breath. 

Kip leans in, breathing heavily too, and slowly brushes his fingertips down Pascal’s torso, pouring coolness against his skin. He repeats it several times, following alongside the trail made by the strands of Pascal’s cum that extends from his stomach up to his throat.

Pascal looks so good. Kip stares at his face for a few moments and then crawls over and lies down beside him. The floor is hard and almost cold, but Pascal isn’t—Kip lies his hand on the side of Pascal’s chest and inches close enough to touch at the hips and thighs.

Pascal puts his arm over Kip’s hand and turns his head to look at him. Kip smiles.

“Good?” he asks.

“Yeah. That would’ve made anyone’s day,” Pascal answers, panting quietly.

Kip rolls onto his side and touches Pascal’s face. 

“God, I love you,” he murmurs. “Just...if aIl I ever accomplished was being someone who gets to know so much about you...who knows how caring and generous and...thoughtful and patient and sweet and kindhearted you are, and...you’re so fun and talking to you is so fun and you have such good thoughts that I always wish I could have you beside me just to hear what you have to say about everything...”

He’s seeing Pascal’s smile and blush and it’s making him smile and blush too.

“You’re such a lovely person and it’s so wonderful and good to be around you so much and...you’ve got a beautiful heart and you’re such...you’re so good that it’s hard to believe. And being there for you whenever things are hard and...I just can’t believe I’ve gotten to be a part of your life, you know? Like that I could be so close to you and share these things, like...”

He closes his eyes and squeezes his hold on Pascal’s arm.

“I always felt like I could trust you with anything,” he says quietly. “Even back before everything happened. I never had to have any doubts about how much you loved me and I just...I knew I could always share anything I wanted with you. And you’ve always made me feel like you trusted me just as much and wanted to tell me things too and I was so important to you, and...god, I love that it’s you, you’re the one I got to become so close to.”

He’s pressing his forehead to Pascal’s shoulder.

“I can’t put it all into words, Pasc,” he says. “Definitely not in one sitting...and even if I could, even if I was good enough with words and had all the time in the world, just telling you how good it is to be with you wouldn’t be enough. It wouldn’t be good enough and...you’d deserve more than just being told how fantastic it is being together. And I mean, I couldn’t love you well enough that way anyways, half the time I’m messing up what I’m saying to anyone or I’m just having a day where I can’t really say much through talking...”

“I know what you’re saying,” Pascal says. “I know when you care about someone that a lot of it is coming through in something other than words.”

Kip smiles softly and rubs his knee against Pascal’s.

“Well, you deserve everything I can show with my time and attention and my energy and everything else I can turn my love into,” he says. “And I want to give you all of it, it feels amazing to get to love you and the better I can the better it feels, and...and I wanna be able to show you with the little ordinary ways, too.”

“I think just knowing we get to talk about anything we want anytime we want is better than anything anyone could say,” Pascal murmurs. “And just stuff like...when you come up behind me and hug me and kiss me on the back. Or when you tell me about something that made you think of me. When I see all the little things you do for me throughout the day even when we’re not together. That kind of stuff means a lot to me, I think it says so much.”

Kip laughs softly and props himself up on one elbow, leaning slightly over Pascal and trailing his fingers up and down his arm.

“Well, I’m glad I have the chance to do that stuff again,” he says. “Like, really, really, really glad. More than I can say.”

“More than you can show?”

“I might be able to tell you better in a lot of other ways, yeah.”

“How long do you think that’ll take?”

“Hmm, well, each day I’m with you I’ll probably be needing the whole day to tell you. Just in little ways as we go along, so that you don’t have to sit down for it or anything.”

“Right, thanks.”

“It might have to keep going on for forever, because otherwise I’d fall behind, you know?”

“Oh, that’s good,” Pascal says, and presses a kiss to Kip’s wrist. “That’s probably how long I’d need to make sure you feel as loved as you are.”

Kip exhales slowly and can’t help smiling. Pascal plants a few more kisses along Kip’s arm and then looks up at him; Kip feels his smile.

“My sweetest Kip,” Pascal breathes. He pushes himself upright and smoothly pulls Kip into his lap.

“Only because I’m the only Kip you know—“ Kip laughs and blushes as Pascal buries his face in the crook of his neck and kisses it, his scruff rubbing a pleasant friction against Kip’s skin.

“My only Kip,” Pascal mumbles as he kisses up to the corner of Kip’s jaw. 

His lips and breath are warm. Kip draws him closer until their chests meet, and Pascal slides his arms snugly around Kip’s back. Kip cradles Pascal’s head against his shoulder.

“Do you feel cold?” Pascal asks. “You’re shivering a little bit.”

“No,” Kip answers. “It’s just because you’re so warm.”

“Too warm?”

“Of course not,” Kip laughs. “I love it.”

Pascal nestles them a little closer together. Kip closes his eyes and concentrates on the feeling of every point of contact between them.

“We should probably take a shower,” Pascal says after a quiet minute or two.

“Mm, yeah, I guess that’s true,” Kip says. 

“Here, hold on to me...” 

Kip does, and the next thing he knows, Pascal has lifted him up with an arm under his knees and the other under his back, and stands upright with Kip held against his chest.

“God, you’re good at this,” Kip says breathlessly. He knows he’s blushing—he always does.

“You make it so much fun.” Pascal kisses his nose.

Kip laughs and puts his hand against Pascal’s chest, curling his body in to make it easier as Pascal carefully navigates the little hallway to bring him into the bathroom.

“Would you rather have a shower or a bath?” Pascal asks, lowering Kip’s feet to the floor.

“Take a shower with me,” Kip says.

Pascal does, and he also sucks Kip off while pushing the end of his arm inside him. Kip can’t hardly think at the height of it, he feels like his body is overflowing with energy yet somehow also as light and soft as moonbeams. The intensity of his climax is overwhelming; when he starts to recover himself he weakly asks if he’d pulled Pascal’s hair or scratched at his back too hard, as he’d lost himself a bit too much during his orgasm to be aware of how loud or rough he might’ve been. 

After a minute spent catching both their breaths in the little, steamed-up space, Kip sits Pascal down on the bathmat, leans against him with his head resting on Pascal’s shoulder, and jerks him off as the warm water spills down their bodies. He hugs Pascal close, and can hear every tiny whimper and caught breath right up to the point when Pascal groans his name when he reaches his peak.

Kip holds Pascal until he’s recovered enough of his strength to stand up and actually wash himself. Kip works some shampoo into his own hair and smiles to himself as he breathes the familiar scent of Pascal’s soap.

—

Kip lies back on the bed after he’s dry, glad to relax against the mattress and feel the soft blankets on his bare skin. He’s still lying there when Pascal comes in, already dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants.

“I should probably start putting everything back in my bag,” Kip murmurs. “But this is so comfortable.”

“Can I join you?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

The shifting curve of the mattress moves Kip’s body as Pascal comes over to lie beside him. Kip puts a hand on Pascal’s stomach.

“I love having you on my bed,” Pascal says. 

“Yeah?” Kip laughs quietly.

“Yeah. It’s the kind of thing I’d want so much that I’d dream about it, back before we were together. Both times before we were together.”

Kip slips his hand down the inside of Pascal’s arm, feeling the soft give of the suckers beneath his fingertips.

“Poor guy,” he sighs. “You’ve had some rough times.”

Pascal laughs softly.

“No, you have,” Kip says. “I know you have. I don’t really love knowing I contributed to that some.”

“Shh.” Pascal rolls onto his side and kisses Kip’s temple. “Nobody can help what happened. But you’re an amazingly good and lovely thing that’s happened to me, Kip.”

Kip laughs and turns his head to meet Pascal’s eyes for a moment, smiling at him.

“I mean it, babe,” Pascal murmurs, touching his cheek. “For all we know, the way things happened might’ve been the smoothest possible course. I understand why you felt like you had to go. I know that you feel bad about it and I know that hurt a lot for both of us. And I want you to know I don’t hold it against you, okay? I’m not mad. I know that you wouldn’t want to be with me now if you felt the same way that you did then, I know that you—I know you chose this, you told me as much. And I’ve always known how much you care about me. I’ve always known that.”

Kip closes his eyes as Pascal brings their mouths together for a gentle kiss.

“If you still feel like you have something to apologize for,” Pascal whispers a half-inch from his lips, “I forgive it. Really and truly, I forgive any and everything.”

He pecks a kiss to Kip’s upper lip and leans back to look at him again. 

“You believe me?” he asks softly.

Kip presses his lips together and looks at Pascal, his kind and loving and deeply understanding boyfriend. Underneath his shivering doubt for himself he feels his warm, steady confidence in Pascal.

He meets Pascal’s eyes.

“Yeah, I do,” he murmurs.

Pascal smiles brighter and puts his arm around Kip’s back, sliding it down to cup his butt.

“I’m so happy being with you,” Pascal says, and kisses him.

—

Packing up is a gradual process. There’s just over an hour left by the time he finishes—he leaves his work clothes laid out on top of his bag, unwilling to put them on until he has to, remaining naked instead. 

He starts to give Pascal a backrub, but somehow within a few minutes he ends up being held in Pascal’s lap in the armchair, sitting on his thighs but supported with an arm under the knees and the other under his back as though he’s being carried. Pascal hugs him close at first, cuddling him against his chest and resting his head on top of Kip’s, then loosens his hold a bit so that Kip’s feet are on the cushion of the chair and the arm along Kip’s back cradles him like a hammock.

Kip leans his head against Pascal and absently traces shapes on his chest, taking in the touch and scent and warmth of his body. He can hear and feel Pascal’s breathing. Kip notices peripherally that Pascal periodically takes a few moments to just look at him—it makes Kip blush and tuck his head slightly against Pascal’s arm. Pascal takes to slowly stroking Kip’s side and hip. He kisses Kip’s hair.

Kip becomes aware of a sound that he at first thinks is the air turning on, then thinks might be a box being dragged across a distant floor. He slides his hand along the flow of Pascal’s chest hair and looks up at the ceiling.

“Is that rain?” he asks quietly. 

“...I think so,” Pascal says. “You can’t really see out any of the windows from here, but the light looks pretty overcast.”

“Mm.” Kip closes his eyes again and rests his forearm across his own stomach, his knuckles touching Pascal. “It’s nice.”

Pascal leans in and kisses Kip’s knee. Kip smiles faintly and looks up at him again.

“You always touch me so gently,” Kip tells him, reaching up to touch his jawline. 

“Am I being too careful?” Pascal asks.

“No, I like it. You’re so soft with me—it feels like you love me.”

Pascal smiles and a slight flush blossoms across his cheeks.

“Good.” 

Kip caresses the side of Pascal’s face; his skin feels so pleasantly warm.

“I love you,” Kip says.

Pascal’s blush deepens beautifully and his whole expression subtly brightens. Kip feels his heartbeat respond at the sight. He puts his hand on Pascal’s arm and squeezes gently.

There’s a quiet roll of thunder and Pascal pulls Kip in and kisses his face. Kip laughs and hooks his arms around the back of Pascal’s neck. Pascal kisses his forehead, his nose, chin, lips, then wraps both arms around Kip’s back and hugs him tightly.

“Hey,” Pascal starts, and Kip interrupts him with a firm kiss. “Do you want—“

Kip kisses him again.

“Do you want some tea? I was thinking of making some.”

Kip hides his grin against Pascal’s throat.

“Yes, absolutely.”

—

“You’re an artist,” Kip murmurs into the steam of his cup. “I’m not even trying to compliment you. You just absolutely have such a talent that you’ve worked on and you make your blends into an art.”

Pascal puts down the kettle and kisses the top of Kip’s head.

“I do try to make them all different. And good,” he says. 

“It comes through.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, definitely, Pasc. I mean, I’ve only got to try a few of these so far, and they’re each standout in their own way.”

Pascal laughs softly.

“I’m really glad to hear it. I do put thought into them, I don’t know. I guess I’d always wished there was a place around where there were more original blends, I would’ve loved it. And I do put a lot of thought into the ones I make now.”

“Yeah, I really appreciate that, and I think a lot of people already do, too,” Kip says. “You definitely seem to have a decent amount of fans.”

“Who doesn’t like tea?” Pascal shrugs and sits down in the other chair. But Kip is satisfied to see in Pascal’s face that he’s flattered.

“Anyone who likes tea will love yours,” he says, and takes another sip of his own.

Pascal leans over; Kip leans in as well to let Pascal press a kiss to the side of his head.

“And it’s lucky for me that you like tea so much,” Kip says. “Half the time I would’ve made some for myself anyhow, you’ve already made some.”

“I’ve always been glad you like it, too,” Pascal says. “I love to be able to make it for people, I don’t know, it’s just really comforting and welcoming at the same time.”

“It’s good for keeping me warm, too,” Kip adds. “And your summer iced tea saves lives when it gets really humid.”

“Yeah, that’s another reason it’s so great.”

“...I still always think of that time I was sleeping on the couch,” Kip says. “Or, trying to sleep. And I was all huddled up on one end and you laid down with me and held me. And even with your help and with the blanket I had, I was so freezing cold I couldn’t stop shaking or hardly move. And you brought me heat packs and extra blankets and a hot water bottle and put a towel under your shirt to warm it up for me. And then you brought me that mug of tea, and I remember holding it really tightly, and I was finally starting to be able to feel all the warmth of everything you’d given me. And just drinking that for a minute warmed me up that much more, and I could feel the heat inside me, and I stopped crying so bad. And for a while it was just drinking that tea and being slowly warmed up while you held me. That was so nice, especially after I’d felt so awful. It was one of those times I was feeling so bad I was sure that nothing could ever pull me back from it. So I always remember that as one of the best cups of tea I ever had.”

Pascal looks down at his own tea.

“I remember that too,” he says softly. “I could tell it was really bad for you. I’m glad the tea helped. I felt like I was sort of throwing anything I could think of to help you and just hoping that any of it would stick.”

“You always helped me,” Kip reassures him. “Even when things got hard when I was alone, I could always think of you, and I could know that we were together.”

He looks down at the surface of his tea.

“I’ve never forgot how good you’ve always been to me, even from the day we met. I never stopped appreciating everything you’ve done. I wouldn’t ever have stopped, even if we hadn’t...”

Pascal nods.

“Even when we weren’t together, I still would’ve done anything to help you,” Pascal says. “Even if I’d thought there was no chance you’d want to be with me again, I’d still have given any help you needed from me.”

“Yeah,” Kip says quietly. “I knew you would’ve.”

Kip glances at Pascal and then back to the rich red-orange of his tea.

“I would’ve done anything to keep you safe then,” he murmurs. “It wouldn’t have been my place to try to support you in any more personal way, though. But now, I...I want to be part of everything again. Anything you ever want to talk to me about, whatever I can do to help you with anything, whether it’s this huge and horrible problem or just little stuff, I, um...I’m here for you for everything.”

He thought he might make himself a bit nervous by saying these things, but he feels calmer for it.

“...I mean, I’ll be with you for everything you want me to be,” he amends. “You don’t have to let me help with everything. I just want to be here for you whenever you want me to be.”

Pascal’s foot nudges his own underneath the table; Kip looks over to see Pascal smiling softly at him. He smiles back.

“I love you,” Pascal says, and puts his arm over Kip’s hand.

Kip ducks his head as he smiles brighter.

“I love you too.”

—

“You doing okay?” Pascal asks.

“Uh—yeah, I mean, I’m holding up. Do I seem stressed out?” It’s a genuine question; Kip knows that sometimes a little bit of unhappiness comes through as heavy stress in his expression.

“You just sighed,” Pascal explains.

“I did?” 

“Yeah.”

“Oh...” Kip shrugs. “It’s nothing bad. I just don’t wanna go to work.” He laughs lightly.

Pascal loops his arm around Kip’s waist and leans in so that their hips bump together.

“I hear you,” he says, and kisses Kip behind the ear.

“I mean...” Kip sighs again, then realizes it and laughs at himself. “It would be so nice if we’d had entire weeks to spend like this, just being together and not having to do anything.”

“Yeah,” Pascal agrees, a little morosely.

Kip strokes Pascal’s arm. 

“Still, it’s just great to know this isn’t a real goodbye for once. I mean, we had to get used to...basically never seeing each other. Even after I met you again. I think in the back of my mind some part of me still hasn’t caught up with the fact that’s not how it is anymore, and I keep being half-surprised that every time we go separate ways that it isn’t forever, and we still get to see each other again soon.”

He’s gratified to see Pascal gain a slight smile.

“I think it’s a bit like that for me, too,” Pascal says. “Like my brain’s default when I wake up is that we aren’t dating, and then I remember that we are, which is awesome, but then I miss you.”

“Honestly, I’ve been pretty much just as excited for getting to wake up in the same bed as getting to fuck again,” Kip says. “It’s such, such a good feeling. Like, I used to wake up half-asleep and imagine I could feel you holding me, and that would practically break my heart. But to feel that and realize it’s real? ...Wow.”

Pascal’s laugh is warm. He squeezes Kip a little closer.

“It was really awful the day we moved, wasn’t it,” Kip says quietly. 

“...Yeah. All that stuff that happened then was hard.”

“I’m so glad we’ve ended up together in spite of all that,” he says. “I wish that back then I’d known it was okay to even hope for this.”

Pascal wraps his arm around Kip’s hand and squeezes it gently. Kip squeezes back.

—

Kip dresses himself slowly. His head feels a little foggy. He does up the buttons of his shirt one at a time, fingers moving loosely and imprecisely. Every now and then his ears pick up on the patter of raindrops against the windowpane.

He goes into the bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror for a moment. He pees and then washes his hands and face and wets a few errant strands of hair to coax them more into place. He looks at himself a moment more, then tucks his shirt in and goes back to the bedroom to put on socks and shoes.

“Ugh,” he groans as he reenters the living room. He sits down next to Pascal on the couch. “It’s not fun to have to leave.”

“Yeah, this doesn’t feel great,” Pascal agrees. He scoots closer to Kip and pulls him closer with an arm draped around his shoulders. Kip sighs and leans against him.

They sit together quietly for a while. Kip traces his fingertips on the back of Pascal’s arm and closes his eyes when Pascal rests his cheek against the top of his head.

“With the rain outside, I’d love to just stay right here like this for an hour with a blanket or two and just take a nap,” Kip mumbles. “But don’t get a blanket involved now or I might not be able to convince myself to ever get up.”

“That sounds really nice.”

“Mmhm.”

He inhales slowly as Pascal rubs an arm along his thigh, slightly bunching the fabric of his work pants. 

“It’s good that we can text each other now,” he says. “It helps, since we don’t get to see each other every day like this. I mean, it feels like worlds ago that we still had to take the train to see each other. Back after we had just become friends, and when we’d just gotten together. It could be weeks before we were in the same place. That could be tough sometimes. But we hadn’t gotten as close as we would yet.”

He bites his lip gently.

“Hey,” Pascal says.

“Yeah?”

“We’ll see each other soon, okay? In just a few days. I promise we’ll be together again before it’s been even a full week.”

Kip gives a quiet laugh and hugs him. 

“I mean it,” Pascal says. “It’ll only be a day or two. We’ll keep finding times to see each other. If I have to, I’ll just come over at night and we can cuddle in bed until we fall asleep. I promise.”

Kip hugs him tighter and digs his fingers into Pascal’s shirt.

“Thanks.”

—

“I should’ve thought to bring my own...”   
Kip mumbles as Pascal passes him the small, bright green travel umbrella.

“It’s okay, I have another.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re sure you’ve got everything?” Pascal asks again.

“Yeah,” Kip says, smiling softly at the floor. “It’s all in here.” He shifts the shoulder strap of his bag.

“Okay. ...That’s not too heavy?”

“No, it’s pretty light. Just a couple changes of clothes and a toothbrush, mostly. I’ll be alright.”

“I could carry it for you,” Pascal offers.

“I know I’m not as strong as you, but I can handle this much,” Kip laughs. “It would be nice to walk with you, but it would take up so much time for you to go all the way over and back. You’d barely have any time before going over to work. You should take it easy here and relax a bit.”

He puts his hand on Pascal’s side as he says it, asking him. Pascal meets his eyes and nods after a beat.

“It would be cool if you went with me to the front door, though,” Kip says.

“Of course.”

Pascal takes his hand, and Kip squeezes their grip tightly. 

It’s a little sad to hear Pascal close the door of the apartment behind them. But Kip tries not to focus on it. They walk down the hall and take the elevator down to the bottom floor.

“Okay,” Kip says softly as they turn the corner into the lobby. They approach the door and then Kip stops and turns to face Pascal. “No long goodbye, or I’ll lose any momentum I have.”

“Okay,” Pascal agrees. “I think you know the kinds of things I’d say.”

Kip does, and that gives him a pleasant thrill; a genuine laugh spills from him.

“Yeah, I do, and I’d tell you how much I love you.”

Pascal blushes and breaks into a warm smile and gathers Kip up into a hug. Kip returns it even before Pascal’s pulled him in all the way. They hold each other tight—Kip presses his temple against Pascal’s chest, Pascal buries his face in Kip’s hair.

They stand there in the embrace, swaying slightly with their breathing. Kip tries to communicate all his feelings through the contact and can tell Pascal is doing the same.

“I love you,” Kip whispers. He feels Pascal’s body curl in around him just a little bit more.

“I love you,” Pascal whispers back.

And with one more tight squeeze, they step back.

Kip smiles up at Pascal.

“Thank you for having me over,” he says. “I’m sad to go but you’ve made me really, really happy.”

“Good,” Pascal laughs a bit breathlessly. He’s blushing hard, looking at Kip with such open affection. “I completely mean it that this place is yours whenever you want to be here.”

Kip bites his lip and nods.

“Thank you,” he breathes.

“You’re welcome—“

Kip pushes himself up on his toes and kisses him; Pascal returns it immediately. Kip puts his hand on the side of Pascal’s neck; Pascal touches Kip’s jaw.

Kip gives Pascal’s lip the softest tug and then pulls away. 

“We’ll get to see each other again soon,” he says. “How incredible is that?”

Pascal beams and presses a kiss to his forehead. Kip laughs and grabs on to the strap of his bag, squeezing tight enough to almost be wringing it.

“Thank you, Pasc,” he murmurs. “I love you so, so much.”

Pascal sweeps in with an arm loose around the small of Kip’s back and kisses him quickly. Then one more time, then whispers “I love you” against Kip’s mouth.

Kip knows he’d fall in love with Pascal if he wasn’t so deeply already.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “Okay...I just have to go ahead and actually leave.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll text you.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Kip takes the ends of Pascal’s arms and Pascal loops his hold around his hands and they grip each other tight.

“Bye, Pasc.”

“I’ll see you later.”

One more kiss, one more look, and Kip goes to the door. He sends a smile over his shoulder to Pascal as he pushes it open; when it closes behind him he lets out a steadying exhale and lifts his chin to fix his gaze on the horizon line.

—

“Hey,” Kip calls, lifting his bag onto the shelf and hanging the umbrella beside Kate’s blue raincoat. He takes a deep breath as he ties his apron on and walks into the back.

Kate is using the espresso machine, so he simply gives her a wave and a smile as he goes past to clock in. The café isn’t too busy—the usual state of things on a rainy afternoon.

Kate approaches him several minutes later as he’s putting a batch of utensils through the dishwasher.

“There’s my boy,” she says, pulling him into a one-armed embrace.

“Kate,” he acknowledges. “How did it go before I got here? How was your weekend and all?”

“It was pretty decent,” Kate says. “My mom came into town for an afternoon and on Sunday I went to this book release at a store down by 7th and Wyld. The author was really cool and gave a talk for a little bit, so that was fun.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the book about?”

“It’s mostly a mystery novel,” she says. “Kind of a weird mix of gothic and thriller elements? It’s totally different from their other book I read, which was kinda dramatic, too, but pretty light in tone the whole time.”

“Huh...” Kip pulls the utensils out of the wash, leaning away from the clouds of steam and drips of scalding water. “I still haven’t really started reading much stuff yet. You and Eno ought to form a book club, you both seem to be on a new novel every week.”

“Yeah, I slow down sometimes, but that’s about accurate.”

“I mean, it’s pretty cool.” He starts sorting through the knives, patting them dry. “I should probably try to be more like that. How’s your mom?”

“She’s good. It’s nice to hang out with her, she’s always been really easygoing, y’know? Like, she doesn’t ask about where your career is headed or why you aren’t marrying the person you were dating three years ago, she just wants to see you and talk about whatever.”

“Yeah, she seemed really friendly that one time she stopped by here for a minute. It didn’t feel like she was trying to evaluate me as your coworker or anything.”

“Oh yeah, she did ask if I’d ever gone out with you,” Kate laughs.

“Really? Oh my god...” Kip grins at the spoon he’s toweling off. “Jeez, why don’t we get it over with and start seeing each other, then.”

“Speaking of why not, looks like you had a productive weekend?”

The “what?” Kip’s about to say dies when he turns and sees Kate glancing down at his neck, where he already knew there were plenty of visible hickeys extending up above his collar to his jawline. He blushes a bit but had already decided not to be embarrassed about it.

“Ah, yeah—“ He breathes a laugh. “Yeah, it was good.”

“I mean, good for you, honestly. Not like you haven’t earned it, and you’ve had a hell of a drought. How d’you feel?”

“Fucked,” he answers at once, and Kate laughs loudly, shoving him on the shoulder. “Well—I mean, I do, but also I just—it’s good, y’know? I was already sure this hadn’t been a mistake, but this just made me feel like...”

He blushes a little and puts down the towel.

“I mean, it’s like...I feel like I know we’re gonna be together for a long time, and...I really want that. It’s just...it was a really nice visit for a lot of reasons. I missed him a lot.”

“I know you did,” Kate says. “So, I mean, what—you gonna marry him?”

“God—!” He laughs reflexively and shoots her a look. “I am definitely not close to any of that stuff yet. I mean, I’m still, like...I miss living with him but I know I’m not even quite ready for that yet. Like, now I’ve gotten used to it being this apartment and just me and Molly and Roy. So even if I do end up moving in with him, it’s not gonna be, like...immediate.”

“Well, why not? It’s not like you don’t know what it’s like. I mean, you guys only lived with him for five fuckin’ years.”

“But not just him and me,” Kip argues. “And this is a new place, and a new location, and we have new routines and all... It wouldn’t be the same as just jumping right back into what we had.”

“Sure. But you know you want to live with him.”

“I mean...yeah, I wish we were in the same place.”

“But you’re not just gonna move in with him.”

“Just...not yet.”

She shrugs.

“Fair enough. It’s your call.”

They’re quiet for a moment before Kate speaks again.

“You holding up after going at it all weekend? Like, I see you can at least still walk and all.”

He scoffs.

“It’s not too bad,” he says. “If I have to lift something, it can get a little rough. The having-trouble-walking part was more after Friday night, but some stretching and hot baths and stuff helped.”

Kate stifles a laugh.

“Well, it shouldn’t be too hard for you today,” she says. “I think this shift’s gonna be pretty quiet for us.”

“Good.”

—

Their shift goes smoothly and they finish closing shortly after the end of the store’s open hours. It does start to weigh on Kip that he’s not going to be with Pascal again when he goes home, but he brushes it off and tells himself he’ll feel better about it shortly, once his focus is shifted from the end of their visit to the anticipation of the next one.

The rain had stopped a few hours after he arrived at the café and then started up again at a heavier rate, which helped make things slow enough for him and Kate to talk easily the whole shift but now makes their walk home slower, both huddle close together under the small umbrella and taking care to avoid deep puddles on the sidewalk. Kip hugs his bag to his chest and Kate holds on to the hood of her coat and they cautiously maneuver their way towards Kate’s apartment.

Kate gives him another one-armed hug goodnight as she goes into her building, and Kip makes the walk to his own apartment in a short enough amount of time. He shakes out the umbrella underneath the front door’s overhang and struggles momentarily with the key. The lobby is empty, and wiping his feet on the large grey mat seems too loud a disturbance. The whole building seems overly quiet; he tries to step lightly as he makes his way up the stairs.

He even enters their apartment quietly, stepping out of his shoes and twisting the umbrella nervously in his hands as he tries to figure out whether Roy and Molly have already turned in for the night or not. He heads to his room before trying to investigate too thoroughly, managing to unpack his bag and change into pajamas in just a couple of minutes. He sends off a quick text to Pascal saying that work was okay and he’s gotten home, and he’s missing him already and asking how things have gone on his end whenever he has a chance to text back.

He folds his arms around his front and looks at himself in the mirror. He’d managed to keep himself impressively dry, and his hair looks decent, and he’s just made even more bruising along his neck and shoulders and chest visible with the lower and wider collar of his loose t-shirt. He traces along some of them—even the darkest and largest ones only give the faintest twinge of soreness if pressed. He touches his bottom lip and then turns away and leans across his bed and plugs in his string of lights.

He goes back out and into the kitchen and puts the kettle on the stove for some tea to warm up from the rain. He feels more tired than he was just minutes ago, and the fact he can’t lie flat on his back while drinking tea is disappointing. He spends a while leaning against the countertop before even moving to get out a cup—he’s in the middle of getting out a teabag when the kettle starts to sing.

He leans over the steam of the steeping tea for about half a minute before he hears a door softly open and Molly’s footsteps approach. He turns and sees her in her light yellow pajama set and robe, hair still damp and messy from a shower.

“So you just snuck back in here,” she laughs quietly.

“I didn’t know if either of you guys were still up,” Kip says. “Things have been good here while I was gone?”

“Yeah. You just missed Roy—he’s heading in a little earlier than usual to put together something for the kids.”

“Mm. I’ll see him tomorrow afternoon after we’re both back from work, I guess.” 

“How about you? Everything go okay?”

“Yeah, it was good. Pascal’s doing pretty well, I think.”

He absently drags the teabag from one side of the cup to the other.

“That’s it?” She shakes her head at him. “Practically spent three whole days with him and you don’t have anything better to report?”

“I mean!” He vaguely tosses a hand. “It’s not like we did anything that interesting. We were basically just at his place the whole time, we hardly left. I guess I can tell you about his place, I mean, it’s a corner apartment but still really small, but there’s still like, enough space for a tiny kitchen and this room with a chair and a little couch, and he’s got a bedroom and bathroom with a shower and all. I think it’s kind of cute, but that might just be because it’s his place—you know how he makes things look.”

“Yeah, I do,” she says. “I’d hoped his place was decent, since he never really complained about any of it, but I knew it might just be that it was so bad he was just wanting to keep it all to himself.”

“Mm, no, it’s alright, just a little bit small. I didn’t ask much about the details of it yet, though.”

“It’s too bad he’s so big,” she says. “You know that apartment would have twice as much room to one of us as it does to him.”

Kip laughs.

“I do wish he had more room,” he says quietly. “But I know he’s trying to hold on to as much savings as he can, with his shop still being so new and all. I think there’s still some of all those starting-up expenses floating around, but at least he said things are kind of steady enough right now that he’s not as stressed about it as he used to be.”

“Oh, that’s good...”

“I can tell you guys kind of more about the details of the apartment tomorrow if you want—it’s really not that interesting and I doubt I can describe it all that well, but Roy really wanted to hear about it, so.”

“Yeah, you should,” she says. “It’d be cool for all of us to be in the same place, too, it’ll only been like, five days since that happened.”

“...That’s true.”

“Well, I’m glad you got back okay, and things went well.”

“Thanks.”

He lets her wrap him in a quick hug and does his best to hug back.

They swap goodnights and Kip sits with his tea for the few minutes it takes him to drink it, then washes the cup and returns to his room.

He tries not to build up too much hope as he goes to his phone and turns it over.

But Pascal has replied, and that simple fact blunts their separation and soothes Kip’s slight uneasiness. 

“i’m heading home too in about twenty more minutes,” Pascal had sent about seven minutes ago. “i’m glad the rest of your day is going okay. things are well at the shop, just had a few tiny usual things to take care of but thats easy to handle. i miss you too. i can already say that after you left things felt a bit quiet and empty in my apt.”

Kip reads it over a couple of extra times and then sits down on his bed to type out his response.

“its lonely here knowing youre not just in another room or something. but i do feel better now that we’re getting to text. are you going home soon?”

He places his phone on his stomach as he lies back against his pillow and settles in to wait for Pascal’s response, looking up at his lights and vaguely imagining that they’re stars.

Pascal’s response arrives after about five minutes.

“leaving just now, actually. im glad we have an easier way to talk now even when we’re not in the same place.”

“yeah, it definitely helps. like when we were first together it was kind of fun waiting around for our next chance to call each other or finally see each other again, but once we got to do that more often i never wanted to go back to having less contact.”

“right?? now i’m spoiled for it and want to see you every time i go home. it was kind of fantastic at work on friday when i knew i was going to be with you in just a few hrs”

“oh yeah it was the same for me, except also kind of terrible because i was wanting really badly for my shift to be over already so i could go over, haha”

“aww you were that excited to see me?”

“of course!!! i couldnt wait to be there!”

“i know...its sweet to hear about it again though”

“that i was dying to be with you?”

“yes :))”

“do you want to hear about how i love you and i miss you already just from being in my own bed again”

“i love you and miss you too...im almost home and i think i would be a lot sadder about it being empty if you weren’t texting me”

“probably. i don’t even have to deal with an empty apartment but this is still helping me too, i think im a little less upset about having to go to sleep alone”

“believe me, i’d love to be there and fall asleep with you again.”

“your bed’s a little bigger than mine, it would be better if i was the one teleported over to your place again.”

“as long as we’re in the same place i could hold you and kiss you”

“just saying that makes me wish that you were”

“if i was really with you i’d love to do even better than that”

“ooh, im listening”

“it’s hard to write much while i’m walking, but i think i’d like to go down on you”

“i would like that too”

“i’d make sure you did”

“i bet it’d probably knock me out if you got me off right now though, i got tired all at once”

“oh you can go to sleep if you want, im like literally thirty seconds from my apt”

“don’t worry, i don’t think i’m gonna fall asleep immediately. i mean if i do stop answering all of a sudden that’s what happened”

“ok, just got home. and see, i’m enjoying talking to you and it’s distracting me from being too sad about you not being here”

“oh good, yeah im not a complete heap of sadness”

“excellent results for us both then i think. so now we just need to get into the mindset of looking forward to the next time we’re together vs thinking of how this one is over”

“yeah, you’re right...but it’s always the mornings that are the problem. like tonight i’ll could feel fine about it but then my frame of mind while waking up could be a total disaster”

“right, thats kind of a downside. did you mention you were working early tomorrow?”

“i must have yeah, im opening tomorrow.”

“what time do you get up? im going in early too, maybe we could text each other and there won’t be as much of a chance of feeling bad”

“sorry, i went and brushed my teeth. i have to get up kind of disgustingly early, the store opens at 6 and it takes me a quarter of an hour to walk there and ten minutes to drag myself out of bed, so i get up around 5.”

“thats ok, i was gonna get up around 6 so i can just do 5 instead”

“you just got home, by the time you got in bed you’d only get like six hours of sleep”

“it’d be okay. i’ve got a ton of rest the past few days especially”

“what’ll you do for the whole extra hour you’d have?”

“take a long shower, clean my fridge, just sit back and relax the whole time, i’d figure out something.”

“you don’t have to do something like that. i can handle being a little lonely when i wake up. sometimes i start the day feeling like total shit. it’s all manageable. i know i’d get to talk to you later.”

“yeah, but i kind of want to do it for myself, too. i don’t trust my morning to go perfectly well, either. i think it would help and i think it would be a little fun to feel like we were getting up together, even if we’re only connected through texting.”

“damnit, i can’t argue with that”

“so its a date already, huh?”

“sure. morning at 5, both of our phones.”

“great, looking forward to it then.”

“you’re sweethearted and generous and i appreciate you so deeply, and you need to get in bed asap then.”

“i know...you should too, really.”

“i’m already in bed, lying here and texting you.”

“well then stop texting me and go to sleep so you can wake up and text me”

“i will, just so i dont keep delaying you from getting to sleep.”

“okay. i love you and i miss you. and i love you.”

“i love you so much, pasc. go to sleep asap”

“i promise. goodnight”

“goodnight.”

—

Kip feels sort of foggy and lethargic at the start of his opening shift, but his conversation with Pascal had helped him wake up. They had essentially just traded back-and-forth updates about what they were doing, but the mood had been light and easy, and it gave Kip a little extra dose of energy. His mind drifts back to it throughout lulls in the shift.

Work all goes smoothly enough; he hangs around for an extra handful of minutes after clocking out to chat with Kate. 

The weather is pleasant and he takes his time walking back. He stops into a store near their street—he’s low on hair conditioner and laundry detergent, and while he’s at it he invests in two sets of condoms and more lube. He doesn’t intend for Pascal to be the only contributor on that front.

Molly returns to the apartment from her own errands not long after Kip does, though she quickly heads back out again, explaining she had offered to drop in a little early to help Roy with cleanup before walking home with him. But even being in an empty apartment while Pascal remains busy with work isn’t enough to deal any heavy damage to Kip. He seems to have slept off the worst of the feeling that something had ended, and now it doesn’t feel like a huge deal at all. The memory of the weekend is more than fond and doesn’t hurt to think of—it only makes him more eager for their future visits. 

He supposes it’s never surprising that he underestimates himself. Or that his dread over something theoretical is often strangling while the event itself turns out to be all but harmless. 

Or maybe he just likes to err on the side of caution and is too good at looking for reasons to beat himself up. He has been getting better at confronting fears, if only little ones.

Maybe he too often overthinks things in general.

—

Kip puts a little work into a loose idea for a new post, puts it away after a bit and takes a nap, and wakes up when Roy and Molly return home. Roy greets him as though he was gone for half the month and then tells him the story of his day; Kip manages to defer delivering his own story until later, when he makes them all a simple meal and sits up on the countertop and tries to describe every detail of Pascal’s home that he can remember.

It’s a quiet evening. Pascal texts Kip around seven and asks him how things have been, says that he himself is alright but a little tired, as predicted. They talk a little while before Kip tells him to put his phone away and make himself something to eat and relax for a while. And then half an hour later Pascal messages him with a quick summation of something funny that had happened to him that day and then the promise that he’s making himself some dinner.

If this is the new routine, if this is how it’s going to feel, Kip is sure even he can handle it with no trouble.

—

It doesn’t even occur to him for a couple of days that he’d been worried about how to comport himself around Ben. The schedule of his passage in and out of the building doesn’t align with the times he most often runs into the other monster, and he’s been so preoccupied with his stay at Pascal’s that he’d been too distracted to think of the issue anyhow. And now that he’s remembered it, it doesn’t seem so concerning and difficult anymore. 

He’s fairly sure that part of it is simply that fucking continually for several days has relaxed him overall—or at least worn him out—but is even more sure that a big part of it is that Pascal’s apartment really does feel like another place to call home now. Pascal had been so earnestly hospitable and the space had so quickly become familiar and comfortable that Kip knows that even if he decided to move in there immediately, he’d be welcomed by Pascal and feel truly at ease living with him again. If staying in the current apartment becomes too uncomfortable for either him or Ben, he can just move out.

The knowledge certainly takes the vast majority of pressure off. The stakes are reduced to, at worst, a bit of temporary awkwardness and discomfort. 

And somehow it just feels a little silly of him to have been so intimidated by the issue in the first place. It’s like he stepped out of his life for a moment when he was staying with Pascal, and now gets to reenter it with a refreshed perspective. And nothing really feels so bad that he’s afraid of it.

Maybe it’s that he’s always felt more confident when dating Pascal than when they weren’t together. 

Maybe it’s because he always finds situations more manageable when he knows he can run away from them.

He figures the least he can do for his self-esteem is presume that it’s a combination of factors.

How he feels about Wallace now is as much a mixture as ever. He hadn’t been hoping that the weekend would magically extinguish his attachment—he knew it wouldn’t happen overnight no matter what, and he hadn’t wanted to sign any expectations to the weekend’s experience other than feeling closer to Pascal. And he’d never had the chance to dwell on anything else even if he’d been trying to.

It really feels about the same. He still feels attracted to him and deeply, vulnerably fond of him. He’s still a little embarrassed and a little afraid of how he feels.

He has to be somewhat relieved he at least approached Wallace about it—he gets to remember he did something as bold as that, he gets to be certain about the unambiguous unattainability of his daydreams, he gets a clean end to any hopes for a real relationship with Wallace that’s quicker and less painful than some other ways the reality of the situation could’ve been revealed to him.

He knows he just has to give himself time, be patient with himself. It may take months, it may even take years, but now that he knows any longing on his part is up against a dead-end, that however nice his dreams are, they won’t ever be real, he also knows that eventually the feelings will cool. 

Kind of funny considering how long he struggled to warm to Wallace for any period exceeding fifteen minutes. 

He’ll get over him—pleasant thoughts and inexpressible affection can only go so far, and in the absence of any real fruition, his heart will adapt. It’s managed to come to terms with much harsher realities.

—

Kip has a soft, meandering half-hour phone call with Pascal when they’ve both settled in at home for the evening. It’s surprising how strong an effect the sound of Pascal’s voice has. Getting his cadence, his tone, his quiet laughs. It soothes some tension in his chest that he hadn’t been aware of carrying.

—

He realizes he hasn’t actually seen Wallace in about a week and a half—Wallace has most free time on the weekends, and Kip had been away for the entirety of it. The hours of his work at the café often have him coming home either earlier or later than Wallace does. He misses him and doesn’t like going so long without even running into him, but he’s uncomfortable about the idea of expressly going to see him. He’d rather just meet by chance—even a twenty second chat in the front hall is better than nothing at all.

It does remember telling Wallace he intended to keep seeing him regularly—it makes him feel a bit guilty, even though he hasn’t been trying to avoid Wallace, just coincidentally not encountering him. But if he doesn’t put in any effort to see Wallace when he knows chance isn’t working in their favor then that might as well count as trying to evade his company. 

So far so much of their relationship has stemmed directly by being thrust together by outside forces, by simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time—or the right places and times, depending on how you view it. Even now, so much of their encounters are through their mutual friends, through the fact they still live in the same building. 

He doesn’t want to meet up with Wallace and find out for sure that they really can’t be comfortable or genuine with each other anymore. When he’s in Wallace’s company but can’t warm to him for whatever reason, they can’t get much of a personal connection—both of them become nervous, though usually the ways that manifests for them are completely different. But if he doesn’t interact with Wallace at all, their connection will be damaged anyways. He’d have more hope that they’ll be fine if he could trust that his anxieties won’t become self-fulfilling.

He can’t wish he’d never said anything to Wallace; this is probably the best way things could’ve played out, bar never having developed a crush in the first place. But even that was likely unavoidable. 

He repeatedly tells himself that he can handle this whole situation, that even if things do become awkward, nothing could come up that he can’t navigate. He tells himself it would really turn out to be fairly easy to drop by Wallace’s to check if he’s there and then talk casually for a minute about harmless, everyday things. And yet he still puts it off.

—

It’s a relatively relaxed train ride. His carriage isn’t too crowded, he sits in a backwards-facing window seat, puts on headphones, and doodles on the notepad he’d taken out with the intention of writing down ideas. As the ride continues into B, the general reaction to his presence becomes noticeable and typically tense, though today it happens to come off as being coldly shunned rather than feeling the radiation of a barely concealed collective hostility. 

There’s a rare moment when, despite being in the middle of a song and staring at a the cluster of stars he’s drawing, Kip senses a shift in the environment and looks up to see that a monster has just boarded. He guesses they must live in the area, as they seem wearily numb to the reception rather than nervous. Just a second later they look over and immediately meet his eyes, apparently just as surprised as he is to actually see another monster in the wasteland. Kip gives the slightest nod of acknowledgement and the hint of a smile with an upward twitch of the corner of his mouth. 

The monster sits in the row of seats across from him. They pull out a book and Kip goes back to his notepad, the blurry form of the other steady in his peripheral.

—

“Things seem a lot easier right now,” Kip says. “I know that’s because I’m in a better mood, but I also feel like since I’m usually prone to being kind of...pessimistic, maybe I’m just closer to having the perspective that most people would have? It’s not as though all my worries have disappeared, they just...seem to affect me less strongly. They don’t seem as stressful or intimidating as they can be.”

He pauses and rubs one thumb over the back of the other. 

“I guess I’m hoping it’ll sort of average out in a bit. But for now at least, it’s a nice break.”

“Would you be disappointed if it didn’t?” Eno asks.

“If it went right back to the way it usually is, then yeah, I’d have to be a little disappointed,” Kip answers. “It’s like—I’ve kind of already been disappointed that even though I know, really KNOW that everything I’ve got going on is doable, and it’s not permanent, and I can handle it and even if it gets messed up I can get through it—I still get so tripped up worrying about things, you know? I still stress more than I need to and hold off on actually doing anything because I’m nervous—it’s like the last and first thing I do every day is make myself all tense over anything I can find to be concerned about.”

He can hear the dull, soft sound of Eno drumming his fingers against the cover of a book.

“If I think about it,” Kip says, “I know I feel like I’ve messed up somehow. It’s like—after everything that happened to me and everything I had to do, I still don’t have all that much more confidence than I used to. I’m sure not brave, or strong, or steady, I—I get angry about it sometimes, why don’t I feel like I can do absolutely anything? I hate to think of what else I could be put through—why aren’t I basically fearless by now?”

He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. He feels like he ought to be over being frustrated with traits that have been with him practically his own life, but he can’t help it. Many years ago he used to think that if he did something really impressive or important, surely he’d finally lose the fears that kept him from being as bold and tough as his older siblings. But after being out through hell, then trying to drag himself out of it only to be put through hell again, he doesn’t seem to have acquired any kind of impressive qualities to show for it.

He stares at the ceiling, feeling somewhat small.

“Kip...” Eno’s voice is quieted. “It would have been just short of shocking if you’d actually gained confidence in yourself.”

Kip is caught off guard by this.

“What?” 

He sits up slightly so he can see Eno more easily. Eno is looking down at his desk, fiddling absently with the pen in his hand.

“You were...” Eno pauses, his expression darkens just a little. 

Kip sits up just a little more.

“You were struggling for years to recover from that night and everything you went through beforehand,” Eno says. “I know how difficult it was for you to rebuild a sense of security in your daily life and regain any confidence in yourself after the experience of being completely powerless in the face of the fire and the loss of your family. I know you took a real leap to move to C. But you were...betrayed by that. I imagine that all the worst of the fears you’d ever had were confirmed. I know you were once again forced into a position where your helplessness was thrown in your face. I know that now you have to carry even more incidents of trauma than you’d already had.”

He sighs softly and raises his head to look at the opposite wall. 

Kip gently pinches the tip of his tongue between his fangs. He’s known Eno for ages, he knows when he’s unconsciously covering up stress—just as Eno can detect the same in him. His heart is beating hard enough to feel in his chest, because what Eno is saying is true, and because Eno is quietly getting upset.

“...The fact that you weren’t thrown entirely back to square zero or even worse is remarkable, Kip.”

Kip’s face heats.

“You know,” he says slowly. “I feel like, now that you’ve said it...I’ve known that. I hadn’t really processed it from that perspective yet.”

“It’s not always easy for you to see yourself in a good light. You’ve spent years and years all but unable to feel any significant pride in yourself—formative years, ones in which you were trying to put together your life and your identity all over again. And even when you did tell me about something you’d accomplished that you were happy about, you’d ultimately just weigh it against the guilt and even shame you felt for what you believed you owed those in your life and the people your brother had been helping and...even your family. I know that even now you retain some of that feeling, that you’d been judged and sentenced by what had happened that night.”

That night.

He really had felt like he’d deserved to have died instead—and at first he had wanted to. 

He knows as he lies there—as soon as Eno said it—that it’s true he does still feel that guilt and shame. Even if it’s just an echo, just out of habit, it still sits there, barely buried under the surface.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Yeah, I do still feel it.”

He stares up at the ceiling for a moment.

“Hey, Eno?” he says.

“Yes?”

“Do you have another appointment after mine?” 

“I have one later in the afternoon, at four-thirty.”

“Okay. Because, uh, I was wondering if it would be alright if we maybe took a short break? I could make us some tea.”

“Oh...” Eno looks over at him. “Ah, yes, we could if you like.”

Kip sits up and pivots his legs off the side of the chaise.

“Okay.”

— 

Just ascending the stairs to the apartment prompts a subtle shift in both their demeanors. Eno’s natural neatness and organization makes his living space somehow seem more official than the relaxed—if only by design—atmosphere of his office, appointment area, and waiting room, yet Eno himself seems to be a bit softer in the space—less intently focused, just a little more subdued. Kip is always comforted by the familiar space as well, feeling like one tiny island of shelter in the whole of District B.

Kip passes his hand over the spout of the teapot.

“What kind would you like?” he asks, opening up the cabinet and glancing over the boxes of tea. “By the way, I can start bringing you some of Pascal’s, you know.”

“Oh my god, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Eno breathes. 

“What tea do you want now, though?”

“Oh...jasmine, please. And where do you get the arrogance to serve me as a guest in my own home?”

“I get more fun out of it than you do, so you have to let me do it or it’s impolite,” Kip says, working the jasmine out of a stack of boxes of floral teas.

“Untrue! You like things that are actually fun, and you know I find genuine joy in household tasks type activities.”

Kip huffs a laugh.

“Only in comparison to you could I be considered an exciting person. But I was just making an excuse. I like to make you tea sometimes and I’m always over here, but you’re hardly ever over in C.”

“Because you’re ashamed of revealing what we have, babe.”

“Hush.” A smile flickers across Kip’s face as he takes out the box of green tea for himself. He knows that Eno’s ability to joke is so engrained as to be all but reflexive, but also that it means he’s feeling steady enough to do so.

They’re quiet for the minute or two more it takes for the water to start boiling. Kip does use the chance to focus in on settling himself as well—he’s definitely stirred up by the discussion they’d been having, but wants to set that feeling aside for just a few minutes more.

Another minute and they’re sitting across from each other at the kitchen table.

“So, as your friend and not your therapist, you’ve been doing well lately?”

“As your friend and not a patient, yeah. I think I’m kind of...I’ve kind of been cycling up and down. But this is something new, I—I’m really glad I had a push to stop dragging my feet so much about Pascal because...I really was intimidated by the whole issue, but it feels fucking incredible to be with him again. Like, it just feels good and right and that goes so deep, I really—it’s really, really nice to have something that I don’t have the least doubt about. It makes it easier to kind of...feel steadier? Feel less affected by anything I’m worried about?”

He brings his tea to his lips and catches Eno’s eye.

“I guess I can say it makes it easier for me to feel a little more confident.”

It’s only a second before he has to laugh; Eno laughs with him.

“Kip, are you trying to make me feel better?” he teases.

“Only with the truth... It’s like you were telling me though, isn’t it? Even before I was dating Pascal again, I was still doing better than I might’ve been.”

Eno gives him a quick smile.

“You don’t have to try acting positive just for my sake, Kip.”

“Shut up, I’m not.” Kip finds Eno’s foot and gently kicks it. “If I was just here hanging out with you, I’d schedule an hour and a half of that, not of therapy.”

“I should be so lucky—“

“Oh my god, stop it. Look, I know that...some of the stuff I have to talk about is your stuff too.”

“Anything you want or need to talk about here is fine, Kip. Everything in your appointments is about what you have going on and how to help you with it.”

“I know,” Kip says quietly. “You’re a great therapist and you’ve been doing this for forever, and I’m not saying you can’t handle it completely fine, just that...I know some things are hard for both of us. It’s not that I think either of us needs a break, just that...it might make it easier for us later than if we didn’t. Preemptive, I guess is what I mean.”

He looks at the tabletop and rubs his thumb along the warm handle of his cup.

“I know this is your job and you know how to do it, but I know some of this stuff I’m dealing with is personal for you, too. And that some of it is...still pretty recent.”

Kip looks up. Eno looks over at him too, and Kip blushes lightly.

“What if I had said there wasn’t enough time for a break?” Eno asks him.

“I know it all would’ve been fine,” Kip repeats. “I didn’t think either of us needed a break. I just felt like it would be helpful, and, if we could, it’d be nice to just pause for a second.”

He shrugs slightly and looks at Eno’s hand resting on the table.

“I’m sorry that...I wasn’t really thinking of you only as my therapist. But I can’t really just disregard what we’ve gone through together outside of these appointments. I’m sorry.”

Eno surprises him with a soft laugh. 

“It’s okay, Kip,” he says. “You don’t have to. I use everything I know about you to try to help as your therapist, not just what I hear in there. Having you as a patient is unique because of how well we already know each other. You don’t have to forget that we’re friends, because you couldn’t anyways.”

Kip has to smile, relaxing his shoulders slightly. 

“You’re not upset with me?” 

“No, and I could never be mad at you, mon fleur de givre.”

“Ugh—!” Kip growls as Eno leans over and messes his hair. 

“You love me,” Eno teases.

“I know, it’s awful.”

—

Even after the continuation and completion of the therapy session, Kip and Eno end up kicking back and chatting for a while in Eno’s apartment over a late lunch.

“I haven’t been able to see you often enough in like a whole decade,” Kip complains. “I know I see you usually once a week and sometimes we do stuff like this, but when was the last time you got to come over to C? And for more than a few hours? When was the last time we got to go out together?”

He sighs dramatically and buries his face in his hands.

“I miss you too,” Eno says, a bit of laughter in his voice. 

Kip gives an answering laugh into his palms and then drag his hands down his throat to hold on to his shoulders.

“It’s even worse now that I have more energy,” he says. “It has me thinking about all the stuff I haven’t been doing so much lately, and I sure haven’t been as social—and if I’m not seeing enough of the people who live five seconds away, it’s a lot worse with you all the way over here.”

He leans back and sighs more softly.

“It’s not like you’re basically my oldest friend or anything. But even if you weren’t.” 

“I was always at least a district away from you,” Eno points out.

“I know. I just actually have at least a chance of having a life...for really the first time ever, and when I think about the things I might want, being able to visit you easily is one of them.”

“We could be further. We could have to deal with seeing each other only a couple times a year, at best.”

“I know.” 

Kip quietly sighs again, feeling slightly embarrassed. But he rallies quickly.

“I’d only hate it more if that were the case,” he says. “And it’s not just because of the distance—like I said, I don’t see some people in C as much as I might, either. I’ve been kind of holed up in the apartment since we moved here. I mean, I get out sometimes, and I do things, but it’s just in general been...I mean I’ve just been—you know, the usual way.”

“Nothing just really goes away overnight, does it.” Eno leans back in his chair and offers a faint smile.

“It really doesn’t...I guess that’s kind of why feeling better than usual is making me want to really just—take advantage of it, kind of. Maybe I can get a few weeks or even a couple months out of it where everything’s a little better and easier. I just can never assume that a good period is gonna last. I mean, mostly it’s Pascal that’s got me feeling alright, and I doubt that’s going to be over in just a few months from now, but it’s like—I was kind of talking to him about it, how even though I know we’re going to keep being together, it’s like I have to remember not to just automatically think that anything good is on its way out.”

He leans back too.

“I do try to remember...” He puts his head against the couch pillow and looks at the ceiling. “But just being happier isn’t what makes everything okay. Even when I was with Pascal before—I’d have awful days sometimes, even years after I’d moved in with him. There’s times like now where I think ‘maybe by now this kinda long-lasting good mood will just keep getting better’ but I know I’m gonna have a bad day again, probably soon.”

“It’s not the same as a bad mood,” Eno affirms. “It doesn’t change quickly.”

“Yeah...”

There’s a pause.

“So...what’s got you feeling this extra energy just now, then?” Eno asks.

“Sex.” Kip answers in the same pensive tone, then laughs. “No, but seriously, sex.”

“That works—“ Eno laughs too. “Congratulations!”

“Aw, thanks.”

They go back and forth for a minute as Eno pretends to try coaxing details out of Kip, who plays along, coyly deflecting everything. He’s secretly satisfied with his efforts to make Eno laugh, smiling to himself as he watches his unfolding successes.

“...I wish you were in C,” Kip says. “We could do this kind of visit pretty much whenever we felt like it.”

Eno crosses his legs and casually shrugs.

“I have thought about it...”

Kip raises his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yeah... It made sense for me to set up here when I did—most people I knew were here, I was familiar with the area...but working with your brother always made me consider being in C, at least in the back of my mind. I haven’t been able to think on it much this year, of course. But I suppose that lately I’ve been reevaluating my situation, too.”

Kip bites on his lip, staring. Eno looks across the room, thoughtfully tapping a finger against his knee.

“Well, I...I mean, I really would love for us to be closer, but I know you should do whatever you think would be best for you.”

“I haven’t quite worked out what that is now. Things aren’t the same as they were a few years ago,” Eno says.

“You’re telling me. I feel lost trying to figure out what I think I ought to do, or even if I think I need anything different. I know it’s a mess.”

He looks at Eno as if he could read all his thoughts and feelings of the past few months in his face. He still feels awkward trying to ever give Eno advice or even comfort—as though doing so is fraudulent, somehow. When he was first introduced to him, he’d immediately felt a little taken with him, in retrospect realizing it was a mixture of a crush and more general idolization—Eno was nice, funny, smart, put-together, handsome, and by virtue of being older was someone Kip looked up to, in some ways even aspired to be. Even as Kip got older and came more into his own, he held an inherent respect and admiration for Eno. Despite being anxious and fairly private even before the disappearances began, he had the kind of confidence and openness around Eno that he could only have around his family and closest friends.

When things started going bad, Kip found that he’d instinctively been drawn even closer to Eno. He leaned on him, his visits felt like a little dose of relief, the gentle smiles and touches on the shoulder that he always afforded Kip were comforting at a time when Kip was desperate for the tiniest scraps of reassurance.

Eno had been with him within just over an hour. When Kip had been pried away from his grip on the metal post on the sidewalk, when he had emerged from the lifetimes spent crying his throat raw in Pascal’s arms, when he had suffered through a cycle of panic attacks—Eno was the one he ended up with, taken back to his somewhat familiar apartment while the others regrouped in a hotel room. Eno had been so focused, helping Kip into a shower and putting out soft and warm clothes for him and running blankets one by one through the dryer to create layers of heat to wrap around Kip. He made a sandwich that Kip refused to eat. He cleaned up the water and shattered glass, cleaned and bandaged the cut on Kip’s hand, waited as Kip paced nervously all around the room, clutching the blankets and panting through the pounding of his heart, he hugged Kip determinedly close when he finally managed to get him to lie on the couch, petted his hair when Kip laid down, gently stroked his face as Kip rested his head on Eno’s lap and cried violently, gripping Eno’s leg and sobbing against it until he slipped into unconsciousness out of sheer exhaustion. 

Kip never had any idea how long he’d slept before waking up—in confusion that quickly turned to horror and panic—but Eno hadn’t moved. He had no idea how Eno’d been able to take care of himself those couple of days with how attentive he’d been to Kip, who could barely figuratively or physically hold himself up. 

Kip had wished desperately back then that Eno could’ve come with them, but he couldn’t live in B, didn’t even have the option of living in A, refused to stay in C—D was their only real option. Kip crashed harder when they settled in with Pascal; for months his only contact with Eno was through regular phone calls. In the abyssal depths of grief and depression, he assumed in the back of his mind that Eno was somehow disappointed in him, that any tie they’d had was primarily through his now-dead siblings.

Between his damaged self-worth and his longtime impression of Eno, he felt almost inferior as he’d journeyed back to B for the first time since that initial aftermath. He worried what concept Eno had of him, between the trembling wreck he’d been when they were last together and the almost-awkwardness of their check-ins. 

But all of that fell away almost instantly when they were actually in the same place again. The questioning, overcritical doubts would crop up again after a while back in D, but a series of gradually-more-frequent visits between them eventually eroded that to practical nothingness.

Still, Eno felt like someone who had always looked over Kip, who had always been more collective, more knowledgeable, so much more impressive. The idea that Eno could be a good match as a therapist for Kip had always hung between them, but even when Kip had finally, finally gone to try it, he was reluctant—and more than a little intimidated. But that eroded too, and he found his self-consciousness around Eno fading both within the context of therapy and not.

Yet even by then, in all the time he’d known Eno, Kip hadn’t felt like he’d like ever really seen Eno struggling. He knew Eno was suffering like them when things started going bad—he’d see it in the occasional times he’d slip into the room while Eno and Kent were working, the tension in Eno’s expression until he looked up and saw Kip and gave him an encouraging smile, let the stress weighing on his features lighten into a softer solemnity. He would only ever tell Kip that things were going to be okay, he wouldn’t directly acknowledge the dark uncertainty of their situation whenever Kip was around. The tone of his voice when he spoke to Kip was never the one that Kip sometimes heard through the walls and doors of the house, barely echoing through a vent, humming up through the floor of his bedroom.

Even after the fire, when the grief was too terrible to pretend like anything was okay, Eno still seemed so much stronger and together than Kip. Things were different, because now it was just the two of them, and Kip tried to help Eno even though he was so shattered himself. He didn’t have much to offer; he held Eno’s hand, hugged him, looked at his face and touched his shoulder to communicate things he couldn’t speak. But Eno was still somehow a little beyond him, managing a weak smile whenever Kip tried comforting him, never once letting Kip see him break.

It wasn’t until recently that Kip had actually known Eno to seem anything other than in control of their whole situation, to be stressed to the point of panicked, to be the one who turned to Kip. For the first time, Kip was the center of things, not some tangential intruder, and it felt so alien to have Eno needing anything at all from him. Kip had no idea how to be in that position, to be without the feeling that Eno was somehow always privy to things that Kip wasn’t, a step ahead, better, somehow unreachable.

It had changed their relationship—even Kip’s memories were put into a different light. Eno hadn’t had the control that Kip had thought, that untouchable quality that made him seem so much more confident and tougher than Kip, that had left him alive to gather up what remained of Kip after the fire and try to hold him together. Kip had always felt somewhat privileged to be worthy of Eno’s attention all those years—he’d had no idea that he actually loomed large in Eno’s life, had a role deeper than the little brother of Eno’s friends, wasn’t just a leftover relationship that Kip was somewhat lucky Eno felt like keeping around.

But even with that shift in Kip’s understanding of their relationship, even with that leveling-out of his slight feeling of inferiority, their old dynamic still remained after everything—survived it. Eno had only ever cared for him, after all, had only tried to look out for him—there were too many moments shared between them over the years. Eno was always a friend, even if Kip had struggled to feel his equal in that friendship. It was somehow almost nice to know that the fact Eno still seemed somewhat out of reach even after the fire was in part due to Eno continuing his efforts to protect Kip, and in part to protect himself, and in part because of Kip’s feelings that he couldn’t measure up to Eno. All of those were things that Kip understood well.

Eno was still his longtime friend, still his therapist. Kip couldn’t feel that distant from the time he was eighteen and breaking down in Eno’s arms, because he knew that was still a huge part of who he was. It’s still just as much who he is.

And now, after months of continuing their usual, relatively peaceful relationship, Eno has for the first time given Kip something that makes him feel like a genuine confidant, like Eno is doing more than just venting to him, but actually admitting uncertainty to him, even allowing his advice.

And yet Kip sits on Eno’s couch, watching him brood over the subject, and can’t think of anything to say. He feels like he has the right to weigh in on this, sure—but he doesn’t feel like he really has much to offer. Saying he wants Eno to move to C is just based on one simple factor—but Eno has always lived in B, studied there, worked there—and Kip knows he doesn’t have the first idea what it would actually mean for Eno to move, everything it would involve.

But then—

“Um,” Kip starts. “Would you want to talk to Pascal about it? He’d never lived outside his district before he moved to C, and he started up a place and he did it basically alone...”

It makes him blush to say it, as though offering up something he intends as genuine guidance is some sort of impertinence.

But it makes Eno look over.

“That’s true...”

Kip squeezes the cup of tea between his hands. 

“We talked about both our moves a fair amount back when we were first meeting up again,” he says. “And Pascal says he likes C, even though he misses some things about D. And Wallace had said he’s glad he’s in C and he feels at home here, and that’s after coming straight from A only about a year ago.”

“I don’t doubt that C is perfectly nice,” Eno says. “I’m not worried I wouldn’t like it.”

“I just...I guess Pascal is the one who’d be of some use to you right now,” Kip says with a light laugh. “The only input I have is that I’d love to have you as close as everyone else.”

“It’s fine—“ Eno’s preoccupation seems to melt away somewhat. “I’ve always wished I was closer to you—especially when you had that five hour round trip from D.”

“I might as well have been going to work with the time it took to have an appointment with you,” Kip says. “Between getting ready and getting to and from the station and the ride and the appointment itself, it’s amazing it didn’t scare me off right away how much of the day was taken off just by trying to get to therapy.”

“I was a little surprised, too...I wasn’t sure you’d want to come all the way every week. It really did take up your whole day.”

“I know. But after a few visits I could tell it was worth it.” He drops his head slightly and blushes at his tea.

“Oh, Kip, you’re flattering me,” Eno teases.

“Well, it’s not just me,” Kip insists. “You’re a great therapist for a lot of people over the years. And I’m not your only monster client, which makes you even more of a rare gem. You’d be good at what you do wherever you are.”

Eno laughs quietly.

“I like to think so,” he says. “It does seem like the majority of my clients come from C, now.”

Kip is a little incredulous that this actually seems to be real, Eno is seriously considering this. He was always in B, this always seemed like a constant, as unfortunate as it was or wasn’t.

“Are you nervous about something?” Kip asks quietly. He knows he has a good sense for what mood Eno’s really in and he’s learned not to doubt that instinct.

Eno laughs again.

“It’s mostly that I’ve been here for so long,” he says. “I may not have very many roots in the area now, but I used to.”

“Mm...” Kip takes a small drink of tea. He’s somewhat surprised it’s still warm even though he’s been holding it throughout the conversation. “I know a little about that, but I guess I’ve always been afraid of moving for different reasons.”

Eno is quiet.

“And I guess Pascal’s the only one who didn’t really move basically overnight,” Kip adds. “I mean, moving back to C was a little more drawn out, but I think when we decided to do it, it all kind of happened in about a month. Wallace says his move was pretty much just as rushed. And I think Pascal moved pretty quickly just because he was worried about talking himself out of it, but I still feel like he was the most coordinated about it. I could see about dragging him along up here for a visit sometime, you could talk to him more about what it was like.”

“It would probably be easier if I went to C,” Eno says. “It really has been too long since I made that trip.”

“You think you would want to talk to him about it?” Kip asks, looking up. 

“Sure, if he’d be okay with it—I’d definitely rather hear some advice than not.”

“I could ask him. But I’m sure he’d be okay with it, he’s so easy to get along with anyways, and he already likes you.”

“He does?”

“Sure.”

“I feel like we’ve only met a few times over all the years you two’ve known each other.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like that wasn’t enough. Besides, he knows about you from what I told him and from everything you’ve done for me.”

Eno smiles slightly and shrugs theatrically.

“What is it you’re worried about?” Kip laughs. “It’s not like talking about it makes you any more obligated to do it.”

“You’re right,” Eno sighs. “I guess it’s that...it’s not so much leaving B because it’s what’s familiar as it is the fact that I have everything so organized around the way things are now. I have such an established routine. I know that probably sounds ridiculous, but for me...”

Kip turns his head to hide a grin.

“It’s okay,” he tells Eno. “I know you’re ridiculous.”

Eno laughs—his beaming smile lingers for several solid seconds more, and Kip is pleased.

—

“He’s got such a peacefulness about himself, you know? And I don’t just mean that he’s calm all the time, because he’s not—he’s so much fun and he wears his heart on his sleeve, but no matter what mood he’s in, it’s so safe with him. It’s so easy to be around him, no matter who you are. And it’s completely the other way with me—I think that’s another reason I love being with him. He cancels me out,” Kip laughs. 

A warm breeze brushes past their seats on Eno’s small balcony. 

“I’ll tell you a million times that you’re too hard on yourself, Kip. You’re very friendly—“

Kip scoffs.

“...And that does a lot to offset the hindrances you experience upon meeting someone new,” Eno continues undeterred. “Which are generally going to be perceived as a lot worse by you than anyone else.”

“Let me complain about myself,” Kip grouses. “I think anyone could agree I’m not on Pascal’s level.”

“You’re not as different as you think. It’s obvious, what with how much you like to talk about how kind and how compassionate and loving he is.”

“Oh god, I’m talking about him too much already, I’m sorry...” Kip blushes.

“No, it’s not how much you talk about it, it’s that you get happy and all lit up. It’s not hard to tell what you’re in love with. And you value these traits so much, does it surprise you that you have them yourself?”

“Okay, fine, I know I care about people.”

“Don’t judge yourself so strongly on how you might come across to someone you’ve just met, anyways. That’s only one thing. It’s not all that matters.”

“Jeez...” Kip keeps watching the leaves on the trees across the street but reaches out to nudge Eno on the arm. “My appointment’s over, already.”

“It’s a personal mission of mine to try getting you to love yourself as much as you should,” Eno responds. 

Kip laughs under his breath.

“I know,” he says. He touches Eno’s arm again, quickly, gentler. “But I guess I got off-topic, huh? The point is that I could bet you fifty dollars that Pascal would be more than fine with sitting down with you and talking about the whole moving thing. I know you’d ask more relevant questions and all than if I was trying to be a go-between.”

“I believe you,” Eno says. “I do, honestly. And I really will figure out how to come down to C soon. It’s overdue.”

“I haven’t been visiting you up here enough either,” Kip reminds him. “I’ve been missing you.”

“That brings us back around to the advantages of me moving to C.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll go on a date with your boyfriend and see how that makes me feel about things.”

Kip groans and drags a hand over his eyes and Eno reaches over and rubs his back.

“Have any plans to see him yourself?” Eno asks. “Or should I take over for you?”

“Ngh.” Kip closes his eyes momentarily. “In a couple of days we should have an evening together. I work early and he doesn’t work late. We think we should be able to meet up at least once a week without having to move work schedules around or anything.”

“Oh, good... It’s nice you two live so close.”

“Yeah, now it feels like nothing but lucky that we’re only about a mile apart.”

“See how things work out?”

Eno’s delivery is as quick as ever, but Kip can hear where the levity of his tone fails just ever so slightly, betraying some  
of the earnestness.

Kip worries his bottom lip with his incisors and stares at a bird hopping along the bricked sidewalk.

“I’m pretty certain part of why I’m feeling better than usual is because of last weekend and the fact that we fucked so much. And I think that’s okay, but I’m hoping that it doesn’t mean this whole decent mood I’ve had since then is going to vanish overnight on me, you know?”

There’s half a beat and then Eno laughter bursts out, genuine and as close to loud as Eno’s laugh tends to get. Kip bites his lip again and holds it there for a second.

“Oh—“ Eno breathes another laugh. “No, I mean—you can’t do anything about it either way by worrying about it, and you might as well take advantage of it however long it lasts. Things that shake up our mood happen all the time—maybe just don’t do anything you think you’d regret later, but I wouldn’t say there’s likely to be any problem with doing things you’d want to do anyway but don’t necessarily always have the energy for. And really, just go ahead and let yourself enjoy this whole thing. There’s no harm in it.”

“Ugh, you’re right. I overthink the most straightforward stuff. I mean, I’m overthinking sex.”

“I doubt there’s anything too...straightforward about you having sex,” Eno says with pointed emphasis.

“...Oh my god, you’re impossible.”

Eno stifles a laugh.

“I don’t know why I tolerate it,” Kip sighs. “Probably to try to get as much of your therapeutic wisdom as possible.”

“That’s generous to call anything I say ‘wisdom,’” Eno says. “Knowledge, maybe. I do pick up a lot of it in my line of work.”

Impulsively, Kip reaches over and puts his hand over Eno’s arm. He peripherally sees Eno look over at him, but doesn’t move his own gaze. He wraps his fingers loosely around Eno’s wrist.

“Call me when you find a day off that you think you’d wanna use to come to C, and I can figure out with Pascal a way for you guys to get to sit down for a minute.”

Eno moves his thumb to rub the base against Kip’s fingertip.

“Okay.”

—

He and Eno talk for another hour, and he tries to keep the conversation tilted towards Eno. Eventually he checks the time and argues he ought to leave so that Eno can have some time before his last patient shows up. They both stall the departure a little bit longer, but soon enough Kip is standing in the front hall and pulling his bag back onto his shoulder.

“I’ll see you next Thursday,” he says.

“I’m looking forward to it as much as ever.”

He smiles and turns towards Eno.

“Hey. Love you,” he says, and then holds eye contact just long enough to make it clear he means it.

Before Eno responds, Kip steps forward and puts his hands on Eno’s sides, tucks his forehead in the crook of Eno’s neck, brushes their chests together. With a roll of his head, he presses his nose and lips against Eno’s jaw before leaning back.

“Goodness—what’s got you so thawed out today?” Eno gives a short laugh.

“Nothing,” Kip huffs. “Just take what you can get.”

Eno laughs a bit more freely as Kip pivots away from him.

“Aaah! God!” Kip flinches as Eno suddenly hugs him tight from behind. “Okay, okay, let go—“

Eno squeezes him before acquiescing—heat rushes through Kip’s face.

“Why do I know so many people who use hugs as an attack strategy,” Kip grumbles.

“It’s fun,” Eno argues. “And you’ll never admit you want to ask for one.”

“Sometimes I will.”

“Alright, alright...”

Kip glances back at Eno and allows him a flash of a smile.

“Okay, go ahead and get out of here before I beg you to stay,” Eno says, folding his arms.

Kip exhales sharply through his teeth.

“Don’t leave angry...” Eno puts on a faux-importuning tone.

“Eno,” Kip grumbles. “For god’s sake.”

Apparently satisfied, Eno pats Kip’s shoulder and gives him a warm, genuine smile.

“Go on,” he says. “I’ll see you next week.”

—

By the time he reaches the station, Kip only has to wait about ten minutes for the next train heading to his stop. He sits back with his bag in his lap and stares out the window, quietly processing the appointment and visit.

He exits a few stations down to wait on a connecting train from the line that goes directly to his station in C. He looks up at a clock, noticing that it’s about half an hour till Pascal’s store closes—he’s been effortlessly holding Pascal’s schedule in his head for weeks now.

“Hey.”

He wonders how Molly’s shift turned out, having heard her talking the previous night about the unusually large quantities she had been meant to bake up for the café, something about a prior order that had been put in by someone wanting to have the food for a meeting. He wonders if they gave Kate more to handle up front as well.

“Hey. You.”

The voice is more emphatic—Kip glances up, and immediately feels a dampening roll of frustration. A human standing about seven feet away is turned slightly towards him and staring right at him, with an expression that suggests something about him is amusing.

It’s nothing new—a range of resentful-to-hostile behavior is what he universally expects out of the humans from B, but usually the most direct interactions he receives from them are angry looks as they try to move away from him or little scoffs or huffs as they pass him. Having insults thrown at him from across the street isn’t exactly surprising, but usually nobody tries to engage him in any sort of sustained interaction.

Still, he’s been physically targeted before. Shoulder knocks, outright shoves, a drink or two’s been not-so-accidentally dumped on him—the list goes on.

But just because he’s been through worse, just because, to a degree, he’s used to it, this is always still unpleasant, still stressful and threatening. Kip is fixing his gaze stubbornly on a spot on the ground, rubbing a thumb along the strap of his bag, determinedly refusing to interact.

In his peripheral he sees the human shift just a little bit more in his direction. 

“Hey.” The tone is more blatantly mocking. “Didn’t know animals know how to buy a train ticket.”

Kip can’t help his brow furrowing, he continues to stare slightly away from the human. Though several nearby have glanced over, none of the other people around seem much interested in intervening—which doesn’t surprise Kip either. He feels his heartbeat rising into his throat—he thinks of Pascal’s smile, the look he gets when he sees Kip.

“Nothing to say, huh? You one of the ones that can’t talk?”

Kip tightens his grip on his bag and goes for his first line of defense. He tries to feel rooted to the ground, he bites down on the end of his tongue, he focuses intently and tries to tune in to it. After just a couple of seconds he thinks he can sense the beginnings of it, the feeling of sparks jumping down his forearms into his fingertips.

The human scoffs lightly.

“You just better be on your way back to E where you belong.”

The mention of E flares up his already frayed nerves, and the undercurrent of cold fury that comes with it is just what he needs. Kip stares sightlessly ahead of himself and exhales sharply as he squeezes his hands into fists.

The pulse of cold is much more intense than he thought it would be, but he concentrates on trying to sustain it for at least a little longer. It already seems to be enough though—at the first moment of bitter frigidity, the human swears with a note of urgency and quickly backs away before turning to stalk off down the platform.

Kip doesn’t move, keeps sending out a few more pulses of deep coldness for good measure—now the humans are glancing over for a different reason, drawing their arms across their chest, huddling slightly in on themselves.

With a few slow breaths, Kip starts to relax again.

The train arrives. He gets on without anyone else bothering him.

—

Kip opens the book he brought mostly to make himself look occupied, but before too long he’s thoroughly distracted by the knowledge that Pascal is probably done with work, and can’t get through the paragraph he’s on. He’s still slightly shaken by the human that harassed him, and being surrounded by humans who are shunning him isn’t doing much to make him feel better.

He sends off a quick “hey, im riding the train back from visiting eno, how was work?” and then slips the phone back into his pocket and rests his hand overtop it.

As always, he tries not to get his hopes up for a quick response, but thrills anyway when his phone vibrates only a couple of minutes later.

Pascal talks about his day a little and asks about Kip’s, and Kip does the same in turn, and they go back and forth every few minutes trading little stories in middling-length texts.

Before too long, Kip finds that the nervous tension he’d gained has ebbed away into a quiet static in the back of his mind. Now it feels like he’s always just seconds away from a smile.

The train has crossed over to C by the time they finish talking about their days, and then they discuss things more generally—what they’ve been thinking about, what they’ve been feeling since their weekend together. It’s easy for Kip to talk about, somehow it seems that his own thoughts about their relationship take surprisingly little effort to put into words, and even less effort to share with Pascal. 

It’s simple, after all. He loves Pascal, he feels loved by Pascal, he trusts him and trusts this relationship. He likes to be with him and wants to stay together.

Even the texts Pascal sends him make him feel warmer and steady.

He looks out the window for a few minutes, at the glowing sky of an early summer evening, watching trees and buildings and phone lines race by, and decides it’s been a pretty good day.

Before he knows it he’s only a few briefs stops from his own station, and he texts Pascal about this, and puts his phone away to wait out the last few miles. The atmosphere in the train is much less agitated than in B, there’s more monsters, fewer humans—who are a bit less reluctant to share the space near them. He starts to think about being home in the apartment, sitting on his own bed.

When he finally steps out of the train, the fresh air and open space are equally refreshing, it feels good to be on his feet again after the long ride. He walks over to stand beside a signpost and takes out his phone to start writing out a text to tell Pascal he’s made it off the train.

“Hey.”

Like a slingshot, Kip’s heart sinks for the merest instant before careening sky high. He snaps his head towards the voice, almost thinking he must’ve misheard—

“Pascal!” he cries, laughing.

Pascal stands up from the bench, beaming at Kip’s exuberance, brushing his hair out of his eyes.

“Pasc!” Kip repeats, unapologetically loudly. Pascal’s presence is a little overwhelming; he can’t seem to move towards him, just laugh and trip over a few syllables while staring at his face.

But Pascal is walking towards him, and when they’re within five feet of each other Kip bursts with the energy of it and flings a hug around his boyfriend.

“It’s so good to see you—“ Pascal hugs him back so tightly he lifts him up and swings him halfway around in a circle. “I was getting your texts, and when you said where you were and I saw that I’d have time to walk down here and get here about ten minutes before your train, I just had to—“

“God, I wasn’t expecting this at all!” Kip leans back to look up at Pascal’s face. “You surprised me so much—“

Pascal laughs and squeezes him tight, expression warm and eager. Kip feels the remnants of his anxiety from the station in B fizzling out, giving way to this new excitement and delight. 

“I’ve been thinking about kissing you all day,” Pascal says. “Can I?”

Kip laughs and nods and at once pushes his face up, catching Pascal’s lips. Pascal hums softly and presses the kiss, gathering Kip up further in his arms. It goes on for about half a minute before Pascal gives Kip one last quick firm kiss and slackens the embrace.

“Oh, I’ve missed seeing you...” Kip sighs, taking in the sight of him. He lifts a hand and runs it softly down the side of Pascal’s face. “It’s so good to really be seeing you...”

“I know, there’s nothing that can do what this does. Actually looking at you and touching you is enough to make the whole day alright.”

“Was yours bad?” He touches Pascal’s face again, brushing the backs of his fingers from his cheek down his jaw. 

“It was okay, I was just kind of tired the whole time at the shop. This and getting to text you has been the best part.”

Kip takes Pascal’s arm in his hand and kisses his chest above his v-neck collar.

“You know...” Kip interrupts himself with a giggle. “I’m actually really excited about the idea of being able to help you out with whatever bad days you have. I wanna be here for you for that kind of thing so much—all the little stuff, and all.”

“Aw—“ Pascal lifts the hand in his arm and presses the knuckles to his lips. “Well, you’ve already done enough to fix anything bad about this one.”

“Back at you.”

“So...” Pascal brushes some hair aside again. “You were heading home, or what?”

“Oh, uh—yeah, I was. You?”

“I had a couple errands to run before I go home for the day, but I’d love to walk you home first, if that’s okay with you.”

“It is!”

Pascal grins and swings their arms back and forth. Kip stretches himself up and rises on his toes and kisses the base of Pascal’s throat. Pascal laughs.

“So...” Pascal glances around them. “I was thinking about making use of the bathroom here first?”

“Oh, sure.”

“They keep them pretty nice here,” Pascal says. “Clean them a couple times a day, and all.”

“Yeah?” Kip says.

“The next train isn’t scheduled to come by for another twenty minutes or so.”

“Mm.”

There’s a pause, and then Kip fixes Pascal with a look.

Pascal blushes and shrugs playfully.

“I was just thinking, if you wanted to, I’D sure like to...”

“Yes. Absolutely.”

Pascal laughs and Kip grabs his arm, leading the way.

—

Pascal wastes no time, pushing Kip up against the wall in the stall furthest from the entrance, making out with him and grinding against him for a headspinning twenty seconds, then lowering himself down to sit on his heels and putting his arms along either side of Kip to attach to the wall and help steady them both. He nuzzles his face into Kip’s crotch and Kip bites his lip and tries to undo his belt with already-trembling hands. Kip shoves his hands down his underwear to push them down, and the moment his dick is fully out, Pascal takes it in his mouth.

Pascal quickly sucks him erect—Kip tries to keep silent but breaks a few times with whimpers or sharp gasps. Pascal slows down a bit once Kip is completely hard, even teasing him a little, dragging his tongue from the base to the head, kissing the tip, rubbing his face against the length. Kip winds his fingers into Pascal’s hair and tries to keep still and quiet and finish this before any train stops by and deposits a bunch of other people into the bathroom with them.

But it’s so good to feel Pascal’s mouth on him again. He’s so in love with this—he knows he couldn’t regret it, not even if someone somehow ended up walking right into their stall in the middle of it. 

Kip pricks his ears at the sound of approaching footsteps and holds his breath and tries to communicate it to Pascal with a light tug to his hair. Pascal pauses with a few inches of Kip’s dick in his mouth, still giving a few slow, light sucks—Kip rocks his hips helplessly and squeezes his eyes shut.

The person walks right up to the door and Kip’s heart is pounding, pulse reverberating in his chest and cock alike. He fully expects them to stride inside—to have already done so. Pascal licks at the head of his dick, sending a jolt of pleasure and adrenaline through Kip with each little stroke from his tongue—and Kip finally realizes the person has simply walked past, and he slowly, slowly relaxes.

“Okay?” Pascal murmurs, looking up at him, looking beautiful. 

Kip flushes blue and nods.

“Keep going,” he breathes.

For the rest of the blowjob, he lets himself give soft whines and moans as they come to him, letting Pascal know how good he is. And he’s so good—he’s great. He has Kip thrusting by the end, straining to keep himself from pushing his cock too deep, too fast, both hands tangled in Pascal’s hair, breathing heavy and quick.

“Pascal—“ he gasps as he feels himself going right up to his crest. “Pasc—“

Pascal pulls back to the top few inches and inhales deeply through his nose, then takes the full length and sucks hard, his forehead pushing against Kip’s stomach. Kip rolls his hips even with no room for them to move. His hands fly from Pascal’s hair down to his back and up again, nails dragging along his shoulders, and then Pascal swallows around him, and then he cums.

Pascal takes it all, pushing him just as hard against the wall, sucking him right through the whole duration of his orgasm. 

Kip breathes Pascal’s name as he starts to come back down, pushing him away just so he can drop down and climb into his lap and kiss him, hands running through his hair. He presses his tongue along Pascal’s lips until he parts them, then kisses him as deeply as he can manage. He pulls back often to let Pascal draw breath, then makes up for the interruptions when their mouths meet again.

Straddling Pascal’s thighs has made Kip plenty aware of exactly how aroused his boyfriend is, but it’s just as telling how Pascal starts rocking slightly against him as they make out. He feels this confidence and sexiness in his afterglow and takes full advantage of it, sliding himself back and forth in time with Pascal’s movement, grinding against him, pressing his ass down a little harder each time it rubs against the nudging length of Pascal’s cock.

In no time at all he has Pascal moaning softly against his neck, one arm off the wall and wrapped around his waist instead. 

“What would you like?” Kip says into his ear. “What should I do?”

“I don’t—I—“ Pascal pants.

“Here, stand up, stretch your legs...”

Kip helps pull his suckers from the tiles as Pascal rises up, then cups and squeezes him as he kisses his chest.

“What would you like?” he repeats. He strokes Pascal’s erection through the soft fabric of his sweatpants. 

“Oh, Kip...” Pascal sighs.

“Want me to suck you, too? Because I think I want to.”

“Kip—“

Seconds later he’s got Pascal’s back up against the wall, pants pulled down past his hips, taking the base of his erection and sliding the end eagerly into his mouth.

It’s a heady rush to have that taste and texture on his tongue again, soft and heavy and hot, it takes him back at once to all the sex they’d just had, all the sex they’d had in the years before. He has no interest in holding himself back—in just a few short minutes, he’s sitting back, hands on the front of Pascal’s thighs, eyes closed, panting for breath, spit down his chin and cum on his lips and nose. 

He feels amazing like this, public bathroom and all of it.

“Kip,” Pascal exhales.

His name sounds beautiful said that way, in that voice.

“Pascal,” he answers, slow and lingering.

He takes a length of toilet paper and starts wiping off his face, licking the cum off his lips. He takes another few pieces and deftly wipes some traces of sweat from his forehead and the base of his throat. Then he stands up and rearranges Pascal, putting his underwear and pants back into place and smoothing his shirt and reaching up to push his hair out of his face.

“Mm...” He hums in his throat and kisses Pascal’s chest, brushing his lips against the hair there before leaning back again. Pascal brings his arm up to cup the base of his head.

Kip smiles up at him, then finally has to laugh.

—

As they set off towards Kip’s building, Kip doesn’t try to hide how effervescent the tryst has made him. He can’t seem to avoid smiling every other minute or glancing over at Pascal, and he’s so grateful that Pascal surprised him with all this. He lets him know with frequent squeezes to his arm and bright smiles whenever they catch each other’s eye. He can’t help but see beauty in the details of a dozen things around them at any given point—but sees it most of all in Pascal.

—

“Thank you,” Kip says as they stand outside the front door, beaming at Pascal without restraint. “Thank you so much, thank you, you’ve made my day so awesome.”

Pascal hasn’t seemed rid of his blush since the station, and it’s deepening now as Kip stares up adoringly at him.

“It was just as good for me,” Pascal says. “I might as well have done it completely for my own sake.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you did,” Kip says. “I like what you do for your sake.”

Pascal laughs and sweeps Kip into a snug embrace.

“Oh, I love you...”

“I love you impossibly much,” Kip responds, burying his face in Pascal’s chest. He squeezes his wide torso tight.

Moments later they’re trading goodbyes, Pascal promising to text Kip when he gets home from his errands, Kip thanking him again and reminding him of the approaching evening during which they’ll get to see each other again. They share a parting kiss and then Kip waves and unlocks the door as Pascal heads off down the sidewalk.

Kip is smiling to himself still as he makes his way to the stairs and takes them two at a time, feeling light on his feet even with the bag on his shoulder. His head is full of replays of all that just occurred, and he finds the apartment door from sheer physical memory. 

“Hey, guys,” he says to whoever might be within earshot, holding the doorknob in place as he extracts his key from it. “This lock is getting kind of old.”

“It’s Kip,” Molly states.

“Hey, Kip!” Roy’s voice overlaps with hers.

“Hi,” Wallace says.

For the second time in an hour, Kip snaps his head up to see if he’s hearing that voice right. With all his residual excitement—and the unusual degree to which his guard is still lowered—Kip has no chance of saving himself from the blush that rises quickly to the surface.

“H-hello,” he says, a beat late.

“We invited Wallace over; we’ve been hanging out,” Molly explains.

“You’ve mostly only missed work stories, don’t worry,” Roy assures him.

They all smile at him, Wallace a bit sheepishly. Kip closes the door and needlessly adjusts the strap on his shoulder.

“I was in B all day,” he says. “Eno. I’m gonna put my stuff away.” 

Roy resumes whatever story he’d been in the middle of telling, and Kip puts his head down and makes his way to his room. 

It’s a matter of seconds spent unpacking his bag, putting it in the closet, taking off his shoes and throwing his socks in his hamper. He falls back onto his bed and closes his eyes, breathing easy, feeling only the remaining strength of his heightened heartbeat. He stays there while that relaxes away too, until he’s just resting, hearing only muted voices and the occasional sound of traffic outside. 

He hears a laugh, knows it’s Wallace’s. He curls his hand into a fist, rests it on his chest, and lets out a long sigh.

He thinks back on his day. His thoughts gravitate to Pascal. He recalls his low voice in his ear so easily that for a moment it’s like he’s really hearing it. He imagines having Pascal in this room, sitting with him on the floor, holding him close in the limited space of his bed.

Lying on his little bed, sandwiched snugly between Wallace and Pascal, their bodies imbuing him with warmth.

Wallace’s voice drifts into his ears again; Kip thinks of him walking into the room, looking around like he had that time Kip first let him see the space, telling him how nice it is—walking over and—

No.

And slipping his hands around Kip’s waist—

This is pointless.

And kissing him softly—

Kip tightens his fist again, then relaxes it, trying to let go of the pleasure of thinking of Wallace like that and his frustration over it alike.

Wallace laughs again. Kip blushes.

—

After about ten minutes of just lying on his bed, he gets up and returns to the room with the others. It’s easy—they’re already set in their own rhythm of conversation, he just sits back and listens, nodding at times, raising his eyebrows at others, but largely declining to be the center of attention for more than a second. The others all are happy, though, and that’s good enough to make this turn of events feel less like a shakeup and instead just one more comforting turn to his day.

Eventually the subject of dinner comes up, and Wallace is invited, but he declines with generous thanks. 

Kip’s twinge of disappointment feels like hypocrisy, and then he reminds himself that didn’t he feel guilty for not seeing Wallace enough after promising not to try avoiding him? Didn’t he admit fully to himself how deeply he values his relationship with Wallace? So he lets himself smile genuinely when Wallace turns to him for his goodbye.

“It’s good seeing you,” he says, holding Kip’s gaze for a moment afterwards. Kip smiles again.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s been too long.”

Wallace smiles warmer at that and turns back to the others to say thanks, see you later, and Kip stares at the wall during the slight shiver in his chest. He watches Wallace turn away and lowers his gaze as the human closes the door behind him.

“Kip, try to rein it in an ounce,” Molly says. “You’re giving off a lot of cold.”

“Sorry,” he says quickly, and tries to push it into his hands.

—

Pascal texts him not long after, and they trade a few details about their days. Kip chooses to include the aggressive human from B and the other surprise of seeing Wallace, including mention of his feelings about both events. Pascal responds with the deeply sympathetic gentleness that seems to come so naturally to him. It makes Kip feel better.

—

Kip wakes himself up from a nightmare with a whine. He opens his eyes before he believes that he’s really alone, really in his own bedroom—but it still doesn’t feel like it, in his gut he still feels the awful tension lingering from the nightmare. 

It’s that it’s such a rare variation that makes it harder to recover quickly. He plugs in his lights with stiff hands and sniffs and pulls out his phone to scroll through the goodnight texts he’d gotten from Pascal, trying to force back the feeling. 

It wasn’t exactly a direct replay of a memory, more an exaggerated recreation that quickly veered into a direction that had never really unfolded, yet peppered with very real moments that keep repeating, bearing down on him.

Humans.

Their silhouettes coming so close that he can start to make out blurry features.

Things that had been said, the little words and phrases that had leapt out and burned into him.

“—consistently pathetic that there isn’t the slightest difficulty in—“

“—but after all, it was a blessing for us that he survived that—“

“—born with this power and yet he couldn’t be any—“

“—pretending—a shadow of his brother—“

“—too cowardly even to run away—“

The laughter.

“—such a predictable weakness—“

“—even now, too stupid to—“

“—would have killed him years ago if he didn’t happen to—“

Why did that human on the platform have to mention E. 

The deep cold remains in his stomach, he concentrates fiercely on Pascal’s words on his phone screen and repeats in the back of his mind that the past is past. It’s over. And it didn’t have anyone pressing a knife to his throat. It didn’t have him looking down to see himself bleeding from a gash in the stomach, ripping scores of needles out of himself, ones so deep they entangle with his muscles and bones—

He blinks out a tear or two and tells himself to stop being too afraid to go use the bathroom. 

He hates that even while awake and going about his day, his mind sometimes whispers some of those words, in their voices, their effortlessly derisive tones, cutting into him as they did then, echoing his worst thoughts about himself, throwing such encompassing hatred at him while he collapsed under the crush of his own fear and horror and useless disgust and anger—

He can’t forget it. But he can usually avoid thinking on it. 

Until he’s surrounded by humans who fix him with those glares, radiate such loathing around him, this barely-masked collective desire to force him out, hurt him, kill him. They speak to him with those same notes of contempt buried in their voices, they look over his body with the same shameless entitlement, like he’s some object laid out for their disgust and judging consumption. They put their fucking hands on him. They spit at the sight of him. Their fear at the smallest display of his powers makes them drop all pretense in their hatred towards him. They mock him for the sheer fun of it, confident of his inability to respond. They call him names from a short distance. On rare occasion, one of those jeering at him knows exactly who he is, exactly what had happened to him, and things take an extraordinarily bad turn. 

Kip stands in front of the sink and runs some cold water over his hands, rubs some on his forehead, his chest. He’s crying. He stares at his reflection and tries to feel only sympathy for himself, none of the self-loathing that overlaps with the loathing others have heaped onto him over his life. A trail of snot slides down the curve of his lip. 

He thinks of things Pascal has said to him while he’s this shaken and upset. Things Wallace has said. Eno. Molly. His siblings.

Humans staring at him, keeping to their perimeter around him, their unfiltered scorn and damnation and violent intent. The knowledge of what they want to do to him, what they’ve done to other monsters. 

He remembers so well hugging his body, desperately holding on to it when he felt so sure it was about to be taken from him. How he tried to be brave in the fear of what limitless tortures he knew they could choose to inflict on him—and how he found he couldn’t feel brave at all. The despair and the certainty that his life was going to be nothing but agonizing pain and then it was going to end—it mirrored what had been left of him after the fire so horribly and precisely. 

His breath catches in a weak sob and he curses his nightmares. Then he more passionately curses what’s been done to him and those who did it.

He thinks of Pascal. He imagines sitting with him and trying to describe the details of his more recent traumas. After Pascal worked so hard to help Kip pick himself back up after the fire. It had taken him so many weeks to work up the nerve to describe it to Eno—he’d had to sit up, to keep Eno in his field of vision, reminding him exactly where he was, who he was with. He was more numb than he expected to be. A little bit after the appointment was wrapped up, Kip realized how tense Eno was and, as soon as he tried to comfort him, broke down somewhat himself. Eno had held him so close, like he was still freshly wracked with grief six years ago, and whispered apologies, and Kip hoarsely told him he didn’t need to be sorry for anything and kept his face buried in the crook of Eno’s arm, shaking so hard his teeth would click together. 

Eno had rubbed slow circles against the small of his back then, and it had comforted Kip and grounded him. He reaches behind himself now and brushes his palm along his spine as if it’s the cure for the distress ingrained in those memories.

It’s not as if Kip hadn’t always been aware of the cold treatment and animosity of humans, even since he was little. Even before he was out of grade school—even in C, there have always been plenty of humans who had the same ideas about monsters as those in B and A. Even in D. But that treatment he was so accustomed to felt more and more dangerous as he grew older, became more aware of the situation they were all in, heard more stories and saw firsthand more damage done to friends, neighbors, schoolmates. It then felt different to him after the fire. And it feels different now than it did just a year ago.

It makes him feel sick, deep inside—or not so deep. He thinks of his friends being treated with such disrespect and cruelty. He thinks of Pascal weathering it. 

He sniffs and grabs some tissues and wipes away his snot and tearstains. His dredged-up pain has shivered away into anger and frustration. Memories of the hatred he felt for those on the other side of the wall—the rage that avowed to kill any of them who touched him. That wanted to rip the whole place open from the inside.

He’s suffered all of that, and humans still come up to him, try to beat him down for existing in front of them. Every time, it quietly reminds him of everything that’s been done to him and everyone he loves. And he knows it’ll never go away, not in his past or present or future. It exhausts him to his core. He’ll feel like he’s maybe numbed to it all, then some occasion like this will sting him and remind him how wrong he is.

He sits in the bathroom until his breathing is steady, until all of it’s only memories.

—

He has a rough day at work. Cuddy is in, and he can tell she’s not in a good mood and is probably tired on top of it, and he goes and drops a mug practically right at her feet. The sudden clatter of ceramic shards rings out through the whole café and it makes Cuddy flinch and swear under her breath—Kip flushes deeply the moment he realizes what he’s done, and the embarrassment only exacerbates his scatterbrained feelings that had led to him breaking a dish in the first place. He feels like he doesn’t stop blushing the whole of the rest of his shift, but he pushes himself not to get too much more caught up in his nervousness, and does his best to simply stay out of Cuddy’s way.

He feels turned around and distracted, so unable to focus that even five orders coming through becomes a difficult task. Every couple of minutes he swears to himself he’ll take a nap when he gets home and hopefully settle down a bit. He tells himself that Cuddy hasn’t sworn revenge on him just for dropping something.

Sure enough, a little over an hour before his shift ends Cuddy asks him to go into the back to bake up a set of tarts that she’d forgotten to put in Molly’s list for the day. She switches places with him and takes over the slowed-down front while he settles himself gratefully into the quiet solitude of the bakery space. It’s not a recipe he’s familiar with; he takes things slowly and carefully. By the time he’s putting his finished product on a serving platter, despite being covered in flour stains and jellies, he feels like he’s somewhat more put together.

He showers off when he gets home, blowdries his hair, and buries himself under his blankets without bothering to put on any clothes. It feels deeply comfortable to be off his feet, warm, skin feeling soft from the shower, embraced by a nest of blankets.

He falls asleep with no trouble.

He’s even comfortable in his dream, body loosed curled on its side in a nest of thick blankets and pillows. He lies there and sees sunlight through a lacy canopy of leaves and hears running water—he sits up and sees he’s sitting by a brook from a park he used to visit with his family, ages ago, when he was in his first year of school. The moss-covered banks, the peacefulness of the glade surrounded by trees, the sound of the water—it’s almost ethereal.

Wallace comes over and sits down beside him, looking out at the scenery with a faint smile. Kip stares at his face, freely focusing on the details of his features, freely feeling a deep attraction, a warm desire instead of stifled longing. Wallace keeps looking ahead of himself—possibly because Kip is wanting more and more for him to look over instead.

Kip looks down at their hands, inches apart, both resting beside their thighs. He slides his hand over, haltingly, until the side of his little finger just grazes against Wallace’s knuckles. Even that sends a rush shivering through him. And Wallace looks over, and smiles at him like they’re both meant to be here, meant to be sitting side by side and brushing skin to skin, like Kip is meant to be staring at Wallace and practically leaning towards him, like Wallace is meant to be giving him that smile that he has, the one so bright it’s as though you’ve just singlehandedly delighted him so much as to turn around a bad day for him, and he’s so glad to even look at you.

Kip feels he has to do it, like this is what’s supposed to happen. He gently slides his fingertips over the back of Wallace’s hand, looks down at his lips, leans in just a half inch or so. He looks back up to meet Wallace’s eyes, asking. 

He’s not sure of the answer. He leans in a little more. A little more. He glances between Wallace’s eyes, nose, lips, then tilts his head and breathes in and leans in all the rest of the way until he feels Wallace’s lips pressed against his. His fingers twitch over Wallace’s hand, his eyes close, he melts more than a little and presses harder into it. He feels Wallace’s hand slip to the small of his back, Wallace’s lips move against his.

His dream fades out. When a new one starts up again, he’s on a station. It’s dark, all the overhead lights barely penetrate it, their areas of illumination don’t touch each other. He sees figures sitting on benches, perfectly still, and others walking slowly around, their movements reverberating with blurry echoes in the stillness.

Kip feels a quiet sense of dread. He turns and sees stairs disappearing into a hole in the ceiling; he hesitates, then goes over and starts climbing. For a while it’s just darkness, and he’s unsure, a little afraid he’s going to take the next step and suddenly plummet.

Instead, he finally sees a glowing light up ahead, races up to it to find it leads right into their neighborhood. He glances over his shoulder at the dark staircase he’d just left, sitting there quiet and ominous, and nervously focuses on putting some distance between it and himself.

Before too long he sees Pascal, sitting on the edge of a fountain beside an amber pitcher of suntea. His feet are in the water, his shoulders bared in a tank top, his hair pulled back—he looks over and beams at the sight of Kip.

Kip runs over, hopping onto the fountain’s border to sit next to him, and hooks his elbow around Pascal’s arm.

“I did it, Pasc! I kissed him.”

“You did? Was it good?”

Kip nods and giggles and shoves himself forward to embrace Pascal tightly. He ends up in Pascal’s lap, his own bared feet dangling in the water, Pascal’s arms looped around him. Their surroundings shift into nighttime, but it feels like the complete opposite of the darkness of the station. 

Kip closes his eyes and feels the water swirling around his ankles and Pascal’s kiss on his face and the dream swims into another change.

Kip’s alarm wakes him up. The moment he moves to turn it off, he realizes he’s had a wet dream. He blushes slightly, managing to recall some fragments involving Pascal that, although hazy, provide more than ample explanation. 

The part about Wallace flashes through his mind, too. He stares at his ceiling, breathes out, and gets up.

—

He gives himself the most quiet day possible, wearing soft and warm clothes, reading and writing. He keeps his string of lights on, makes himself a few cups of hot tea throughout the day, and does a load of laundry. He takes a picture of his thriving forget-me-nots and sends it to Pascal. He gets a text from Kate about an event the next week that she plans to attend, asking if he thinks he might want to use any photos she might take, and their conversation transitions into casual back and forth at an easy pace. 

Kip opens his webpage and stares at it for a while, scrolls past scores of old articles he’s written, at the lengthy hiatus of previous months that’s now only noticeable by glancing at the little timestamps on his posts. He rubs his tongue against a fang as he stares at all the titles he’s written. He opens a little-used section of the site, a page where visitors can leave a message—though since he has an email for answering questions about his posts, the wall is mostly vague comments from people saying they frequent the site or find it useful, or talking about something mentioned in an article, or suggesting topics for him to cover—which he’s sometimes followed through on. He skims through the most recent ones, mouth quirking with a smile at the reminder that actual people read what he puts together, find it any sort of valuable.

His gaze is drawn to a short comment a little ways down: “Great site, amazing contributors. :)” He glances over at its timestamp and does a double-take—the user had entered their name as WallaceF.

Kip’s face grows warm and he laughs to himself, feeling a tiny thrill in his stomach. That Wallace had left this comment a little over a month ago, almost certainly expecting him to see it, yet never mentioning it to him directly—

Kip stares at it for a few seconds more, then quietly laughs again and closes the laptop.

He sends Wallace a text a few minutes later.

“i just saw the comment you left on my blog. thank you.”

And he’s only just put his laptop back on his desk when his phone buzzes again. Kip sits on the end of his bed and picks it up.

“I wanted to wait and see if you’d notice! You’re welcome! :D”

Kip reads it over several times, then tosses his phone onto his pillow before collapsing onto his side to bury his grin in his blankets.

—

“Oh, Kip—“ Molly turns around and widens the door again. “I think my apron’s hanging on my doorknob—grab it for me?”

Kip does, and tosses it to her, and she catches it easily.

“Thanks,” she says. “I’ll see you later.”

“Good day at work,” Kip says as she goes back out again.

“Thanks!” 

Kip looks at the closed door for a few moments, scratching absently at his thigh.

Molly still hasn’t mentioned anything else about the idea of her finally going on a vacation. He knows he can’t make the argument that it’s technically necessary—all of them have inarguably settled back to a routine, and he knows it does actually invigorate Molly to feel like she’s actively helping and supporting her friends. But he can’t convince himself that even just a long vacation wouldn’t do her some good—even though she’s holding up as well as anyone. 

He knows she’s ridiculously solid—and that her self-assurance can turn into a stubborn intractability at times—but he also knows that shouldn’t mean she has to go without any breaks or comforts she could give herself. 

He figures that at some point soon he’ll bring the topic up one more time, and let it drop after that.

But for now his plans are just to crawl into bed and go back to sleep.

—

With a better night’s rest giving him a better morning and the anticipation of seeing Pascal after work, Kip finds himself feeling fairly relaxed, almost cheerful by his own standards. He takes advantage of his state to do a bit of cleaning around the kitchen and a quick run at vacuuming, and feels a bit impressed with himself.

He goes into his room to water his plants and wipe a rag along the top of his shelves and drawers, then sits back on his bed with a deep breath. He looks at the soft grey light coming through the gap in his curtains. Within the minute he gets up and goes to his closet and gets out the lube he bought; he sets it on his bedside table and slide his hand down the front of his pants.

His sex drive seems to have only been aroused further by being able to fuck again; he’s been jerking off at least once a day ever since. It’s been easier to do so since reconnecting with Pascal—back when he’d moved to C, his sexual frustration hit him almost at once, and badly, yet he had to struggle to avoid fantasizing about Pascal. He’d give in sometimes, justifying the usefulness of memories of great sex he’d had, but moreso he leaned on the thought of abstract people—such as a cute guy who came into the café and flirted with him subtly and charmingly, imagining backing him up against a wall and biting the corner of his jaw; the monster he’d let kiss him and touch him in soft, dim lighting, the thought of letting him slide his hands under his clothes, letting the touches grow bolder and firmer, lying underneath him in a bed; just some nice-looking stranger or a model in a banner ad in the subway car, a specific image to use when he thought of being kissed, details to think of when imagining a body against his.

But trying to turn those loose concepts into real feelings that could at all satisfy his longing for real sex was like trying to grasp water compared to using the thought of Pascal, a guy who’d actually fucked him up down and sideways, who was gorgeous and irresistibly hot, of whom Kip knew all the most intimate details—how he sounds during sex, the sight and feeling of his bare torso, his back, what it’s like to be grasped in his arms, to be rubbed by his face during a kiss, how his dick feels, what turns him on, what undoes him, what he can do to melt Kip down or drive him wild.

Having fresh memories of being with him, combined with the knowledge he’ll be with him soon again, is making Kip that much more worked up when thinking about him, making getting off feel less like dampening a buildup of desire and more like stoking it for the next encounter. 

And if sometimes the thought of Wallace slips into his fantasies, if he finds himself focusing on his face, his hands, if he’s who Kip thinks of when he imagines a threesome, he lets it come and go as it does, without shame—after all, he never actually fucked the attractive guys who smiled at him in the café, either.

Kip squeezes a bit of lube into his palm and brings it up near his mouth, breathing onto it, trying to warm it up. Then he clenches his fist, works it onto his fingers, thinks of seeing Pascal shrugging off a light sweater, shaking his hair out after taking off a hat. He falls back onto his bed with a sigh and kicks his pants down and closes his eyes to imagine his own touch as Pascal’s.

—

His shift goes smoothly enough, and it helps that his mood is insulated by the anticipation of seeing Pascal afterwards. But the fact he’s working with Kate is also as helpful as ever towards keeping him from growing agitated or worn down. They dryly commiserate about the little draining things throughout the day, they joke, they simply keep each other company and chat through mundane cleaning tasks and slow periods where the café is subdued and quiet.

Kip notes she seems tired and she admits to it, so he tries to make his unusually solid mood work in her favor by taking the more complicated, intensive tasks, while she does the sort of busy work that involves a higher volume but that’s so second nature to them it almost happens unconsciously. They have a long history of covering for each other in various ways, and Kip can empathize so easily with feeling out of it or fatigued.

After the usual after-work and after-dinner swells are past, they start going through the motions of cleaning and closing tasks, and Kate talks about the thought of getting a pet, and they spend a while discussing every possible option, reasonable and impossible alike. Then she tells a few stories about childhood pets, then they talk a bit about favorite animals, and then the topic becomes favorite foods for the rest of the shift.

They keep chatting while they walk back home, going to Kate’s apartment first as usual. After they say goodbye to each other, Kip pulls out his phone, and his heart sinks.

He hadn’t noticed getting a couple texts from Pascal about half an hour ago. 

“hey, i’m really sorry but something came up at the store and i’m gonna have to stay late this evening”

and then 

“i’m sorry, i should’ve texted you sooner but i got caught with the register for a while”

Kip goes over them a couple of times to be sure he wasn’t misreading anything. It’s a small twinge of bitter disappointment that feels a little cold in his stomach—it’s just that he’d been looking forward to it throughout the whole day, and was now finally embracing that feeling in its fullness as he headed over.

But he’s gotten good at getting used to letdowns in a matter of minutes or less—even if his mood does always take a hit for the rest of the day. So he walks over to a lightpost and stands beside it, staring down at the sidewalk, rearranging his expectations and his ideas for how the rest of his day is going to go. He’s just going to head home and have a nice, average evening unwinding from work, and he’ll text Pascal, and it’ll be fine.

He turns towards home instead of Pascal’s shop and tries to make his dull sullenness get with the new program, the one where he knows it’s going to be perfectly fine because he’s had a good day at work and there’s not going to be anything wrong with relaxing at home, even if it’s unfortunate that he won’t get to hug Pascal and hear him talk about his day.

Part of him stubbornly flares up and repeats uselessly that he was so looking forward to seeing Pascal, just for a couple of hours even. He stifles it as immaturity, then pauses. It sweeps over him and suddenly feels less like mulish petulance and more like a determination to try to be happy. To for once dig in his heels about what he himself wants and not resign himself to anything less. Even in such a small way as this.

He stands there for several seconds and then takes out his phone again. 

“can i come over to the shop anyway? i could just hang out and keep you company. if you think it wouldn’t work, that’s okay.”

He goes over to a nearby bench and sits to wait for a reply. One comes about a minute later.

“Really? It would probably be boring, but if you don’t mind then sure. It’s always nice to have you around”

Kip immediately texts back to say that he doesn’t mind and that he’s on his way, and sets out at once.

—

He sends Pascal an “i’m outside” text, and moments later his boyfriend emerges from the doorway to the back and makes his way through the front area towards the door. Kip stands up a little taller at the sight of him, not only at the soft smile he already has but also his outfit—he’s wearing a snug t-shirt with a wide neckline and beautifully fitting jeans, a rarity for him since the belt and fly can be so much fussier when you don’t have fingers to help you. 

He looks great. Kip knows he doesn’t look nearly as good, still in his work clothes, black pants and an off-white button up that don’t hug his body in the least, or do anything at all to complement his form. He’s grateful that he’s at least not stained with coffee or anything worse, and that of all people, Pascal is the least likely to be disappointed by any underwhelming outfit he turns up in.

He moves out of the way as Pascal unlocks the door and pushes it open.

“Hey!” Pascal greets him eagerly with a luminous smile and the hint of a blush, gratifying to see. “Thanks for coming over here, I was really disappointed when I thought I wouldn’t get to see you after all.”

“Me too.”

He steps in and rises up on his toes to kiss Pascal’s cheek; Pascal leans in a few inches to help. 

“I’d hug you,” he adds. “If my hands weren’t full. I brought this for you, since you’re having such a long workday and all.”

He holds up the smoothie that he took a short detour to pick up.

“Oh—“ Pascal’s right arm twists a bit at the end like a corkscrew. “Wow, thank you, that’s so sweet of you—gosh, you’re giving me all these nice surprises...”

He blushes harder and beams and even seems a bit flustered, and Kip is quietly delighted.

“I tried to keep it cold on the way over,” he says as he hands it to him. He can’t help smiling outright, he keeps reflexively looking down to half-hide it.

“Thank you,” Pascal repeats.

“You’re welcome,” Kip laughs as his temple is kissed.

Pascal brings him inside and over to a cushioned stool he’d set in front of the counter. Kip puts his folded apron next to the register and leans over, propping himself up on his elbows. He watches Pascal writing something on a clipboard, holding the pen with his armtip while cradling the smoothie partway up the same arm, held in place by his suckers.

“I’m basically just counting things,” Pascal says. “But it’s kind of time-consuming. I knew I’d be stuck here too long to be done the same time you were, even if I rushed.”

“Yeah, the stuff Cuddy does takes her half the morning or afternoon sometimes,” Kip says. “You don’t have to rush, though. I just wanted to hang out with you, and this counts. I don’t want you kicking yourself over any mistakes later,” he laughs.

“I like to avoid that,” Pascal agrees. “I’m sorry it’s so boring though. Just me walking around and staring at things and going through boxes.”

“I like keeping you company. I don’t need things to be fancy. I just wanted to be with you. This is great, as far as I’m concerned.”

Pascal looks up from the clipboard and smiles warmly at him.

“Yeah, this is already a lot more enjoyable than it had been,” Pascal says. “I like just...knowing you’re in the room.”

“I liked that a lot too, when I was over at your apartment. You know, I’d just be sitting there, but you were just about twelve feet away, and that made it just sitting there kind of great. It’s that—you know—I just like to be with you.”

He laughs again and knows he’s probably had a steadily increasing blush for the past few minutes. 

Pascal smiles at him again, and holding the eye contact definitely makes Kip grin and blush bright.

“I am sorry it’s so boring, though,” Pascal murmurs. 

“It’s okay. It’s not like you forced me to come over here. I’d’ve wanted to tag along with anything you’d been doing. I know it’s cliché or something, but I only care that I got to be here with you. It wouldn’t matter if you were retiling a wall or what. I just wanted to see you and spend some time with you.”

He can tell that Pascal is flattered by what he’s saying and it gives him a nice, gentle shiver in his chest.

“And, I dunno, I was figuring that it might be nicer for you if you had some company,” he adds. “I know you were looking forward to hanging out, too. And it sucks finding out you have to stay at work longer than you thought you would.”

“Yeah—yeah, I was pretty bummed about it. It wouldn’t have been that big a deal if   
we hadn’t been planning to see each other tonight. But I wanted to see you too, I just figured, you know...I didn’t want you to think you had to come over and wait around while I did all this stuff.”

“I hear you. I don’t need you to entertain me or anything, though. I wanna be part of all the boring stuff, too. Like...I know it’s like we’re kinda dating all over again, but I don’t need actual dates. It’s definitely nice when we do, but, you know. I’ve already made my mind up about you. I’m not using any dates to make up my mind about whether I like you or not.”

Pascal laughs.

“Aw, thank you...”

“I love you,” Kip says brightly. “If you ever just, like, want company, I’d be up for it, you know. You don’t have to always be entertaining me or anything. I like to be with you, and I like to help you out.”

“Aww,” Pascal repeats, laughing again. “You’re so sweet to me.”

“You’re one to talk,” Kip returns.

He asks for a pen and paper from Pascal, and starts writing out ideas that had been floating around in his head at work while Pascal moves around slowly behind the counter, taking short notes. Kip keeps glancing over at him, and happily observes Pascal smiling softly to himself now and then. 

Kip looks up from the middle of the sentence and catches Pascal already looking over at him in turn. Kip bursts into laughter and Pascal laughs too, deep and beautiful. 

—

When Pascal migrates into the back of the store again, it’s no longer so possible for them to have the occasional interludes of conversation. But Kip wants to make sure Pascal is still aware he’s not alone, so he hums quietly to himself, even singing under his breath sometimes when the urge comes to him, taps the pen against the paper to help himself think of the next thing to write, kicks gently against the leg of the stool in a brief rhythm. He, in turn, feels a quiet wash of contentment in hearing the small sounds of Pascal’s movements—his soft footsteps, the drag of cardboard as he pulls a box towards himself, a sneeze, an occasional long exhale just shy of a sigh.

The effect that even the simple knowledge of Pascal’s presence has on Kip is one that always warms and softens him—this pleasant feeling that sits in his chest, but even beneath that, something that’s less of a feeling and more like almost a physical part of him. Something so certain it’s practically tangible, taking up space, carried by him constantly, no matter where his mind is. 

Kip is very conscious of just how different it feels in comparison to the end of their relationship and his departure from Pascal. He appreciates it deeply.

And once or twice he expresses that appreciation by wandering into the back every once in a while to tell Pascal he wants to check on him, talking to him for a moment or two, putting an arm around his waist, kissing him on the shoulder or arm or cheek after saying he’s done holding him up for now, glancing back as he leaves the room because Pascal’s butt looks fantastically cute in those jeans. 

Kip is definitely grateful that he chose this rather than resigning himself to a Pascal-free evening. His writing comes easily.

—

Pascal finishes with his work just short of two hours after Kip’s arrival. They sit up on the countertop beside each other and chat about their days, ask each other what’s been on his mind, laugh over work stories—and sympathize over them. 

Pascal asks about Molly and Roy, and in the middle of providing a few updates, Kip thinks of how Pascal has likely been lonely since moving to D, away from the neighbors and friends he’d had there. He can empathize, and he knows Wallace can, and it reminds him of what he’d talked about with Eno. He’s a bit embarrassed he’d been too distracted during his last meeting with Pascal to bring it up—he mentions the discussion to Pascal, and mentions that Pascal should feel free to be in touch with any of the mutual friends they’d had before the separation. And says that he’ll try to make sure all four of them, who’d lived together for so long, keep regularly seeing each other, says that Roy and Molly like seeing him too.

Pascal says he’s lucky to have Kip, and while such concepts are always impossible for Kip to believe on his own, when Pascal says them he knows he means them. Kip puts his left leg against Pascal’s right, rests his hand on the inside of Pascal’s thigh by his knee, and leans over to press his forehead against the side of Pascal’s face. Pascal leans into each touch and puts an arm around Kip’s shoulders, laughter soft but rich. 

There’s a short discussion about who gets to walk who home—Kip wins easily by pointing out Pascal lives closer, had the longer day, and walked Kip home last time.

The kiss Pascal gave him when they reached the door of his building seems to sparkle through Kip’s veins his entire walk home.


	5. Chapter 5

Soon Kip and Pascal have a day together—an entire day. Unlike their long retreat spent in Pascal’s apartment, they meet up in the morning and go out. Out for hours. Through morning, noon, afternoon. They walk to a nice waterside spot to sit in the grass and enjoy the view, Pascal takes them to a tucked away gem of a restaurant for lunch, they take a ride on the bus to the nearby art museum. It had been so long since Kip had been inside that it feels at once foreign and familiar being there again, and Pascal admits that he’s never yet gotten around to visiting.

Though they don’t stick precisely side by side, usually the pair remain within a few paintings of each other—though sometimes they’ll drift to different corners before drifting closer again, or even be in different rooms for a little bit. Kip kind of likes having the space, neither of them having to worry about moving too fast or slow for the other, neither even needing to see the other to know that they’re still aware of the other, still together—it’s relaxed.

They both like to linger over certain things, move slowly, careful not to miss anything, focusing on details.

Kip spends several very still minutes in front of one painting that reminds him of the feeling of fuzzy memories back from when he was very young, when things would be happening that he didn’t understand much, confusing and stressful and loud, but his siblings would pull him to them and he would cling to a shirt or wrist until they led him away. Back then they seemed to have a fantastical ability to protect him, a presence bringing shelter and wellbeing, able to navigate the world in ways he couldn’t and bring him along.

He spends so long studying it, the little brushstrokes and shifts of color, that Pascal comes back over to him and gently touches his back. Pascal smiles at Kip when he looks over, and doesn’t ask him what he’s spending so long on, just stands by him and turns his own attention to the painting as well. 

Kip lingers in a room of sculptures, too. He likes to circle them, slowly, several times around at different distances, shift his angle and perspective. Pascal puts the same kind of focus into his scrutiny of the collections of small sculptures in display cases.

They have a small meal in the atrium, seated across from each other at a little table near a plant-lined wall of the wide, echoing space, bathed in the glow of indirect sunlight issuing through the skylight. Despite having gotten more modest items from the expensive-leaning menu, they take their time with them. Kip indulged in a mojito for them to split, which they take partake in after finishing their respective glasses of water.

Kip appreciates deeply the natural ease with which he can converse with Pascal. Just as lovely is how Pascal seems to be so engaged with every exchange, as if Kip is some sort of genius, someone wonderful and unmatched—and even better, that Pascal even seems to enjoy talking with him, no matter how mundane Kip’s remarks or how he may trip over his words, and seems to enjoy sharing his own thoughts with Kip.

They spend another few hours traveling through more wings filled with various mediums and periods of art, reading out descriptions to each other, pulling one another over to look at a certain piece, Pascal pointing out blues that match Kip’s, while Kip returns the favor by finding a peachy warmth resembling Pascal’s hue. Pascal occasionally remarks on paintings with styles he’d like to imitate in the designs he paints on his own sculptures.

Reemerging into the outside world feels like passing back through a portal. It’s early evening, but the sky is still blue, there’s no hints of sunset yet. Kip holds his arm out a few inches from his body for Pascal to wrap his arm around. They take a circuitous, scenic route to a little ice cream shop not far from Pascal’s home, one with a small flower garden around the side to sit by and breathe in. 

Even though being even vaguely near Pascal’s apartment and shop means being near Berkley, Kip doesn’t mind so much. The specific block he dreads is a ways down, in a more heavily residential stretch of the long street. And being with Pascal distracts him from his quiet concerns about being more recognizable—glancing at Pascal guarantees he won’t see anyone doing a double-take at the sight of him, staring him down as if he could be mistaken for anyone else. And talking with him keeps his attention away from any lowered voices that might be floating around nearby.

Besides that specific kind of attention, he really doesn’t mind being looked at when he’s with Pascal—Pascal naturally draws people’s gazes, being generally at least twice the size of most people around him. And Kip is a rare color, and is used to a quick glance or two for that factor alone. But he likes the idea of being seen being with Pascal; he’s proud of it, proud of himself for being the companion of such a person. And he made sure to look good today—a pale blue-grey button-up under a thin, fitted, deep blue-green sweater that he convinced himself just a week ago to buy for the explicit reason of wearing it on a date with Pascal. He knows he looks great in this particular pair of pants, and he has a light scarf draped over his shoulders simply as an accent piece and something to occupy his hands with. Even better than how good it makes him look is that it’s still comfortable enough for a day out and about—and best of all is that he can tell Pascal thinks he looks good. 

Pascal looks as cute as ever today too, and Kip wonders if he planned it, or if he just followed his naturally good sense for what looks nice. It’s characteristically more casual than most of Kip’s outfits—he has on shorts that stop about a hand’s length above his knees, sandals with straps around his ankles, and a light blue v-neck that’s soft and slightly loose in a way that still manages to drape around his shape excellently. His hair is pulled back and his collarbones and cheeks have the slightest hint of developing freckles and half the time it practically makes Kip’s heart skip a beat to look at him.

Which definitely factors in when Kip asks if he can go back to Pascal’s apartment with him, and they share a look, and Pascal blushes and says of course, he’d love to have him over.

Climbing up the different, creakier stairwell brings good memories, and standing in front of the door again, passing through into his different, smaller apartment feels like entering into a sanctuary. Pascal offers Kip some sweet iced tea, and Kip smiles and accepts, and they sit back on the couch and drink slowly.

They rest there for a little bit before Kip looks over at Pascal, and Pascal looks back at him, and Kip leans in and kisses him.

Pascal carries him into the bedroom again. 

They’ve just kicked off their shoes and climbed onto the bed when Kip leans Pascal over onto his back, intending to sit back up but putting it off for several minutes in favor of making out instead. Finally he gets himself upright again—he stares for a moment at Pascal, relaxed against the mattress, face already flushed, hair already messy, gazing steadily back at Kip with undisguised desire. Heart beating plenty harder, Kip undresses himself in front of his boyfriend, unhurried but still short of lingering, pulling his sweater off and combing his fingers through his hair to fix it before starting in on the buttons of his shirt, working his way down and then shrugging it off his shoulders. He lifts himself onto his knees to undo the front of his pants, slides them off completely before hooking his thumb into the waistband of his underwear, feeling the beginning of his erection already pushing against the fabric, finally dragging it down as well.

He sits naked in front of Pascal for a minute, gently running his fingertips up and down the insides of his own thighs, letting Pascal look at him.

Pascal sits up pulls his own shirt up and over his head with an arched back; Kip’s face flushes hot at the display. He thinks of the other night, when Pascal looked so good at work and his mind had wandered once or twice to the idea of lifting his shirt off him and pressing kisses all over his stomach and chest, getting Pascal’s reaction to his touches. He transforms that into a reality. 

He lets Pascal return the favor, roll them over and straddle Kip’s smaller body and kiss along his shoulders and arms and chest, across his stomach and down his thighs. They make out some more and feel and caress each other and end up lying side by side, aligned and interwoven, slowly stroking the other’s erection as they kiss.

Before too long, Kip’s fucking Pascal. His hands are under Pascal’s knees, pushing them back towards his chest, eyes fixed on his gorgeous face while he rocks into him at a smooth, easy pace. 

He finds a good position for them both and holds it, fucking him deep, hitting the perfect stroke. And he maintains it for seemingly ages—every now and then he asks Pascal if he wants him to take hold of his cock and finish him off, but Pascal shakes his head, says no, don’t stop, I like this, says I wanna keep taking your dick, keep going.

From the start Kip hopes that a longer duration will be as good for Pascal right now as a harder but shorter fuck—he’s wanting to go at a slower pace, one that’s gentler, more relaxed, and count on his ability to build it all up without it simply being underwhelming, without losing the gradual momentum. And after a while he feels like it’s coming to fruition when Pascal reaches a point where the intensity of his pleasure seems to grow a bit sharper minute by minute—until they have to be at least a solid hour into it and each thrust seems to undo Pascal, reverberating in the core of his pleasure, making it splash out and spill past the brim. It’s so close to overwhelming just to be watching it, much less for Kip to know he’s the one causing all of it, to be fucking Pascal while taking in his face and voice and body all sparking and shivering and so close to overflowing.

Kip eases into another interlude, leaning in close and slowing the pace down a bit more, moving deeper instead, letting himself relax his legs and abs and arms and even out his breathing a little as he does.

Pascal is beautiful underneath him, shining with sweat, aglow with unconcealed arousal, head pushing back into the pillows, torso rising and falling with the rhythm of his breathing. Every few thrusts elicits a soft, low moan carried on the edge of an exhale, he breathes Kip’s name, inhales shakily. It already feels so good to be holding his body and rocking into him—every sign of pleasure from Pascal just builds Kip’s own that much more. 

Kip could spend hours and hours just like this, just holding both of them in this blissful space of being so close to each other and feeling so purely fantastic, with nothing in the world to intrude on how good it all is. But eventually he can feel the first soundings of fatigue through his body, and Pascal seems to be similarly worked over. So after a few minutes more he asks again, want me to make you cum? And Pascal says god, yes.

Kip adjusts their position, curving himself over closer to Pascal and bracing his weight with one elbow, then puts a hand around Pascal’s dick and starts thrusting into him again at a harder pace.

Kip can only hold himself together for the sake of focusing better on the gorgeous experience of Pascal unraveling beneath him—and to focus on giving a better handjob, too.

Pascal is close, and he’s so intensely aroused that Kip knows his orgasm is going to be spectacular—and he wants to see that so, so badly. He pushes it, putting a burst of extra strength and energy into his drive even though he knows he can’t sustain the pace for long, pumping hard at Pascal’s leaking cock in tandem with quicker, more forceful bucks of his hips.

Pascal is grasping at his back and his head and Kip leans in and gropes his chest and buries his face against the side of Pascal’s neck to bite and kiss it. He thrusts hard, it makes Pascal cry out, he thrusts harder and works Pascal’s dick so well it makes his arm ache.

In a single moment, Pascal’s leg hooks tight around Kip’s thighs, pulling him in closer, and Pascal climaxes—he’s pushing into Kip’s hand and clenching around him and shoving his head back and crying out before his breath and voice catches—Kip pushes himself up to see it. Pascal goes stiff and still for so long, cumming so hard it reaches his own throat and jaw, a beautiful look of such complete and rapturous relief on his face that Kip studies it fiercely, wanting to appreciate every millisecond of it, keep it in his mind as long as possible. It’s the sight of Pascal’s orgasm more than anything that draws Kip up to and past the brink.

He automatically rocks into Pascal and feels himself break loose and then the first moment of his peak hits him like a shock. He takes hold of Pascal’s thighs and digs his fingers into them, pushes fully into Pascal, hips pressed hard against his ass, and curls in towards him with a heavy groan, head falling forward. The payoff for going so long is so worth it—he can only hope Pascal’s felt as deeply wonderful as this.

The first thing he hears as his cognizance reconvenes is a softly exhaled, adoring “Oh, Kip.” He draws a couple of deep breaths and lifts his head slightly to see Pascal gazing up at him, breathless, amazed. He leans down slowly and presses a long kiss to Pascal’s cheek.

He sits back and gently guides Pascal’s feet down to the mattress, smoothly pulls out, then pushes slightly against Pascal’s knees to encourage him to let his legs rest flat against the bed. 

He absently plays with Pascal’s hair and pets his jaw and chest while catching his breath, then lies himself atop Pascal to embrace him loosely.

Their breathing evens out; Pascal’s cum grows dry and sticky between their bodies. Kip lifts his head and nuzzles his face against Pascal’s, finds his mouth and kisses him—they make out for a few minutes at a lazy pace. After starting to get just a little out of breath again, Kip kisses Pascal once more and then gets out of bed, making a slightly unsteady trip to the kitchen on weakened legs to bring back two glasses of water for them. 

Lying there beside Pascal, getting to see him looking like this, looking back at Kip like this, saying these sweet and funny and warm things to him—Kip is so unshakably contented. He feels a love that seems to sit in his throat and chest and abdomen alike, and his smile keeps coming so easily. Pascal is subtly lighting up at the sight of it, and tells Kip so many times, and so easily, that he loves him.

Kip eventually insists on Pascal getting to use the shower first, and tries to preempt too much developing soreness in his body with some stretches while he waits his turn. By the time he’s done with his own shower, Pascal has made decent progress on a simple dinner for them.

Late in the evening, with the colors of the sunset filtering through the curtains, Kip lies Pascal on the bed again and gently scratches and massages all over the expanse of his back. He talks to Pascal as he does, asking questions, letting Pascal’s answers guide the conversation. It’s a deeply refreshing feeling knowing he’s making Pascal feel nice, to get to touch him, to touch him in a way he likes so much, to hear more about him, because Kip can never hear enough about him, enough from him.

When Pascal leans in close to kiss him but first pauses to give him that look with a face full of plain, beautiful love, Kip has a moment of soft and penetrating happiness that could almost make him cry. He laughs instead.

Kip redresses and takes a minute to find his scarf draped over the back of the couch. Pascal holds his hand as he walks him home and gives him a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze before departing. Kip is unfalteringly warm the whole rest of the day. 

—

After putting away the four bags of food he carried home from the grocery after work, Kip makes a cup of hot peppermint tea and goes into his room to hole up and relax for a little bit. Work was a little chaotic, on the verge of stressful, and he’s relieved to have had a peaceful afternoon so far since clocking out. He has plans he’s looking forward to for making a nice, simple fruit salad to go with dinner, and the apartment is even a bit unusually quiet for the afternoon—he figures Roy must be staying a bit late at his work, and would’ve asked Molly about it if she didn’t seem to have taken a shower and then settled in her own room for a nap.

Kip shuts his door and takes another drink of his tea before setting it on his bedside table and opening his window halfway. The last hour has acted like an afternoon summer storm is coming in, and the air smells of rain and keeps moving in breezes and shifts. He sits on his bed and draws his legs up and looks out for a while at the shapes of the clouds and the softly waving branches.

The overcast light gently dims a bit further, the moving air grow a bit calmer, and then Kip’s ears pick up on the sound of light raindrops against the shivering leaves.

He undresses down to his boxers and a tank and puts on some soft socks, leans back on his bed, stares out the window, and drinks his tea in slow, absent sips.

The rain gently picks up; after a while Kip shifts his gaze across the room. He gets up, carefully picks up their framed picture, and brings it to the bed. He leans back against his pillows, draws his knees up slightly, and rests the back of the frame against his thighs. He moves his eyes over every detail of their faces, sensing a million answering images swirl in his memory. 

The soft blue-grey light from the rain looks nice, but the of dimness starts to come across as a little sad, reminding him that he’s just looking at a picture of their faces, never the real thing. He reaches over and plugs in the string of lights—their glow is still gentle, but warmer, golden—this is more what it would look like if he was talking to them, sitting in a room with a small light turned on rather than relying on the overcast illumination from one small bedroom window. 

He breathes deeply, looking at the picture, then looks at the folds of the blanket around the foot of his bed. 

“So,” he says quietly, barely penetrating the sound of the rain in the tree outside his window. “I...had a really nice time with Pascal the other day. We spent the day out and the weather was really nice and I think we both had a lot of fun. Most of the afternoon we were in the art museum across town. I guess that sounds a little boring, but I don’t know, neither of us was that interested in any movies that are out, and we’ve both always liked that kind of stuff. I mean, you guys know—even when I was a kid I thought it was cool. I guess it helps that some of the paintings are like, five times your height then. But it was nice. I hadn’t been there in ages. And never with him.”

He pauses then. The next thought that had come into his head was about how they had gone back to Pascal’s apartment and had sex—and it’s a little strange to just think of saying that directly to the picture. He was a little shy with the details of his relationships even back when they were alive, especially when it came to things like the milestones of physical affection and sexual indulgence. Yet he was always at his most open with hem, and the three had always been so close that they were often on the same wavelength and able to communicate without speaking things directly. Kip knew that, by the time he announced he was planning on spending a day at Pascal’s and staying over, his siblings knew they were probably planning to have sex. And when he came back, he knew he had told them without even speaking of it that they had, in fact, had sex, and everything had been good. 

It’s not like sex is at all as intimidating anymore—not sex with Pascal, at the very least. In the years since it first became a real part of his life, he’s been maturing, the focus of his worries has changed dramatically, and he’s had sex hundreds of times with Pascal. Maybe, if his family had been alive along with him, he’d by now be discussing it as freely as he could with any other close friends—surely moreso.

“I slept with him,” he blurts out, and then laughs at himself for feeling self-conscious around people who aren’t even here, about something he isn’t even embarrassed over. “Pascal, I mean. Because, you know, we used to do that all the time when we lived together, so now it’s just—it’s kind of like we’re making up for lost time. I...got pretty frustrated about it a couple months after we moved back here, y’know, not being with anyone, and...I really wanted to have sex. But I kept being too hung up on Pascal to really give it a good try, and pretty soon things were getting too fucked up and I was too freaked out and depressed all the time to really—really be as concerned about it anymore.”

He laughs again.

“I always think it’s kind of funny that now, after I kind of have my life back again, I went and decided I wanted to kiss Wallace—since he’s kind of the factor that started everything—everything going downhill. Or—well, of course he didn’t start it, he just got caught up in all this the same way we all did, but...his arrival in C was pretty much the first time since the fire that things started happening more out in the open.”

He sighs silently and runs a finger along the edge of the frame.

“I’m still upset about him,” he says. “If you guys were here I bet I’d’ve talked your ears off about the whole thing. I still don’t know what I’m doing... But it’s not just the fact I’ve been crushing on him, you know. It’s that—it’s just made it more obvious, but I feel like ever since things have become...kind of closer to normal, it’s been kind of weird with him. At least on my end. I don’t exactly know what to do with him, with being around him, I...”

A distant roll of thunder seems to accentuate his thoughts.

“It’s just strange. I mean, the very first time I saw him, it freaked me out so bad. And...we never got a chance to get all that comfortable with each other in a regular way. When we started to get close, it was when things were a complete mess, and I was scared every day and night, and questioning who I even was or what my whole life had been, and...now that it’s settled down, everything’s still different. And I...my whole relationship with Wallace started when my life was being completely overturned. Because meeting him was what did it. And now, I—“

He laughs again, a bit helplessly this time.

“NOW I figure out that I like him this way, after everything calms down and there’s no way of knowing if that relationship we’d built up is going to translate over into just—a regular, everyday life. I mean...the stuff we became friends over was such a mix of normal stuff and...completely messed up, horrifying shit. It makes it so confusing. ...There were plenty of times back then that I thought of kissing him, and I had the chance, and I was even getting the sense that maybe he was thinking about it too. If I’d had just gone ahead and done it...just once...”

He drops his head back on the pillows and sighs. He closes his eyes and listens to the rain, thinks of the blurry memory of Wallace’s face so close to his, pushing a brief kiss to his cheek, thinks of what it might be like to feel Wallace’s fingers touch his jaw and tilt his head, feel the brush of his lips. It’s still such a deeply appealing, attractive idea.

“Maybe we’re having to start over after all,” he breathes. “But...there’s no way I can forget or let go of all of that stuff that happened between us already. None of it, big or small. I don’t know. I worry about not being able to figure it out, but it’s hard to tell if I’m being too hard on myself, as usual, or trying to hide from a problem, as usual...”

He lifts his head back up and looks at their picture again, mustering a slight smile.

“I guess I’ll figure it out one way or another as things go on,” he sighs. “I’m really, really glad I have Pascal. He’s so...I love him. I really—I absolutely love him.”

He readjusts, crossing his legs and leaning further back.

“I love him,” he repeats. “He’s so wonderful to me, I really wish you could’ve seen everything he’s ever done for me, how he’s been here for me...he’s amazing. He’s helping me right now just by being with me, and that’s just...not at all a surprise. I’ve always—being with him makes me like being myself in a way I don’t exactly feel otherwise...it’s just so nice. I love him. I...”

He draws the portrait a bit closer, holding it over his stomach, and lowers his voice to close to a whisper.

“If he asked me to marry him, I already know I’d say yes.”

He can’t help breaking into a smile as he says it.

“And I know if I asked him, he’d say yes, too.”

He blushes to share the secret, even with a static picture of people who can’t hear him or say anything back.

“I’m not—I know I’m not ready for that, I know neither of us are, but I already know, y’know? I...I’m not even ready to move in with him yet, even though I wish we did live together, even though I spent almost half a decade living with him and we were happy, I’m not quite ready, but I...I also know I want to do more than live in the same place with him. I want to BE with him.”

He sits further up, hugs the picture a bit closer.

“It feels great just being able to call him my boyfriend. To say: Pascal, my boyfriend. I love saying that aloud. I love thinking it. My boyfriend, Pascal. ...I liked being out places with him where I could be standing next to him, I even like him holding my hand. I didn’t exactly mind being looked at by strangers when I was beside him—in fact, I kind of liked it. I’m proud of being his boyfriend. Really proud. It’s probably one of the best things about me. And, well...I’ve thought plenty of times that I don’t deserve him. Especially—especially after losing you guys. I’ve never been the same person after that...I wasn’t who I was when I was first dating Pascal, and I...I wasn’t at all sure that who I was ought to be with Pascal.”

Another soft, nearly gentle peal of thunder.

“Of course, back then I didn’t think I ought to be around anyone. It took me ages to get over the guilt of just...going through the grief of losing you guys, and losing my old life and my home, and being so afraid. I suppose I’m not fully over feeling guilty about that. And, well...I guess I’m not over the grief or the fear, either.”

He touches his nail to the glass, slowly drags a line over their hands. The air outside shifts, and a breeze flows gently into the room, bringing fresh, rain-scented air. He closes his eyes and fills his lungs with it.

“It’s definitely nothing new for me to worry I don’t deserve Pascal, or I’m not good enough for him, but it finally occurred to me...I’d do anything for him, and it means so much to me to get to be here for him, and to do what I can to help him be happy—to get to make sure he’s happy. I missed having that privilege so much when it was gone. I love him so completely, and...maybe I can’t think of myself as being anyone incredible, not in the way I think of him. And I don’t have some magical way to prove to myself that there’s not some other angel on earth who’s as close to being as good as Pascal as anyone can get, but I at least know that not even an angel could love Pascal more than I do. And Pascal—he loves me, and I may not ever understand how that’s possible, but I’m so, so happy it is.”

He smiles softly at the picture. They were always so glad of any of Kip’s successes, so encouraging and supportive of his happiness and enthusiasm. Of course, despite how completely he loved them, he hadn’t quite appreciated that fully until they died. He takes the picture in his arms, almost cradling it.

“Imagine that,” he whispers. “Pascal and I being married, even.”

He smiles a bit at the thought of it.

“My husband...” He says it experimentally, testing it out, as if he’s not sure he’s capable of making such sounds. “We’re husbands. He’s my husband, I’m his husband.”

He laughs under his breath.

“Man...”

The rustling of the leaves grows louder, as though the wind has picked up. But after a few quiet moments, Kip notices that it’s the rainfall increasing, the drops heavier, a bit more frequent. He turns his eyes to the window and watches for a minute.

“I love him,” he says. “Imagine me having years and years being with him. A whole life. Things have been wonderful enough with it just being a few weeks now.”

He leans back against the pillows again and looks up at his ceiling. If there was a world where he and Pascal decided to get formally engaged, and it was a world with his family still alive, he’d get to share the news with them first. He’d be so overjoyed to get to share it, to get their reactions. He tries to imagine that scene—like the time he announced he was officially dating Pascal, but so much more, even better. He tries to imagine what it would be like to be himself in that world, to have never experienced the loss of his family, maybe even existing in a world without any of the horror and awfulness that had caused what led up to that night—that alternate Kip seems like a stranger to him. They’d all be different. Happier. 

He closes his eyes and turns his thoughts away from it. If there’s some brighter parallel universe, it’s none of his universe’s concern.

“I love you guys,” he says. “Of course I wish I was really talking to you right now. I miss you. I really miss you. Every day.”

He inhales slowly, sighs. He opens his eyes and looks at their picture, smiling from almost a decade in the past, unaware of the fate inching closer with every second—unaware of him, their 24 year old brother, looking at the only picture of them he has, using it to talk about things the way he would with them, mourning them, struggling to find a hold on his own life and identity after losing them, after being dragged into hell and somehow clawing his way out the other side, needing them most desperately when they were already gone.

“I miss you every day,” he repeats. “I wish I could tell you that.”

It sits heavy in his heart, even now, after years of getting used to it. And it is a familiar ache, too familiar to terrify him as it once did, but an ache all the same.

“I love you,” he says. “And I loved you back then. I really miss you. We all do. I wish you were here.”

The rain is picking up again.

“Roy and Molly are okay,” he says. “They just...” He sighs. “They both sort of...help themselves by helping out their friends, it cheers them up to be doing things, and being with people, being involved... They’re definitely alright, I can tell, it’s just that I’m...really glad they have each other. I don’t think I would be a good enough friend to either of them nowadays if it was just two of us living together.”

He rubs a finger along the front of his nose, nudges the bridge of his glasses.

“I suppose that’s okay, though. They’re outgoing; it’s better for them to have a lot of friends instead of just one or two, no matter who it is. And...it’s not fair to imply they don’t like being around anyone quieter than them, I don’t mean that. I just...always feel bad that I changed so much after...you guys died. I mean, I had to, it’s not like I had a choice in what happened, and it’s not like...there was any way it wasn’t going to tear me to pieces. It killed me, you know, and...I was kind of swinging between being—being numb and in shock and total panic for a few days, but by the time we were with Pascal, I just crashed. It was a couple of months before I could kind of even do basic things again, and for months after that I’d—at these random times and places I’d just break down in seconds, be crying all of a sudden, I couldn’t stop it. And it felt horrible even when I was sort of trying to act normal again, at least go through a day normally, I’d—think of you and I...talking about you hurt so much, and it made me so anxious because I—it was so hard to talk about what happened, to even say aloud that you had died, and I didn’t want to break down, but I knew I couldn’t help it if I did, and...it hurt so much and it felt like such a huge deal just to bring you up, I... It would be four or five or six months since you died and it would feel so unbelievable. That I’d been without you for four months. Or for a whole half a year. You’d been gone eight, nine months, whatever—it always felt so unreal.”

He looks at them for a quiet minute. Wonders what it would have been like for any of them to have known ahead of time what was coming. Even enough to have just had a moment together, one last moment—

If he’d reached them, if he’d been with them when he started to collapse, dragging himself along the ground, choking on poisonous air, barely able to see between the blinding light of flames and opaque smoke closing in on him, his stinging eyes blurred with constant tears—

He always tells himself he can’t be sure the ice would’ve been enough for all of them, that they all would’ve had the chance to draw close enough to fit under its protection, but the small protesting thought inevitably arises to say that even if they’d all died, he’d have gotten to see them, he’d’ve gotten to be with them for a moment more. They’d’ve known where he was, they’d have gotten to know he wasn’t alone, scared and dying.

His only argument, in the end, is that it didn’t happen that way. He can’t know what could’ve happened, he doesn’t even know if it would’ve been possible for him to get to them. He only knows the way it did happen. That it can’t be changed.

“I was so hard to—so impossible to deal with,” he says haltingly. “Back then, I can’t guess how hard it was on everyone, trying to help me, but it was—I just couldn’t be—nothing could make it feel better. And it was such a mess moving to a new district and doing it all at once, and I was barely any help, the only thing I did that made it any easier was just...really only having enough stuff to fit into a few plastic bags. But I—it was only because of having everyone else there to help me that I didn’t—I don’t even know what I would’ve done on my own. They made it all happen, and I may have felt like death, but I was kept warm and I had my friends there and I ate something pretty much every day, and...and they all definitely kept me alive, because on my own I think that would’ve killed me. I mean, I know I...it was better having people around. People who were my friends. Nothing could’ve made me feel better, but they...they kept me from feeling so much worse.”

He laughs flatly. The rain shifts with a light breeze, shivering through the foliage.

“It was hard for them,” he says slowly. “But I know they wanted to do it. I know they would never have chosen to leave me, even if they knew what it would put them through. I think it was pretty obvious I needed help to make it. I just...I know I can’t return the favor. I guess there’s nothing wrong with that. I mean, of course I’m also—glad I’ve never had to return the favor, that they’ve never needed it. But it’s frustrating. Because I’m still...I’ve never been as fun as I used to be, or at least not as upbeat, which sounds ridiculous, because I was never exactly that way. Or, I guess I might’ve been sometimes, but moreso when I was the ages when pretty much everyone is. I was always a bit of a downer compared to them, but it got so much worse in the years leading up to the fire, and afterwards...”

He exhales slowly through his teeth.

“I was...completely miserable, and even when that was clearing up a little, I was always so much sadder and so much more scared of everything. Because even before, I knew what could happen to people, and it terrified me, but that was nothing compared to how awful it was to know that those things I had been so afraid of had really happened. I just can’t help worrying about everything, and now of course...nothing that’s happened since has exactly made it any better. And I know they know why I’m like that, but I know it has to be annoying for them. At least sometimes.”

He pinches his tongue between his teeth.

“It’s okay,” he sighs. “I know it’s okay. Maybe I’ll be more...maybe I’ll just be a happier person with Pascal, maybe that’ll bleed into every part of my life. Maybe it’ll help me be braver. I don’t know. It feels like cheating, like I should’ve been better anyways even if we hadn’t gotten together again, but—well, we did, and I...I’ve always liked me as his boyfriend better than me without him.”

He looks at their faces, like they’re looking back at him.

“I haven’t ever been so bad of a person though, have I? I mean, I can be...not so great, and exhausting, and hold people back, and I run from everything, and I can come off a lot colder than I mean or feel, and I can have a short temper, and...well, all sorts of things. But I’ve cared about being a good person, and I’ve cared about people, and about doing good things. And I don’t think I’ve done too badly. Right? I’m not half as great as you guys, but...I...”

The picture doesn’t give him anything. He huffs a laugh through his nose.

“I didn’t use to talk like this, back when we were living at Pascal’s. I didn’t even really look at this picture as often. I’d get it out sometimes and like, say ‘I love you,’ but that was pretty much it. Since I shared a room with Pascal, and the place was just more crowded, and I didn’t really have the picture sitting out like this—it was on a shelf in the closet. It would’ve been pretty hard to have a whole monologue not be overheard or walked in on, and I really would’ve been too embarrassed for words if that’d happened. And I don’t think...I wouldn’t have wanted to do it back then. It would’ve felt too sad even to try. Even now, if I talk about you guys very much, it’ll make me cry soon enough.”

He smiles briefly at their picture as if to ward that danger off. 

“I mean, I’m not even talking TO you. I’ve just...over time I’ve always been thinking, like, it’s this instinct that’s still in the back of my mind—how would I talk about something to you guys? I used to have some problem or topic sitting in my head and bring it home and talk to one of you, or both, and I still would find myself doing that, months and years after you died. And I’m doing it now. It’s not nearly the same, because we’re not really talking, you’re not here to listen or say anything back, I’m just talking to myself. But I’m at least sort of doing it the way I might if you were here. I don’t talk the way I did with you anywhere else. So at least I can do it like this.”

He shrugs. As if they could see it. As if he was sitting across from them, and they’d been patiently, silently listening to him all this time.

“But you know what I would do if I was really talking to you like that? If I was really acting the way I would if you were really here?” He laughs. “Well, at first I’d think I was hallucinating, or having some kind of weirdly coherent dream, but in about five whole seconds I’d just freak the fuck out and cry my head off and hold on to you for the next seventeen years.”

He sighs and sits back. If he could really see them again, if he could actually have a real conversation with them—if they could see him again—if he could even just know that they were hearing him, instead of just imagining it...

What would they really say? What would be the first things they’d want to say to him? He to them? He does suspect he’d largely be sobbing and crashing and tripping over all his words, but he’d tell them he loved them, and then what? What if they were back for good? What if they were back for only an hour?

He presses his eyes closed and tunes in to the sounds of the rain and air and occasional cars or voices or footsteps. 

He shouldn’t imagine those scenarios. The only thing they do is prove that he misses them, that some part of him always wants to ignore reality and believe he might ever see them again.

He won’t. They’re gone, he can’t have a conversation with them, he can’t show them who he is or what his life is. He can’t even show them that he made it out of the fire. That thought always hurts him worst of all. He already knows they died in the worst kind of terror and agony—it pierces right through to his heart to think that they might’ve been in even more pain at the thought of him being trapped in it, too.

But he’s the only one still hurting.

It feels ridiculous, knowing all this, but still wanting to say hello and goodbye to the picture, or tell it how he feels about the people displayed. But all it needs to do is give him an excuse to speak these things aloud, these thoughts and feelings that swirl around in him with nowhere to go, no way to be said besides this.

“I love you,” he whispers. “I miss you.”

—

Kip is taken by surprise when his chiming phone says the incoming text is from Roy. Out of all his friends, Kate and Pascal are the only ones who he ever really expects regular texts from—Molly doesn’t like messing with the tiny touchscreen keyboards and buttons when she doesn’t have to, though between the use of a stylus and voice commands she’s getting more comfortable with her phone; Wallace always gave Kip the sense that he was never someone who used a phone primarily socially, but rather for work and contact with clients, his texts usually coming off just slightly formal or distanced, apparently not often used to communicate with his friends; and Roy simply usually has too much to say to be effectively put into a little text window, so he generally doesn’t try.

But it’s a text from Roy, all right—to both him and Molly.

“hi guys i forgot m key today!! if one of you can get the front door for me that would be so great! if not its pkay i’ll try to call ben. i should be ther in about half a minute thanks!!!”

“Oh, god, the rain...” Kip groans. 

He jumps up and shoves his shoes on and spins in place for a second, looking for his own keys, then shoves them in his front pocket and races out of the apartment.

He takes the steps two at a time, trying to get to the ground floor as fast as he can while remaining reasonably lightfooted and hopefully avoiding tripping over his own feet. He knows it’s no life and death emergency, but the less often Roy’s stitches get wet, the better. His range of motion isn’t too affected whether the attachments are wet or dry, and the thread they use to keep him together is too sturdy to break or unravel from simply being saturated—but Roy has to sit with a hair dryer turned on himself for about half an hour, which is a nuisance for him, and the drying process will always make the threads just a tiny bit more brittle, a tiny bit weaker, a tiny bit closer to snapping—which Kip always worries could happen in some scenario where it would be worse than just an inconvenience.

Slightly short of breath, Kip jogs into the lobby and over to push open the front door.

It’s even nicer to actually be out in the moving air than to just be sitting by his open window—but the raindrops are coming down steadily enough to soak someone walking all the way over from Roy’s work, especially if they possibly did something like forget his umbrella in addition to his keys.

Kip looks left and right along the sidewalk, trying to spot any multicolored, lanky seven and a quarter feet tall monsters headed his way. He feels the nettling stir of concern and quickly tells himself not to be so completely literal about turns of phrase in rushed texts. Sure enough, within the minute Roy comes into view, only half-sheltered by his unsteady hold on a small umbrella, more preoccupied with the plastic box filled with what Kip guesses is the leftover supplies of some ambitious craft for the kids.

“Roy!” He calls to him and lifts a hand in greeting. The steady but gentle rain seems a lot more significant now that he’s thinking of it in terms of Roy’s ten minute walk to and from work. “Do you need me to take that for you!”

“It’s okay!” Roy’s voice travels loud and clear even through the rain. “It’s not too heavy. Thank you!”

It’s apparently so manageable that Roy jogs the rest of the distance over—Kip is about to protest, but resigns himself to it. He steps outside to open the door wide for Roy—it always seems like Roy needs about a four-foot radius of space at any given time, with his bright clothes and brighter personality and long-limbed height and rushing words and ideas. 

“Thank you!” Roy says again as he draws up to the doorway, a little out of breath.

Kip gives him a smile and gets a brilliant one in return. 

“No problem,” he says. “Molly’s asleep, I think, so I went ahead and ran down here.”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Roy says, stepping inside. “This wasn’t an emergency or anything, and I should’ve said so in my text, only, well, I was kind of holding my phone and my umbrella in the same hand—and anyways, thank you again, I can’t believe I forgot my keys, but I didn’t remember to switch them out of the pockets of the pants I wore yesterday, and I was really distracted this morning because of this craft I was getting all the stuff together for, which is what this is—“ He indicates the box under his arm. “There’s a bag of dry rice left, which we’d been using by dyeing it and then gluing it to paper, but WE can use it for eating, and just some other practical stuff I figured we could use before I need them in some other project—stuff like packaging tape and some paper I figure Molly could use for her art, or—by the way, Molly’s okay, right?”

Kip pauses at the stairwell door, looking back at Roy’s tone and expression of slight worry.

“Yes—what do you mean?” he asks, a little bemused.

“Oh, just that you mentioned she’s asleep, I was wondering if she said she felt sick or anything...”

“Nah, I don’t think so. She just mentioned that she was kind of worn out from the day,” Kip says. “Let me take the box up the stairs.”

Roy acquiesces, and Kip quirks a smile as Roy dips the volume of his voice mid-monologue as they enter their dim apartment. He sets the box down and helps Roy go through it, surveying the items and deciding where they should be put away.

“Oh, I need to tell you—“ Roy walks over to the kitchen doorway, reflexively ducking to stand in within it.

Kip pauses and looks up.

“Remember that group dinner idea? We were kind of thinking about having it on the Friday after next,” he says, a little too casually to be genuinely casual.

Kip blinks. He’d all but forgot in recent days. 

“By ‘thinking about,’ do you mean...” He trails off.

“Heh, uh,” Roy shrugs and blushes. “I sort of already got a few people saying they can make it then, so...I guess I’m saying that’s when it’s gonna happen.”

“Okay,” Kip says simply, somewhat belying his slightly elevated pulse. He already feels a sense of pressure to prepare, to put together lists and decide what he’s going to wear and make and say and do and expect. There might be a bit of a sense of fun behind it, except— “Who’s said they’re coming?”

“Wallace is.” Roy leads with it, like he knows that’s Kip’s biggest concern. “And I got Ben the other day, and Kate said she’d come—and I know one or both you guys will probably end up that evening, but she said she’d come over even if she was closing—and Cuddy was there when I visited the café, but she doesn’t know her plans yet, and do you remember Asma? She’s one of the parents, I mentioned it to her because she just had kind of a rough month or two and I don’t think she has many friends, and I wanted to be nice, and she said she’d get a babysitter and come over! So that’s great, she’s really nice and interesting. I, um, I need to ask Louise, and you should ask Pascal!”

Kip tries to exhale his blush and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I will, I was just telling Pascal we should have him over again sometime this week—“

“Oh, definitely,” Roy says. 

Kip flashes a distracted smile. He glances around the room, trying to imagine it fitting maybe ten people, maybe more—however many Roy and Molly might be able to convince to come over. Which, knowing them, is fairly impossible to predict. 

“Are you okay?”

His attention snaps back to Roy.

“I—yeah.” He gives him a more solid smile. “Just trying to get my head around it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, it all just sort of started coming together the last few days,” Roy says. “And I—you know, I asked everyone if they thought they might be able to bring something, to help out, so it’s not like we’ll have to make a full meal for twenty people or anything—“

“Twenty?”

“No—“ Roy laughs. “I was just picking a random number, there’s not twenty people coming—or at least, not so far.”

Kip chews on his lip and nods.

“Don’t worry!” Roy assures him, stepping into the room towards him. “Me and Molly are gonna put everything together. I mean, you don’t even have to stay for it, if you don’t want. You could spend the night with Pascal and avoid the whole thing if you’re not feeling up to it.”

Kip feels a stir of affection for what he knows is a genuine offer to evade the whole thing. Roy is thoughtful and gentle with him, and he appreciates it as much now as he ever did.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, locking eyes with Roy for a moment to make sure he knows he really means it. “It’s fine, though. I know Pascal would like to come. And I said I’d make parfaits, didn’t I. That actually shouldn’t be too bad.”

“You don’t have to,” Roy says quickly.

“I know,” Kip says. “It’s okay. It’d be kind of fun. Don’t think that I’ll be upset the whole time or anything, okay? I—you know, I actually do like doing stuff and seeing people too. It’s just that...sometimes I get certain ways, and I’m not always as great at being social as other people, and you know me—I like to worry, and everything...”

He laughs softly at himself, and Roy laughs too.

“Aw, Kip, I just would want you to really get to be having fun, too. I know you don’t always enjoy being around big groups for too long. You don’t have to worry about hurting our feelings or anything if you don’t want to be involved.”

“Roy, honestly, it’s okay.” Kip puts down the plastic bag he’d been fiddling with and walks around the table to Roy’s side. “I’ll be here for it. And don’t feel like you’re twisting my arm or anything, because obviously you’re not. It’ll be fine.”

He smiles and touches Roy’s wrist.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured at all or anything...”

“I know you don’t,” Kip says. “And thank you so much for that. I just...I know it might be uncomfortable for me, at least part of the time, but you know what? I also know that I’ll be able to handle that. I mean—you know how I am, I can’t deny this kind of thing doesn’t make me at least a little nervous. But I know it’ll be okay anyways.”

Roy lights up so much that Kip can sense the impending hug before either of them even moves.

“Kip! You’re amazing!”

And the hug comes, and Kip laughs and hugs him back.

—

When Molly is up and talking with Roy on the couch, Kip hears their conversation shift to the topic of the dinner-party-potluck-hangout—and Roy recounts Kip’s reaction to the news that it’s less than two weeks away with evident happiness. Kip smiles to himself as he pushes the rice around the pan with the spatula. 

Then they’re talking about who they might convince to come over, and Kip bites nervously at his lip at the thought of sharing an evening with both Wallace and Ben. He pretends that staring attentively at the rice as it heats is a necessary, foremost activity, and then turns his focus to the bread baking in the oven.

—

Kip wakes up on a little burst of adrenaline, shoving himself upright and half out of bed before processing the reality of the situation. Still, he takes his phone and glances through his most recent texts to confirm that his everything he thought was happening was a dream. And he closes his eyes and falls back to the mattress upon realizing that it was—he’s still got the goodnight text from Pascal, there’s no mention from anyone of any recent disasters.

His plethora of what he can consider “usual nightmares” seems to consist of dozens of scenarios, mixed and matched elements and as many different roles and situations for him to find himself dropped into, and seemingly endless ways to remix the presentation of his worst memories and fears.

The one he’d just had was a variation that straddled the line between the quietly horrible ones and the type that would send him into a panic, make him thrash and cry in his sleep. It always seems to start with his normal, current routine, but soon he becomes aware one-by-one of friends’ disappearances—that they never made it home after he last saw them, that someone said they hadn’t been seen for months, didn’t he know? And one by one he’d find himself in front of some burned-down building, still gently smoldering, a blackened skeleton, collapsed into a pile of rubble and ash. He’d turn around in the café to find one corner fire-scorched, he’d glance up and see columns of thick smoke rising into the clouds from some unknown locations interspersed in the distance.

The last thing he remembered before waking up was fearing that Pascal was gone, racing to his apartment even as he saw the smoke rising dead ahead, even as he saw the hollowed-out building, even as he plunged into chest-deep debris, struggling uselessly forward, screaming for Pascal, for help, with a failing, smoke-smothered voice. He was afraid that Pascal was dead, he was afraid that Pascal had been taken, and then he’d woken himself up with a sudden, actual cry.

He checks the last text from Pascal again. It would be even better to have rolled over and looked at him, heard his deep, slow breathing, reached out and brushed some hair from his face, felt his warmth. But Kip knows he’s asleep just a mile away, that everyone is fine, that everything he’d felt had just been part of the dream.

He sighs, drawing the blankets back up to his chest. The nightmare lingers in an unusually strong chill around him. He takes long, steady breaths until it disperses.

—

Kip is working the register, handling the orders and distributing out comestibles as needed, while Kate works as the barista behind him, moving in a practiced rhythm between the espresso machine and minifridge and stacks of cups and lids. Kip is still recovering his own sense of flow—after having to spend a minute or two explaining the technical difference between a latte and cappuccino—when he has to take the order of a girl whose flirtation lacks the subtlety he needs to avoid feeling uncomfortable while trying deflect it. 

The blush doesn’t quite fade from his face until he’s finally taken the last order and retreats to help Kate with the rest of the drinks. Twenty or so minutes later, when the front is sparsely populated and he and Kate are chatting through some routine, repetitive catchup tasks, he complains about being made to feel awkward when people try to hit on him, and she points out that he can say he has a boyfriend now, and he counters that he could’ve been saying that all along, but it’s just completely weird trying to plow through an order while the customer refuses to move things along or stop dropping “come here often?” type lines or put too much effort into clearly-not-accidentally brushing his hand when passing over their card. But soon enough Kate stops teasing him in favor of commiserating about suffering through unwanted advances while on the clock, and their conversation turns to the broad subject of less than pleasant interactions in general.

Their talking makes him feel more at ease, as it usually does, and an hour or two passes without incident or difficulty. 

And then there is something of a notable occasion when Wallace comes in. Kip doesn’t even realize it until he walks up from the back and finds out exactly who Kate’s been talking to for the last five minutes.

“Hey, Wallace,” he says automatically. He might’ve been able to avoid blushing again if it wasn’t for the knowing glance Kate sends his way. 

“Hi, Kip! Good to see you,” Wallace says with a warm smile that does Kip no favors at the moment.

“Thanks,” Kip responds quickly. “How—I, uh—how are you?”

“I’m doing pretty good. And Kate was telling me that you guys have been doing okay here so far.”

“Yeah, we’ve have—it’s alright. I mean, it’s been okay,” he stumbles.

“That’s awesome,” Wallace laughs. “You know, I used to only work in an office, and it’s only now that I’m actually working with different clients face-to-face each day. I can’t guess how much of a mess it can be having to deal with, like, dozens of people every time you work. It still makes me nervous—it doesn’t ever come the most naturally to me. I feel like I definitely wouldn’t make it here.”

Kip meets Kate’s eyes for a moment, and he gives a laugh and a shrug.

“It can be rough sometimes,” he says. “It’s still going okay, though? Your work?”

“Oh—yeah, it is,” Wallace laughs and rubs his shoulder. “I’m starting to get settled into it, I think, and I like working for a local company, and—uh, one that’s not, you know...”

Kip bites his tongue and gives a brief nod, glancing away.

“It’s really thanks to you that my job is going so smoothly,” Wallace says, and Kip looks back at him. “I mean, when I was interviewing, they said they’d heard of me. Because of what we did. And not just the people at the office—a lot of clients know me now, too. And it helps that I’m working actually based in C now, not from an all-human company based in A—“

Kate snorts.

“Yeah, that was a bit laughable from the start, Wally,” she says.

“Yeah, I get that NOW,” Wallace sighs. “I mean, I’m still pretty much just at the top of the ranks amongst the most inexperienced workers there, because even though I already had a few years experience before...”

“You were in A,” Kip finishes. “All your life.”

“Heh, yeah...” Wallace blushes a little. “That whole thing.”

“Mm.” Kate folds her arms and leans against the half-wall. “Well, it’s great that you can finally, like, actually get settled in here. For real, this time.”

“Yeah!” Wallace laughs again. “Yeah, I really think it’s—actually going well.”

Kip starts to wish he had an excuse to leave them both to the conversation he’d inadvertently interrupted, but then Wallace speaks to him again. 

“Oh, Roy talked to me a couple of days ago about the get-together at your guys’ place?” he says. “I told him I’d come. I hope that’s okay?”

Kip’s face grows warm.

“It’s okay,” he affirms.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to be there too,” Kate says. “It’d be funny if we both end up closing that night, huh?”

That makes Kip genuinely laugh.

“God, I kind of wish we would,” he says. “Just show up like hours after everyone else—“

“I’d make sure to have accidentally thrown a coffee or two across your shirt, too—“

“God, brutal...”

Wallace giggles, and Kip glances reflexively over at him, only to make momentary eye contact and blush all over again. He wishes that, for all the increased control he’s gained over his ice, he could manage to be a little bit cooler overall as well.

“Ha, well, I should probably order before someone else comes in, huh?” Wallace says, turning back to Kate.

He asks for two mochas to go, one with raspberry, one with orange, and Kip starts making them even before the order is finished coming through. He wonders which is Wallace’s and which is Ben’s, and tries to make them both as good as he can, as if it’s some form of penance for his quiet shame at still having feelings for Wallace. He closes his eyes and laughs under his breath as he runs the espresso machine, imagining trying to make up with Ben just by offering him especially good coffees.

He imagines giving Ben some of Pascal’s tea as a friendly gesture, and blushes harder than ever. Even just running the scenario through his head, the self-consciousness manages to tighten his chest. He shakes himself out of it as the milk foams up in the metal cup. He doesn’t understand it—why Ben can still always make him feel so awkward and out of place, or why he himself still can’t fully shake the desire to be on good terms with Ben.

He puts the drinks in a carrier and hands them to Wallace with a smile that’s only a tiny bit forced, and Wallace wishes them both a good rest of the day, and Kate starts laughing at Kip almost before the door even shuts behind him.

“What?” Kip demands, throwing out a hand. “That is NOT easy to deal with.”

“Please.” She rolls her eyes at him. “It really kind of is! He’s too nice to ever be that much to handle.”

“I know,” he huffs. “But it’s still hard. I’m starting to hate it.”

“C’mon, it’ll be fine. Just don’t worry about it so much.”

“Yeah...” He sighs. “Stupid feelings. It’s bullshit.”

“Tell me about it,” Kate says. She shoots a smile at him. “Help me take out the trash? To help get your mind off things.”

“Oh, god,” Kip groans. He doesn’t bother mentioning that he does suspect it’ll help.

—

Kip runs into both Wallace and Ben when he gets home that evening. They’re talking quietly in front of Wallace’s door, and Kip once again has managed to screw himself over by being too lost in thought to glance around as he walked in the lobby of the building. And he startles when he looks over and sees them, nerves suddenly flooded with a little dose of stress, a pulse of cold. He stops mid-pace and wavers, realizing he can’t possibly go forward or turn back without being seen.

Sure enough, Wallace laughs at something Ben says, and Kip starts slowly forward again, gripping his apron and phone, and Wallace sees him.

“Ah—hey, Kip, work alright?” he says.

“Oh, uh—ye-yeah, it was,” Kip stammers. He smiles quickly, then flashes another small smile as Ben turns around to look at him. “Hey, Ben.” 

His voice comes out quieter than he’d like.

“Hey,” Ben returns, his voice typically quiet as well.

It’s a small comfort that Wallace is blushing a little.

“Thanks for the coffees,” Wallace says. “You always make them so good.”

“Yeah, it was really good,” Ben agrees.

“You’re welcome,” Kip says, undeniably a little flattered.

There’s a beat, and Kip once again feels out of place. 

“Uh, I’ll...I was just heading up to the apartment,” he says, scratching his arm just to give himself something to do with his hands. “I’ll see you guys later.”

“Right—okay,” Wallace says. “See you!”

“Bye,” Ben says.

“Bye,” Kip echoes, and turns and walks away as quickly as he can without it being too quickly.

He’s a little proud of himself for being able to shake off the tension in just the time it takes to reach the apartment. Roy and Molly are also in the middle of a conversation, both laughing, and Kip is at once cheered up by it. And then they both hug him, and that cheers him up even more.

—

“Shit—“

Kip recalls in layers that he’d been in the middle of a miserable dream where once again, Pascal had died. He hears someone in the apartment—it frightens him momentarily before he recognizes the sound of Molly’s movements, and realizes that must be what woke him up. He glances at the clock—she must be getting ready to leave for work.

He rubs the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily, trying to push his half-awake thoughts away from the the dream’s mindset. 

After a minute he rolls out of bed, slips into socks, a t-shirt, and old pajama pants, and quietly exits his room.

“Kip!” Molly puts a hand on her chest and exhales. “Jeez, you scared me—“

“Sorry,” he laughs. “I woke up and figured I might as well say hi before you went in.”

“Oh—I dropped my keys in the kitchen, that’s probably what woke you up—I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry.” He shrugs. “You probably did me a favor. And I usually get back to sleep pretty easily.”

“How is that a favor?” she laughs.

“Oh—bad dream.” He shrugs again.

“Ah, gotcha.” Molly steps into her shoes. “Those still bothering you a lot?”

“Eh...they sort of seem to have a kind of on-week, off-week pattern. Some are worse than others, though, as always. It was kind of the usual just now. Just a regular nightmare, not...anything worse.”

“Mm... They’d been getting better the past few years, hadn’t it. Before Wallace moved here.”

“Yeah, it definitely started getting worse again then, but—I mean, it’s never been exactly as bad as it used to be. I sort of, uh, got used to it I guess? And I can do stuff like this, y’know? I usually get up and make a cup of tea or read a chapter of a book or something.”

“Hey, nice,” she says, clapping him on the back—he grips the counter to brace himself against it. “But, you know, me and Roy don’t mind helping out any time of day if it ever IS worse.”

“I know,” Kip says. “And thank you guys for that. I do usually do that thing if it’s kind of bad—trying to fall asleep on the couch sometimes. It’s easier—I guess it’s about being in a bigger space? I don’t know.”

“Oh, yeah—well, whatever works, huh.” She walks over to the cabinet and takes out a bowl, then a box of cereal.

“Yeah.” He gives a short laugh. “So—what about you?”

“Hm?”

“How are you doing?”

“Oh—I’m fine,” she says with a slight sigh.

“Yeah?” he prompts.

“Yeah, I actually am,” she says. “I just had kinda a rough day at work yesterday, and I’m looking forward to my day off. It wasn’t anything terrible—just one of those days where it seemed like everything was going wrong.”

“Ugh, yeah, I hear you.”

“But generally...I feel like things have been good.”

“Good.”

“It’s like...I’m just pretty happy with the way stuff is right now, you know? I felt like I might need some time to figure out if I was really okay with things, but it’s been a little while now, and I’m pretty sure I really do like the whole routine I have.”

“Aw, that’s great.” Kip leans against the wall as a smile flickers through his expression. “I always hope you guys are really doing okay...I mean, I know you are, but...”

“Yeah.” Molly laughs and sits down at the counter. “We really are okay. Roy—you know he worries over you a lot sometimes, but he sees that you’re doing better, and he’s really doing solidly well too, I think.”

“Good,” Kip sighs gently. “I thought so, but it’s good to hear it from you.”

“I know, it makes a difference hearing it from someone else, huh? But really, I think the thing that most lets me know everything’s alright is that I just—I really feel like things are going to be okay. With this level of confidence I never quite had before. Like, even if I didn’t feel fine with my routine, it’d be okay, because it just...feels like everything will be. Or at least, everything is way, way more manageable now.”

Kip laughs.

“Yeah...” he says. “Yeah, that’s a nice feeling.”

The conversation pauses for a bit, Kip resting against the wall, Molly slowly eating her cereal.

“So,” Kip says after a minute. “I told myself I’d bring it up just one more time—about how you guys should definitely go on a vacation. At least a little one.”

“Oh, right...”

“I won’t pressure you anymore after this,” Kip says jokingly. 

“No, it’s okay, it’s not that I’m against it, or think it’s a bad idea or anything—I just sort of get on a roll with things and never quite get around to stopping,” she laughs. “But I have actually been talking about it with Roy. He likes the idea, too. Maybe in a couple months or so? With enough time to plan, and stuff.”

“Right, yeah...” Kip blushes a little.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Molly says. “We’ll definitely be here that week.”

Kip blushes further, as surprised as always that she picked up on exactly what he was thinking.

“I’ll be alright,” he says.

“I know. We’ll be here anyways.”

Kip laughs under his breath and drops his head slightly. Molly briefly turns the conversation to the planned get-together, and then to the idea of having Pascal over again. And then she gets her things together to leave, and Kip wishes her a good workday, and Molly gives him a quick one-armed hug before going out the door.

Kip stands in the empty room for a moment after she’s gone. The quietness and solitude doesn’t feel very intimidating; he figures he’s recovered well enough from the nightmare. He looks around, picturing the room with a dozen or more people in it—their seating arrangements may be somewhat lacking, but at least the scarcity of furnishings will provide more space. He can only hope that other inhibitions of his will similarly manage to somehow contribute indirectly.

When he goes back into his bedroom, he picks up his phone and looks at his texts from Pascal again.

—

It doesn’t take Kip too long to feel relaxed after getting back into bed, but he doesn’t quite feel himself crossing the threshold into the process of falling asleep.

He decides that an orgasm could benefit him in multiple ways—though he’d gotten off twice the day before, his even-more-heightened sex drive has kept steady despite his even-more-regular masturbation. He breathes deeply, gazes up at the ceiling, and thinks of Pascal until his pulse travels low in his stomach and then drifts further down between his legs.

He rubs himself through the fabric of his pants while he thinks of being close to Pascal, looking at him just inches away from his face, his body, his chest, his stomach, his dick; touching him; kissing him, kissing all over his face, his lips, sucking on his tongue, pressing his teeth against his throat, moving his mouth across his chest; grasping his hot, full erection, pressing it between his thighs, grinding back on it, licking up its length; being held in Pascal’s arms, lifted up to lean against his chest, to wrap his legs around his waist.

When he starts growing hard enough, he gets up and sheds his clothes again, puts them back in the drawers and takes out the bottle of lube. He pours a few drops in his hand and strokes himself absently with the other while waiting for it to warm. He distantly considers, not for the first time, buying a sleeve to help himself jerk off—the soft, textured, encompassing hold of Pascal’s arm makes his own hand seem barely adequate by comparison.

He gets back on the bed and leans against the wall, closes his eyes, and wraps his slick fingers around his erection, squeezing gently and rubbing his thumb hard into the tip, making himself start and shiver.

“Pascal,” he breathes softly.

He’s slightly lost in it when an impulsive idea hits him—and he figures the only time he might act on it is now, when he’s halfway to orgasm and literally aching for Pascal. He slows his strokes to a stop and drags himself over to kneel by his bedside table and pick up his phone. He somewhat clumsily opens the camera and then scrutinizes the shot he can get by propping up the phone against a book weighed down by the lube, making minute changes to the angle. He turns on the string of lights for better visibility, and before he can overthink it, starts recording a video.

He bites his lip and glances at the tiny lens of the camera, then ducks his head and sits back on his heels, opening his knees a little. He brushes his hand over his chest, lightly stroking his fingertips across his nipple, and slowly closes his eyes again as he pushes out any self-consciousness, replacing it with the thought of Pascal. He imagines Pascal in front of him, getting to show him this, letting him watch.

He knows that seeing this would turn Pascal on—he knows he’s desperately attractive in Pascal’s eyes, the same way Pascal is to him. Pascal loves him and his body and his pleasure. Kip thinks of Pascal becoming aroused enough by just watching to start touching himself as well, an arm down the front of his pants, then pushing his waistband down to give himself more room. Both of them sitting in front of each other, longing to touch but instead sharing the tension, using it to push themselves higher, further.

“Pasc,” he murmurs, and sits all the way back again, stretching his legs out and apart, taking hold of his dick and pumping it smoothly.

He works himself intently, but more slowly than he might’ve otherwise, deliberately focusing more on building his arousal than bringing himself quickly to climax, even once he knows he could. He breathes deeply, resting his head against the wall, stroking with one hand and cupping himself with the other—then slips his hand down a few inches further into the split of his ass, leans back more heavily, feeling out the dip in his soft, warm skin. He pushes gently, spasmodically clenching at his own touch, and receives a little flow of pleasure for it. He sighs a moan.

Minutes later, he’s curled slightly over, two fingers fully inside himself, rocking steadily against them while working his dick at about twice that pace, tightening his grip, giving a slight twist, teasing the head. His own imagination is ramped up too, providing him with phantom sensations of kisses at his mouth, Pascal kneeling over him, his narrowed arm pushing up into Kip, leaning in towards Kip’s erection, parting his lips.

“Ah—fuck—“ Kip moans. “Please...”

He hears his breathing become louder and faster as he climbs towards the approaching orgasm—he wants to just go ahead and go for it, but he knows he can get even closer, he doesn’t want to risk disrupting this buildup, pushing too soon and having to try the approach all over again—

“Pas—“

He digs his feet into the mattress and thrusts up into his hand while nudging his prostate with the tip of his curled middle finger. He forgets to breathe for a moment and cries out softly with his exhale, gasping loudly with his inhale.

“Oh—yes—oh, fuck me, oh yes—Pascal—“ He squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip, practically feeling the heavy rhythm of Pascal’s body moving his own. “Oh god, yes—“

His voice is low and throaty, he gives a long groan and sinks an inch or two further down the wall. And then with a sudden burst of drive, he pushes himself back up onto his knees in one motion, bearing down harder against his fingers, leaning into the motion of his hips, bucking hard into his tight wrap of his hand—

He gives a wordless cry, cut short by his breath catching, and falls slightly forward as he cums into his hand. He bites hard on his lower lip as the orgasm grips him, then finds his limbs shuddering as he relaxes in its gradual ebb. 

He holds still for a moment, bowed a foot and a half above the mattress, panting for air. And then he brings his hands onto his thighs and sits back up, head held high, and gives a quiet laugh when he glances over at his phone. Smiling once or twice to himself, he wipes his cum onto his chest, swings his legs off the bed, and stands up, considering the camera for a moment. He steps over to it and turns it off with his knuckle.

—

His tiredness catches up with him in the warmth of the shower. When he gets out and dries off, he reenters his room and considers seeing how the video turned out, but decides to save that for later. He burrows under his blankets, nuzzles his head against the pillow, and feels close to sleep within minutes.

—

Kip texts Pascal before going to work that afternoon, saying that he’d like to have a phone call later, even just a several-minute one, to hear his voice. And he tells him he may or may not have something to send him after he’s done with work, and that he hopes Pascal’s day is going okay, and invites him to vent if it isn’t.

He gets a text back as he’s buttoning up his work shirt, thanking him for the kind message, assuring him that he’s doing well, and saying that it would be lovely to get to talk tonight.

It’s enough to make Kip blush and bring a small smile to his face every few seconds, all the way to the café.

Kate’s shift only overlaps with his for an hour and a half, but it’s long enough for her to catch on to his distraction and tease him a little about it. But beyond assuring her it’s no big deal, he doesn’t delve into any of the details—although she’d be his pick, second only to Eno, if he absolutely HAD to tell someone he’d filmed himself masturbating for his boyfriend, he feels more inclined to keep it to himself for the moment. It’s hardly as though he feels all that embarrassed—just a little self-conscious, and definitely a bit nervous about being in uncharted territory. The most they ever used to be able to do was the rare phone call that crossed from flirtation into something just a little bit heavier, and even now, they haven’t yet done anything like sending photos—even their texts on the subject have remained somewhat restrained, despite the reality of their sexual exploits.

He just hopes the video turned out decently—if so, he figures he might actually be excited about sending it to Pascal.

To his surprise, it seems like his mild anxieties over the quality of the video make the shift go by quicker than usual, and he closes up without any problem. He checks his phone as he leaves and reads the text Pascal sent him about an hour earlier, telling him he’d closed up and gotten home alright, and that looking forward to their call had kept his mood lifted ever since Kip asked him about it.

A little frisson travels through Kip at the way the simple promise of a short conversation, just hearing each other’s actual voices for a bit, is valuable enough to Pascal to make him happy. He texts back to say he’s on his way home himself, and that Pascal’s been on his mind all evening.

—

Kip plugs in his headphones and hugs his knees to his chest, procrastinates for a moment by opening a half-written note, and then finally just dives into the video with a few determined taps of the finger. 

The first shot is of his torso moving away from the camera, and in the next second his mostly-hard dick comes into view as he leans back up. He hardly looks graceful scooting further back on the mattress, but fussing over the angle of the camera seems to have given him a decent shot, and he doesn’t look half bad in the soft, forgiving glow of his lights. The top of his head is cut off by the frame once or twice as he straightens up or adjusts his position, but it’s nothing disastrous or even distracting—the focus is unambiguously all on the action given to his dick, the motion of his hands.

What surprises Kip the most is the almost-confidence shown on his face every time he looks directly at the camera—he figures he remembers being too turned on for nervousness after a point. His voice is a bit louder than he’d expect, too, almost jarringly so at times. But maybe it’s just him. What he knows for sure is that the video is good; he’s even getting slightly turned on just by watching himself. Even when a shift of his weight partially blocks the view of the action, other details supply all necessary information about what’s going on and how he’s enjoying it. He feels his heartbeat strengthen as he starts fingering himself in the video, and as everything intensifies towards the end—his voice, the force of his movements, the arousal shining through his expression—Kip feels his dick twitch at a few climactic moments, and he practically shivers watching himself orgasm, infused with the memory of it. The camera even picks up a reflective glint of a drop of cum on the side of his palm—it’s perfect. 

Kip sits back and closes his eyes until he calms down, then smooths himself over and opens up his email app. He puts “this is what i just texted you about” in the subject line, a single heart as the body of the email, attaches the video, takes a breath, and sends it to Pascal.

Immediately he opens his texts with Pascal and sends off “i emailed you a video i took. it’s a little under ten minutes long.” followed by “(not your work email)” and then buries his face in his hands, feeling the warmth of his cheeks.

He collapses slowly onto the mattress, letting out a low groan. He stays there for a minute or two or three, eyes squeezed shut, grimacing slightly as his nerves catch up to him. He dismisses several new concerns that spring up, telling himself Pascal has seen him naked and hard hundreds upon hundreds of times, has seen him cum, has fucked him up down and sideways, that there’s no reason he’ll somehow hate it just because it’s in video format—tells himself that he’d watched it before sending it, and if it passed his own self-aware scrutiny, surely Pascal won’t find it unwatchable—tells himself that Pascal is attracted to him, that if anyone can enjoy a video of Kip getting off, it’ll be Pascal.

He sits back up and glances at his phone: no new texts since the ones he sent.

“Oh god,” he whispers. He knows Pascal has to be actually watching the video. And in his head he’s replaying it too, suddenly questioning every moment, every element. He glances at his phone again.

Kip gets up and flees his room, going into the safety of the kitchen, where he figures it’ll be a tiny bit easier to cope if Pascal responds in any less than ideal way—laughs it off, maybe, or even worse, responds with bemusement, asking what was that? Why on earth would you do this?

Pascal won’t respond like that. He knows he won’t. But he’s tense. What if, though. Maybe it’s just not his thing. Maybe it’s bad. Maybe he’s not in the mood right now, it won’t have the appeal.

Kip returns momentarily to his room when he changes his mind and puts the phone in his back pocket, deciding he’d rather know when a text comes in than be held in suspense as it lies in wait for him. Then he goes back to the kitchen and works on making himself half a sandwich, which somehow seems to help his efforts to convince himself his worries are just silliness.

Roy passes through the room and changes course when he sees Kip, coming over to chat with him for a minute about nothing in particular. Kip is especially glad for it.

His phone vibrates quietly in his pocket as they talk, once, then again after a moment’s pause, then almost immediately after that. Kip tenses up just slightly, feels just a little jittery, but in the back of his mind he knows that it must mean Pascal enjoyed it. The tension begins transforming into excitement.

He makes himself finish the sandwich without looking at his phone. When he goes back into his room, he takes the time to first get out of his work clothes and instead slip into a soft pair of pajama pants and a roomy sweater, then a pair of fuzzy socks. He takes the phone out of the work pants as he quickly refolds them, then curls up on the bed with it.

He draws a slow inhale and turns on the phone’s display. The texts are brief enough that the thumbnail shows the entirety of them:

“kip holy fuvking shit”

“oh mh god.”

“oh my god kip”

“!!!!!!”

“!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“fuck!!!!!!!”

Kip blushes and feels a gentle wave of pride diffuse into a gentle thrill; he grins to himself and drops his head back onto the pillow as he lets go of the insecurity that tried to tell him he had anything to worry about. 

—

“Hey, Pasc. How’s it going?”

“Hey—it’s, um, it’s definitely going pretty good, you?”

“I’m doing great getting to hear from you.”

“Awesome, me too.”

“...You liked the video?” 

“God, yes. I, uh, will definitely have to watch it again after this.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re amazing. That was so...just beyond anything. I don’t even know how to describe it. You are so, so fucking hot, I’m so lucky...”

“Aw—thanks, I’m really glad to know you like it.”

“I love it. It’s the best.”

“Good, I—uh, I was hoping it would be cool to send it to you. I thought it turned out okay.”

“Yeah—yeah, it did. And thank you so much for sending it. You really just—wow. I’m totally in love with it. You’re amazing. I mean...holy shit.”

“Haha—“

“Really, you just—you kill me, Kip.”

“Like you’re not impossible to handle, either. I was thinking of you that whole time, you know, even before I started filming.”

“Yeah, I could tell—and, by the way, it’s SO hot to hear you say my name while you jerk off.”

“Heh, thanks.”

“It’s amazing getting to see that. You’re so beautiful when you’re getting off, Kip. You’re just...you’re beautiful.”

“Jeez, Pasc, you’re making me blush.”

“It’s beautiful when you do that, too.”

“Haha—aw, thank you...”

“It’s true.”

“Mm, yeah, I believe you.”

“Good...I wish I was there so I could say all this in person.”

“Ugh, that’d be nice. This is good, though, hearing your voice and all. I think I needed that.”

“Yeah, I like hearing you, too. It makes you feel close. Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. I’ve just been having dreams. If I can’t wake up in bed with you, at least getting to hear you is pretty good. But don’t worry, it’s not too bad. You know.”

“Yeah... It’d be so good if we could sleep together. I’m so glad we got to for a few nights, but I really wanna do it again soon.”

“Fuck, so do I. I mean, I’m off tomorrow, but I’m not exactly free, because I’m going to see Eno in the afternoon. But I ought to be back around five. I could come over when you close, maybe take you out somewhere if you feel like it, or just hang out or something. I wish I had the next day off so I could stay over and sleep in, but I work the next morning, so...”

“Ugh, yeah. It’s awesome enough just getting to be with you in any way we can manage, though, don’t worry. Like, that’d be fantastic if we could meet up when the shop closes. That makes tomorrow feel better. Even though it’s still today.”

“Well, good. That’s what I’m here for. Also—we should figure out some time for you to come over here again this week—Molly and Roy want to see you, and it’s fun having all of us hanging out again.”

“Man, yeah, that’d be great, let’s do it!”

“Oh, and have either of them talked to you about the whole, like, gathering Roy’s been masterminding? It’s in just under two weeks from now, apparently. Next next Friday. People are coming over and all. If you want to come, you totally can, and Roy said to make sure and ask you.”

“Oh, yeah? I don’t think there was a definite date last time I heard about it. I mean, you want me to come, or...?”

“C’mon, I always like having you around. Even moreso if you’re getting to do something that’s fun for you. Don’t feel like you have to come just for my sake if you can’t make it, but if you want to, then you should absolutely be here.”

“Well—I mean, sure. I haven’t really been to anything even close to a party since I came here...I think I’d like to come, even if I only know a couple of people. I mean, you guys’ll be there, that’s good enough of an excuse, honestly.”

“Ha, yeah, we will be. It was really nice actually, Roy even told me I didn’t have to stay in the apartment for it—I mean, not in like a ‘I’m hoping you won’t be here’ way—at least I hope, haha—but just because, uh, well, you know how I am sometimes. I’ve decided I’m definitely gonna be there, but it was really nice anyways. I’m just glad he didn’t, like, worry that I’d just be a walking mood-killer or something. I mean, maybe he does, and maybe I will be, but either way, it’s nice that he doesn’t act like it.”

“No, as if he’d actually hope you wouldn’t be there, I bet he’s really excited you will be.”

“Yeah, you’re right, I know he is, I just...I mean, I know they love me and they know I love them, but I mean, I’m me, and I know that it’s kind of annoying for them to deal with sometimes, even if they love me anyways.”

“Aw, Kip...”

“It’s okay, I’m glad they put up with me, I’m just hoping I don’t drop the ball for some reason. Like, I know I’ll go, because—like I told Roy, I know that even if it’s uncomfortable, it’ll just be uncomfortable. Even if I have a bad night, it’ll just be one night. I know I’LL be fine, I just—if it IS hard for me, I don’t want that to bleed out into everyone who’s trying to enjoy themselves.”

“What is it, is it the number of people who might be there? I know you haven’t been as comfortable with being stuck in big groups...”

“Since there started to be that risk of my having a breakdown in the middle of them?” Kip finishes, laughing. “That didn’t help. It’s kind of about that, yeah, and sometimes I’m just—it’s just a day when I’m already tired and would rather just hole up in my room, and I get kind of all frazzled if I can’t, and—there’ll probably be a few people I don’t really know, but—well, Wallace will be there, and Ben, and I figured they would be because they just have to come upstairs, and it’s fine, I know it’ll be fine. But, you know. I still feel a bit...”

“Awkward?”

“To say the least, yeah. It’s not THAT big of a deal, and it’s not like I’d rather they didn’t come, I’m just. Not comfortable yet. And that’s my own fault, but it’s too late to undo it now. I’d...just like to... I don’t know. It feels like I’ll at least have to be avoiding one-on-one interaction with them. Which I guess should be manageable enough? I’ll just spill a drink on myself or make some excuse to go to the kitchen or something.”

“Ha, you’re clever—but hey, they won’t really want to make it uncomfortable either, huh? I doubt you’ll be cornered by anyone. And I’ll be there too, I’ll help you out. You’ll be okay, and I want you to be able to have fun, too.”

“Yeah, I can, I’ll definitely try—I mean, it’s not like I DON’T like parties or anything, because I do, as long as I feel like I have a little space, but I—you know, I can be nervous at the same time, too. Still, I—I feel like I’ve just generally been better since I’m with you again, you know? I’m settled down a bit more than I was. I mean, it’d already been getting better, just...slowly. It can kind of come and go. And it’s been—I’ve been happier, you know, being with you. Obviously.”

“Aw, Kip, that’s awesome to hear.”

“Ha, like you didn’t know that already!”

“Well, maybe I could guess, but still.”

“Yeah. I mean, it’ll be fine. I have to worry and stress a bit, because I’m me, but it’s not that much, and I know it’ll be fine.” 

“It will be. Everything’ll be fine.”

“Mm, yeah. I mean, you’ll be there, and Roy and Molly will get to have a great time, and I can just go to the kitchen and invent something to give everyone whenever I need a break or whatever.”

“Yeah, see, sounds great already.”

“Anyway—tomorrow. You and me. I want to bring you something. What would you like? I’ll bring you a lemonade smoothie, coffee, a piece of cake, both, anything. Or surprise you. Or both.”

“Aw, love...”

“C’mon, is there anything you’ve been especially wanting when you’re in the middle of the workday? Sometimes I spend an hour or so wanting a cornbread muffin or fruit salad or whatever. I wanna bring you something.”

“But I already get to see you, I don’t need anything extra.”

“Aw, please? I’d really like to, it’d be fun. I can just surprise you if you want. Okay, pretend I didn’t say anything and be surprised instead.”

“Ha—alright, I will.”

“Cool. Thanks. I love you.”

“I love you back.”

—

Though they’re connected to nothing, Kip wears a pair of headphones for the entire train ride to B. He’s already reading, and the bubble around him only grows as the proportion of monster to human passengers plummets, but he wants another element signaling that he shouldn’t be interacted with—and implying that he can’t be talked to, even if someone tried. 

Pascal sends him a couple of texts partway through the ride during what must be his lunch break—one in particular casually saying he’s already had a few sessions of quality time with Kip’s video. That sparks in Kip’s stomach with a mix of butterflies and kneejerk arousal; he rests his book carefully on his lap and tries to assume a mask of more coolheadedness than his blush might suggest.

He does feel pointedly lonely a few minutes after Pascal’s text that says he’s going back to the shop. He wants to be with Pascal, physically be beside him again, that much he knows. And he misses Eno, who tends to feel so-close-yet-so-far on these train rides, and all his friends are back in C while he’s making his foray into B, he’s still awkward with Wallace, and already the train is almost all humans, almost all of whom are carefully avoiding the most indirect interactions with him, averting their eyes when they’re close, casting glances and overt stares at him from the other side of the car.

It helps in these situations to think of the smiles his friends get when they see him, but it hurts a bit too. To think of the way Pascal looks at him, and touches him, and responds with the deepest, realest warmth to his presence, how it gives him the complete opposite feeling as sitting here, chest a little tight, subconsciously monitoring all his movements, his posture, how he does and doesn’t react to things around him. For about half an hour, it feels like he ceases to be real, and can only be this role as The Monster On The Train, and then The Monster On The Streets Of B, until he slips inside Eno’s door. Even the human patients he sometimes crosses paths with treat him with a basic respect in there, the suffocation of B momentarily lifted.

He’s at least grateful he’s done this so many times over the years that he can no longer be as afraid as he was the first several times he rode the train to B completely on his own. It was just too draining to have to be that stressed the whole time—but he only numbed himself to it, tuned it out, never became really comfortable with it. Every time he starts to think he’s just going to be put through the same performance every time, some wild card comes up again to remind him he can’t get comfortable even if he wanted to. Being shoved past too roughly to be accidental, being openly and continuously glared at by some human and having to gauge whether they’ll try to follow him, being harassed and knowing he’s on his own to handle it.

He at least knows now that there’s nothing that these people can do to him that’s beyond his ability to defend himself fully against. It’s not insignificant, even if it doesn’t really let him feel more at ease. 

It takes him a few minutes to get back into the flow of reading, but when he does manage it, the sense of isolation softens a little, until the anticipation of his nearing stop comes in to take its place. He looks out the window, listens to the announcements, and imagines asking Eno about his week.

—

“I made a batch of lemon cookies last night. Completely coincidental that I happened to make a double batch, and that they’re excellent, and that you’re just the person I’d like to give some to.”

“Coincidental?” Kip repeats, setting his bag down. “As in, you accidentally doubled a recipe?”

“Sure—slip of the arithmetic, happens all the time.”

Kip wrinkles his nose at Eno while simultaneously letting slip half a smile. 

“But enough about my excellent baking that you cherish—“ Eno sinks down into his desk chair, casually crosses a leg, and sets Kip’s folder on his desk. “I’m ready to go, if you’re ready.”

Kip sits down on the chaise.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“How’s your week gone—did anything come up you wanted to begin with?”

“Not especially...” Kip pivots and slides his legs onto the slight curve of the cushions, then lowers himself onto the inclined headrest. “It’s been pretty solid, really. I’m doing really well with Pascal, still. I don’t think that’s going to fade out in a month or two or anything.”

“That’s good,” Eno says. “Not very surprising, huh?”

“No. I’m—honestly, I feel like our relationship is even more solid than ever. Funny, since we split up and all.”

“It makes sense. You two have been through a lot together. Not all relationships can adapt to big changes or hard times, and yours has done both several times over, and that’s a very good sign that it’ll continue to last and mature along with the both of you. Didn’t you feel similarly when you moved to D?”

“...Yeah,” Kip murmurs. “Yeah, it felt like it got a lot deeper. I mean, he’d already proven he was there for me and that he loved me, and I was already totally in love with him, but the... It changed everything. And at first I wasn’t even sure either of us considered us to even still be together, even though I was living with him and sleeping in the same bed as him and all. I didn’t have it in me to ask him about it at first. But it—it just became obvious really quickly that he was still with me. And by the time things were at least starting to settle down...it just felt like we were on another level that was beyond anything we’d had before.”

“Mm.”

“It does feel like that’s happened again...in a different way, but also really similar. I mean, it’s not like we were ever staying together before because it felt like we had to. Even though we did all live together, we both always wanted the relationship. I didn’t want to leave him—I really, really didn’t. But now it’s like...I mean, during those years we were together, we always had the choice to split up if we wanted to, but it still—it was still the norm for us, one of us would’ve had to do something about it to change things from us from being together to us being broken up. But now it’s like, we had another chance to decide if we wanted to start dating each other—we had that choice for the first time since all the way back after we met. And even with all the new shit that we’d dealt with, and even with knowing we could and did hurt each other...both of us decided we wanted this. And I feel it as much as ever, that I love him, and that he really loves me just as much. More than ever, even.”

He inhales deeply and lets it out just as slowly. Eno laughs softly but brightly.

“Well! You two have definitely always been good together right from the start,” Eno says cheerfully. “And I remember how happy you were to have even met him, and how you were even happier when you started dating. And from what I’ve already known and everything you’ve told me about it, it seems like your relationship with Pascal has only ever been strengthened by time and by the hardships you’ve been through as a couple. It’s entirely enough that you feel that way, but as someone with an outside perspective who’s known you for the whole duration, it seems that positive to me, too. You two have found something special and valuable—and you’ve made it that way, and become it. There’s no reason to doubt the happiness and benefits you’re finding in this.”

Kip smiles softly and folds his hands loosely on his lap, brushing one thumb over the other.

“I AM really happy about it,” he says. “And it feels good to be happy about something that I know actually is that good. And that I think is going to—“

He cuts himself off and blushes slightly as his heart goes just a little faster. Eno doesn’t speak.

“I, um, I like knowing that it’s something I don’t think is going to go away anytime soon,” he finishes. 

“Right,” Eno says simply. “That’s an important emotional element for you in particular.”

“Yeah,” Kip says quietly. “Yeah, it’s...it’s a big deal.”

“...Are you intimidated about feeling that way?”

“Um...” Kip’s blush deepens a little. “Well, kind of, but still in a good way, you know? Like...I don’t feel uncertain about it. And it feels really good. It’s kind of like...going inside a huge...cathedral or something and looking all the way up at the ceiling, and it seems so intimidating how vast and enormous it all is, like it’s too big for just you, and kind of impossible, but...it’s really beautiful and it’s a nice feeling and...you actually do sort of manage to fill it all up, just by being someone inside of all that, how even your footsteps echo up into the highest parts of the ceiling, and...and I really went off on that metaphor,” he laughs.

“You did—“ Eno laughs too. “But I like how you put it.”

“Heh, well... The point is, it’s good. There’s just...absolutely no downside or concerns in how I feel and think about Pascal and what it’s like to be with him. And that’s coming from ME.”

“It’s a very strong endorsement, yes.”

“I...feel more confident in being with him, too,” Kip says. “And that’s still coming from me, so it’s not very impressive, but...that get-together Roy was planning, it’s coming up in about a couple weeks, and probably only half of the people will be ones I’m totally comfortable with, and so I told Roy and Pascal both that I—I know I might be uncomfortable for at least parts of it, and I probably will be, but it doesn’t really worry me that much. Like, I know I’ll make it to the other side just fine. It’s just an evening. Even when thinking about all the stuff that worries me, I know I can handle any of it, and it just...doesn’t feel like THAT big of a deal. I mean, I always know it’s not, but I can’t always FEEL that way too, y’know? But I want to be there. And hopefully have some fun too. And get to see Molly and Roy and Pascal having fun. And show myself I can handle a night with a ton of people in our apartment.”

“You’re gonna have that many?” Eno leans back in the chair, raising his eyebrows.

“I mean, there’ll probably be at least ten. And our apartment isn’t huge. It works out in our favor we kind of have a lot of open space, proportionally at least...and that we have a few chairs and stuff we can put into the living room. There might only really be enough space to sit around, but I think everybody ought to manage by just talking. Roy’ll be there after all, he can get a good energy going out of any random group. And Pascal always brings the best kind of sense of warmth into the room; people love to be around him.”

“What about you? Do you think you’ll get to enjoy it, or are you seeing it wholly as something you’ll just have to survive?”

“I might,” Kip says with a bit of a smile. “I think it’ll just depend on the day and what mood I’m in. I know I’ve—I’m a bit less social than I used to be, but it’s not like I don’t like being around people—even a bunch of people—because I do. I just also know that sometimes...I’m not really in a place to enjoy it. And...I haven’t really gotten my feet back under myself yet, after everything. But I do have plans about making excuses to be in the kitchen for a bit if I need to escape or take breaks or something. And it’ll be fun to get to be there for Pascal having a nice time. I think it’s kinda been forever since he got to do something like this.”

“Something like...?”

“Just getting to be spending time with a bunch of people he knows and likes...and with me and Roy and Molly all at once, like it used to be. I’m gonna have just him over at our apartment in a few days for that reason...and I guess, I dunno, I don’t think he’s had the chance to make many new friends of his own in this district yet. He’s been so busy with the shop as soon as he moved here, and things are different than in D, and then, you know, he got involved in all of it with us too... He’s going out sometimes, he’s taking a sculpting class he likes, and he says he likes how it gets him out of the apartment, but I know he’s still busy with the shop. I figure...it’s not like you can magically find new friends for people, and it’s not like a lot of my friends aren’t his too...I think it’s good to invite him along to our stuff. It’s not like he doesn’t belong as much as any of us.”

“Mm...it’s nice of you to put that kind of thought into it, even if you can assume he’s fine.”

“I try,” Kip says with a flat humor. “There’s, uh...there is that one other reason I’m nervous about the group dinner.”

“Hm?”

“Well...you know...Wallace,” Kip says, slightly embarrassed. “He’ll be there—and so will Ben—which I’m not sure if I expect to make it more awkward or less, really.”

“Ah. Right.”

“I’m still just...uncomfortable, and I feel like I don’t know what to do when he’s around. I can’t just be myself, I can’t act like I’m not still embarrassed about the whole situation...I think I just want to have some space. But I...”

He sighs.

“I don’t hate him, and I’m not mad at him for what happened, it’s not either of our faults, but at the same time, I’m kind of worried about...I don’t want to start feeling bitter.”

“How so?”

“Well, like...I don’t know. It’s kind of...it feels like this sense of being uncomfortable around him and wishing I could just avoid the whole thing isn’t really going to fade away anytime soon. But it also doesn’t feel like confronting him or anything would fix the situation—I don’t even know what I’d want to say. There’s nothing I COULD say that would just...all at once get rid of the feelings I still have for him. And it still hurts to feel like this. I’m kind of afraid I’ll end up trying to counter that pain by...being angrier about it, or something. I can see it happening, in little ways at first, but they just quietly pile up. I...I could see myself trying to deal with that by pushing him further and further away. In little ways that pile up. Until his role in my life is reduced to someone who’s hurt me—even though he hasn’t.”

He’s flushing a little bit at the feeling that rises in him as he puts his concerns into words. He looks up at the ceiling and breathes deeply; he hears Eno smooth out a page.

“So...” Eno says, swiveling the chair slightly. “What are some ways you think you can avoid this? Since I’m supposing you want to.”

“I dunno,” Kip says automatically. “I...talking about it won’t fix it. And neither will avoiding it. But keeping my distance will make it easier to get over him sooner. Or at least learn how to deal with it sooner.”

“Mm.” 

There’s a pause; Kip closes his eyes with a silent sigh.

“Have you felt any better about it so far? In terms of keeping a distance between yourselves.” Eno asks.

“Well...I can look at him without being completely embarrassed anymore,” Kip sighs. “But overall...not really. It’s not like it’s been hardly that long, though. Even I can’t be disappointed in myself for not having put it all together in less than a month.”

Eno laughs softly.

“No, you couldn’t be,” he says. “But I don’t think you’d like feeling as if this is going to continue indefinitely and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I don’t—but I know pretty well by now that I’m not in control of everything in my life. I knew that this was a possibility when I decided to tell him. It’s not great, but...it’s just how things have turned out for now.”

“You’re not in control of all the factors, but it’s not like there’s nothing you can do. Wallace isn’t the weather—you can talk to him. And if you never talk to him, he’s going to notice, or it’ll start to feel normal not to ever be talking with you. There’ll be an effect either way.”

Kip twists his entwined fingers.

“I know,” he says shortly. “It’s already awkward enough that we live in the same building. But we can handle awkward. I don’t want to risk making it even worse by saying the wrong thing.”

“By ‘worse,’ do you mean ‘even more awkward?’”

Kip sighs.

“Even if things were more strained between you two,” Eno continues, “it’s not like anything would be that different if you said something uncomfortable once or twice. It’s not as though you can expect anything to change the fact that things are ultimately amicable between you. After all, it’s like you say— neither of you did anything to try to hurt the other.”

“No,” Kip affirms quietly. “But even so, I can’t think of anything to say to fix this.”

“Kip, you don’t have to fix it. You’ll need time, you can take it slow and play it by ear and see how your relationship adapts. Not every rejection destroys a friendship.”

“So what do I say?” Kip’s voice picks up slightly with impatience. “What am I supposed to tell him?”

“Just be honest, tell him how you feel.”

“I already did—that’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”

“Tell him how you’re feeling NOW,” Eno clarifies.

“But it’s the same,” Kip protests. “I still l-like him.”

“That’s not the only option you have; it’s not the only feeling you have. You can tell him that you feel awkward and you don’t know what to say and you’re worried about messing things up and you don’t know how you two should approach moving forward—you know, all the things you’re telling me.”

“But why? What would be the point of saying that?”

“He would know how it’s going for you and what you’re thinking without having to guess. And you might get the same from him. Wouldn’t you rather have the sense that both of you better understand whatever it is that’s going on?”

“There’s nothing new to understand—“

“You’d be talking to each other,” Eno cuts in. “It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t fix anything or even change anything. If you put yourself into a pattern of just talking with him honestly about your thoughts and feelings, I don’t think you’ll have to be so worried about the threat of...feeling bitter towards him.”

Kip bites at his lip and sighs again, wrings his hands again.

“What else about it is worrying you?” Eno asks. 

“It’s just...I don’t even know where to begin. I can’t imagine walking up to him and—and, I don’t know, telling him, ‘hey, why don’t we sit down and I’ll tell you all about how I feel weird about you because I decided to tell you I’m crushing on you.’”

“Why not?”

“It’s embarrassing,” Kip huffs. “I’ve already humiliated myself with him. And if I’m being realistic, I really doubt that I’d be capable of actually doing it. I’d back out, or beat around the bush, or change the subject after five seconds or something.”

“Would you?”

“Probably.”

“You did manage to tell him you like him, though.”

“But that wasn’t exactly an extended conversation or anything. I just had to work up to telling him I like him, and I did it when I was basically on this emotional confidence high from getting back with Pascal, and as soon as I got shot down I ran away to hide. It’s not like I went into all this detail about all the things I’d been thinking—the dreams I have about him and the memories between us that I love most and everything I like about him and how I...think about kissing and holding him...and everything...”

He closes his eyes again.

“You expect it’ll be harder to talk about feeling uncomfortable than it would be to talk about something like that?” Eno says.

“I don’t know,” Kip sighs. “I just don’t trust myself to face something like that and not mess it up by half-assing it and running away again. I mean, it’s me. After everything, I’m still the same person. I can do what I have to do when it comes to protecting people, but when it comes to the small stuff that anyone should be able to handle, I’m still the way I’ve always been—too scared to handle much of anything.”

“It’s not like that, Kip,” Eno says quietly. “You’re not worse than everyone else. ...For a long time, you’ve been existing in situations and having experiences that most people don’t ever have to deal with. It’s not at all unusual to have developed the kinds of defenses you have. You’ve been trying to survive—it’s not something you’ve chosen, and it’s not something you can just retroactively decide to throw out—it isn’t your fault that you’re afraid even of what you know won’t endanger you, that you’re more afraid than other people you encounter every day. You have a different relationship with fear than other people do. They don’t often consider it to be part of their everyday lives.”

Kip’s heart beats harder as Eno speaks. He slides his hands up to rest on his stomach—he can faintly feel his pulse there too. 

“I...” he starts quietly. “I just wish...”

“It’s alright, Kip,” Eno says, softly but emphatically. “It’s okay.”

Kip stares up at the ceiling and gives a quick nod. He listens intently rather than looking over at Eno, hears the faint creak of his chair as he shifts his weight, a slow, inward sigh.

“I don’t want to get my hopes up for things I know I’ll probably mess up.” Kip lets the words tumble out quietly. “I wish I could say for sure that I could...just go up to Wallace and tell him I want to talk and we could sit down and I’d be able to look him in the face and let him know everything I think—but I know I might not, I know I probably won’t, I don’t want to tell you ‘okay, I will,’ when I don’t think that’s true—“

“Kip,” Eno says. “Kip—you don’t have to do anything perfectly. I do think, though, that it would be better for you to at least try talking to him, even if it doesn’t go the right way, rather than continuing to keep all these things to yourself. I know you’ve already grown close to him before all this, and that he means a lot to you, and that you’re afraid you’re going to lose that. And I think that for you, it’s a good decision to try to have any fraction of a genuine, honest exchange with him rather than none at all. It’s good to break the pattern of avoidance—and even if you don’t manage to have a long heart-to-heart, even talking for just a moment will show you that it’s not completely impossible for you to do this.”

Kip breathes deeply.

“I feel like you definitely know me too well, Eno,” he mumbles.

Eno laughs brightly.

“I should hope so, by this point.”

“Well, it’s—you’re right, of course, I’m sure you are, I just...I get so caught up in thinking about all the ways it could go wrong, all the things that he or I could say that would just ruin things, and... When I worry about stuff like that, it feels like something being pressed against my stomach, right under the ribs. It’s awful sometimes.”

Eno is quiet.

“I’m just...horrible at this kind of thing. Even when I know I want to, when I want to try, I choke. I wish I could be optimistic about it and say I can definitely talk to Wallace, and that when I do I’m going to be open and straightforward and it’s going to be good, but...I know I’d be lying if I said for sure that I’ll do any of that.”

“It’s okay. I’m not going to demand you do anything you might not be able to do—and I’m not about to be upset with you about something like that. It’s not about disappointing me or not—I just think it’d really help you with this kind of situation.”

“Yeah...” Kip looks at the wall. “Probably.”

“...What are some of the ways you’re worried it would go badly? Do you think it’s something he’d say to you?”

“Kind of,” Kip says. “I mean, I think most of that is just...stuff I know would only happen in my own imagination, though. I don’t think he’d really be...angry with me for talking about it, or disgusted, or anything. Or hurt. He’s...well, when he doesn’t understand, he tries really hard to learn what it is he’s not getting. I don’t think I really have much of a reason to be too intimidated by it.”

“You trust him too, don’t you.”

“I...yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“I think it’d be a pretty safe endeavor for you.”

Kip bites his lip and nods.

“I’ll, uh...” He looks up at the ceiling and the image of Wallace flows into his mind’s eye, an amalgam of memories of Wallace turning to look at Kip and lighting up with a smile at the sight of him looking back. “I’ll try to sit down and talk to him.”

“That’s great, Kip. And don’t worry if you can’t do it right away. I won’t tell you you have to do it right this week, or anything. Just whenever you feel ready to try.”

“Okay.” Kip feels a bit warmer inside just at verbally agreeing to at least attempt to have a real conversation with Wallace. Somehow it abates some of that nervousness he’s been holding. “I’ll see what I can manage.”

“That’s all you need to do,” Eno says. “And to move along...I wanted to go ahead and ask you how you’re doing in terms of...well, that it’s going to be officially six years soon.”

The warmth fades away into a dull, familiar chill; Kip’s heart sinks.

“...About a month and a half from now,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Eno says quietly. “I know that...ever since they died, you’ve been struggling a lot with feeling further from them as time passes. And I know that being closer to the actual anniversary usually makes things harder, and can bring up those feelings associated with the original event. I’m not asking about how you should avoid these issues entirely. I think we can expect they’ll continue to be part of what you’re dealing with—certainly for at least a month and a half more. In fact, I think it’s important to basically prepare for it, and plan to have ways to recover during bad days.”

“Mm.” Kip shifts against the cushions. 

“Be ready to go easy on yourself,” Eno says. “I know you may feel pressure to power through it, but I want you to be aware that you can easily exhaust yourself by overdoing that—and avoiding burnout will be more helpful to getting through this period with less extra stress. And more than anything, Kip, when you’re hurting, don’t try to hide it from the people who care about you. They’ll know anyhow, and it’ll make it so much harder for you to try pretending you’re fine.”

“I’ll try not to,” Kip murmurs. “But...sometimes I do like to be alone with it.”

“I understand.” Eno’s voice is softened. “I’m not saying you have to talk it out with everyone who asks, but—do tell them that you’re not feeling well about things, and let them help you. You don’t have to discuss it with anyone, if you don’t want. But don’t isolate yourself or pressure yourself into hiding your pain completely. Remember that everyone already knows it’s going to be becoming harder for you as these weeks go on; to hide that will only make people more worried. Try to regularly remind yourself that you don’t need to feel any guilt about being in pain—it’s not your fault that this happened to you and that you feel this way.”

Kip sighs quietly.

“I know,” he says. “...I AM still having trouble with feeling further from them, and I...I don’t like that it’s going to be six years. Somehow that seems like you might as well be saying it’s been ten. I’m pretty sure I’m just going to keep my head down on the actual day of, and...I don’t know, I’m kind of hoping I’ll be busy with work, but Cuddy’ll probably remember to give me the day off unless I ask her not to. But I don’t really want to point it out by asking her, either.”

“You can ask for things that you think will help you...”

“I know,” Kip says again. “It’s just...I don’t know. It feels like there’s pros and cons both to keeping busy and to having a quiet day. I’m not too worried about it all, I’ve dealt with this day five times already—well, six times already, I guess. I know how much it hurts. But...this past year changed everything up. I think it’s going to just...feel different, and that might make it a little harder. And it’s just strange that—that the longer I deal with this, the more I get used to always holding it, but it also hurts that it’s been so long.”

He gives a long sigh.

“...I miss them, Eno,” he says. 

“I know...”

“I really miss them.”

“I know you do.”

Kip blinks hard and pinches his thumb.

“...Wanna talk more about things with Pascal?” Eno asks.

Kip laughs quietly.

“Are you trying to cheer me up?”

“Yes. I figured it would be nice to talk about something more pleasant again.”

Kip laughs a bit louder and obliges.

—

“Here you go,” Eno says brightly, holding out a large tin, lid screwed on tight; Kip takes it and feels its heaviness even before Eno has let go.

“Eno—“ Kip’s tone is almost reproachful. “This is so much.”

“Mmhm. Enjoy.”

Kip huffs and tucks the container under one arm, stepping forward to slip the other arm around Eno’s back. Eno laughs warmly and returns the embrace, hugging Kip close.

“Look after yourself till next time,” Eno says, squeezing him just a bit. “Je t’aime.”

Kip fleetingly buries his face against Eno’s shoulder.

“You too,” he murmurs. “Je t’aime.”

—

The sweet, lemony scent subtly emanating from the tin makes his train ride through B a little more pleasant.

—

Back at the apartment, Kip takes off his clothes and gets into a warm shower. He lathers his hair and scrubs his face twice over, then washes his whole body thoroughly, sitting down and hunching over to slide a hand through his legs and work the soapy water down the center of his ass, holding his feet up into the stream of the water to rinse them off as he does so. Soon he’s all but thrice cleaned over, smelling like some blend of orange, honey, pine, and sweet pea blossom. He gets out and towels off, blowdries his hair, puts on deodorant, and shaves his face.

He goes back and forth between dressing up a little in layers for a buttoned-down look or going more casual than usual, and finally decides on the latter. He slips on a pair of soft, fitted jeans with a slightly lighter wash at the knees, and then an even softer blue-grey tee with a spacious neckline. He turns to the mirror and scrubs his hand through his hair for a slightly messier look, then smiles at his reflection. 

He throws a few things in his bag and hitches it onto his shoulder. He takes out his phone and glances at the time—he’s right on schedule to run out, make a few stops, and be at Pascal’s shop within ten minutes of closing. He looks at himself in the mirror one more time, then grabs his keys and wallet and heads out of the apartment.

—

“Kip!” 

Kip could be in love solely for the way Pascal smiles when he sees him.

“Hey, Pasc.” Kip nudges the door once more with his hip and makes his way through into the shop, moving up to the counter, towards the end furthest from the entrance. “It’s so good to see you again—how’s your day been?”

“It’s been solid,” Pascal answers. “Especially since I’ve really been looking forward to seeing you.”

Kip smiles and then glances down at the countertop, as if he hasn’t been complimented by Pascal thousands of times.

“I brought you—uh—“

He cuts himself off at a quiet “I’m heading out, see you tomorrow,” and realizes Louise is stepping out of the back room. He blushes at once, reflexively embarrassed. 

Pascal turns to look at them.

“Okay, have a good night,” he says.

“I try,” they say. “You do the same.”

They glance over at Kip as they walk by; Kip flashes a small smile and relaxes his shoulders. He exhales and turns back to Pascal when the door opens and closes again.

“I...brought you this,” he says, holding out a cup and a bowl covered with a plastic dome. “I’ve tried to keep them pretty cold. This is a strawberry lemonade, and this is a mango frozen yogurt. They have this really good orange kiwi syrup; I put it on there.”

“Oh, Kip—“ Pascal’s laugh spills out; he comes around to the other side of the counter and Kip lifts his face in time to receive a warm kiss.

“Unprofessional,” Kip teases, even as he’s beaming up at Pascal.

“I’ll take that reputation,” Pascal murmurs, and Kip almost unconsciously tips his head up again as Pascal leans back in. Even in just a second’s duration, the kiss is soft, lingering. “We’re closed now, anyway. Louise locked the door when they left.”

“Oh, so anything goes, then?”

“Sure...tea after hours.” Pascal smiles, and Kip is pleased to see him blushing faintly.

“Mm. Take your drink, I had a few sips on the way over here and it’s delicious.”

Kip settles in on the stool by the register while Pascal finishes up the last few closing tasks, listening to him talk, letting him insist on sharing what Kip had got for him. He takes his time with a spoonful of kiwi-kissed mango while Pascal carries the collection of change into the back.

When Pascal is done finished with everything work-related, he turns off the lights and leans against the counter and they talk back and forth. Pascal tells Kip about his last pottery class, what he made, a newcomer who he got to help out. Kip reaches out and takes Pascal’s arm while he talks, absently tracing winding paths along the edges of his suckers with his fingertips.

“How’re you feeling overall?” Kip asks. “Like...about everything? Life, and stuff.”

“Everything?” Pascal says, curling the end of his arm around Kip’s fingers. “Hmm, well...I’ve been feeling gradually feeling happier ever since we’ve all been able to start getting ahold of things again, and that’s never really changed. I’m still kind of nervous about all of this, being in a new district and running a shop, but I have it down to mostly a routine now, and that helps it feel more stable. And of course, the most important thing has been you, and it makes me so much happier to be with you again, and it makes me...I feel kind of just more hopeful. About everything.”

Kip squeezes Pascal’s arm and looks over at him with a soft smile. Pascal smiles back.

“Finish your drink,” Kip says, laughter beneath his voice.

—

“Have you been thinking about me?” Kip teases. He leans in closer; their stomachs brush. He loops an arm around Pascal’s waist.

“Of course.” Pascal blushes a lovely red. “How could I not?”

“Mm...” Kip closes his eyes and rests his forehead against Pascal’s chest, then slides his hand down Pascal’s thigh, between his legs, draws it back up to cup him gently.

“Oh...wow.” Pascal lets out a breath. Kip gathers up fabric of Pascal’s shirt into a fist at the small of his back and presses their chests together, feeling Pascal lean more of his weight against the counter.

He squeezes both grips a little tighter and rises slightly up onto his toes, dragging their bodies together.

Pascal lowers his head and kisses him. Kip responds eagerly, pushing into it, giving quick nips and sucks, opening his mouth generously at the first flick of Pascal’s tongue. He rubs the start of Pascal’s erection through his sweatpants with the heel of his palm.

“Kip—“ Pascal sighs, pulling his head up to draw a breath. Kip nuzzles his face along Pascal’s throat and latches on softly, working the warm skin between his front teeth. “God, Kip...”

His broad arms start to pull Kip’s shirt up, and their touch on the bare skin of his back is making Kip tremble. 

“I want you so bad, Pasc,” he laughs softly. “I wanna suck your dick.”

Pascal exhales shakily as Kip kisses the light bruise on his neck. 

“Please,” Kip breathes against his skin. “Can I? Please...”

He can feel Pascal’s heartbeat against his own torso, feel his dick twitch in his hand. He looks up at Pascal.

In the next moment Pascal slides an arm down around Kip’s ass, squeezing him, pulling him in until his crotch is pressed up against the front of Pascal’s thigh. Kip gasps and rolls his hips, deciding at once to follow the flow of his heady rush, grinding on him with increasing pressure until he digs his fingers into Pascal’s sides and gives a whimper of a moan.

Pascal pulls him in harder at that and Kip plants his feet wider and lines their cocks up and shoves against him and the friction is exquisite—when Kip eases up after the burst of indulgence, he’s slightly out of breath and his face is burning and he’s almost shaking with the burst of pleasure.

“I can’t hold myself up very well here,” Pascal breathes, and sweeps Kip up off his feet, holding him tight against his chest, carrying him through into the back.

“This should be better,” he murmurs as he lowers Kip’s feet back to the ground.

Pascal backs himself up against the wall, puts both arms on it, presses them until his suckers latch on to the surface. 

Kip watches, shifting his weight over one foot and back to the other, trying to keep from outright pacing in circles. Pascal looks back at him and nods slowly.

“You can go ahead and do whatever you want,” he says, voice quiet and low. “I’m ready.”

Kip reaches for him and is kissing him, sucking his tongue, sighing into his mouth. He again lets his libido run rampant for a minute, holding Pascal by the hips and waist and mouth, grinding against him while making out with him and feeling him up with feverish hunger. It’s messily effective, and when he pulls away, both of them are panting for air and nicely hard for each other.

Kip closes his eyes and puts his forehead against Pascal’s chest while he catches some of his breath, then takes half a step back and looks at him, reaching up to push some clinging hair behind his ear. Pascal tilts his head into Kip’s touch and warmly returns his smile.

Kip lifts his face up for another kiss and ghosts his hands down Pascal’s sides until they come to rest at his hips. At the little thrill of Pascal’s lips meeting his, he dips his fingers down into the waistband of Pascal’s pants and pushes them down a few inches, presses the kiss firmly before breaking it off to tuck his face in the crook of Pascal’s shoulders while sliding his hands around to cup his ass.

“Kip...” Pascal turns his head to touch his nose and mouth to the side of Kip’s forehead. Kip exhales and presses his palms against Pascal’s soft, warm skin, wraps his fingers tight around the curve of his butt, then lets go to drag his pants further down. He bends his knees to continue the descent, pausing to plant a few kisses on Pascal’s stomach, then lowers himself further until he’s sitting on his heels.

He drags Pascal’s boxers down in one go and at once takes hold of the base of his cock. The familiar texture and warmth is so pleasant—Kip stares at every tiny detail as he leisurely slides his hand up and down a couple of inches, imagining it in his mouth, building up his own anticipation. He can feel Pascal’s pulse under his fingers; his own is beating in his chest and in his dick as it rubs against the inside of his jeans.

He puts his free hand on Pascal’s thigh and takes a firmer grip on his erection, and Pascal pushes his hips into it with a soft groan.

“Oh, Kip...oh my god...”

“Mmhm?”

“I love you,” he gasps.

Kip lets go of his dick to cup his balls while kissing and nipping at his stomach, dragging his nose through the patch of thick hair there, breathing in his scent.

“Pas,” he murmurs against his skin, voice low.

The sheer closeness and sensuality is as relieving as ever after several days of desiring it, fantasizing about their next chance for it; Kip revels in it all for a minute or two, squeezing and caressing Pascal’s body, palming his dick, kissing all over his stomach, hips, thighs. He keeps feeling himself gravitate towards Pascal’s erection and finally lets himself rub his face against it, earning a quiet, strangled moan from Pascal.

He looks up, waiting for Pascal to look back at him before brushing the head of his dick down his cheek until the tip grazes the corner of his mouth.

“Kip...” Pascal’s tone is pleading.

Kip smiles softly at him, holds his dick upright to gently kiss it halfway down the length. He slides his hand up and back down, fully exposing the head, grazing it with his thumb. Pascal rolls his hips and whines softly.

“I always wanna do this,” Kip murmurs. He kisses the tip, quick, then kisses it again, firmer, slower. “I love getting to do this...”

“God, I wish I could hold you,” Pascal mumbles, tilting his head back against the wall.

“It’ll be fine,” Kip says, and puts his tongue flat against the tip, pressing hard and then dragging it up in a slow lick.

Pascal whimpers and his leg twitches beneath Kip’s hand. Kip kisses the end again, looks up to watch Pascal’s face as he gives a gentle suck and a flick of his tongue.

“Fuck—“ Pascal’s voice is so rough and quiet. “Oh my god...”

Kip slides the first inch into his mouth, back out, takes a breath, and then draws his dick further in with a hard accompanying suck. The taste and feel in his mouth, the weight of it on his tongue, the thickness and heat between his lips—Kip feels no motivation to continue any teasingly slow pace, and instead throws himself fully into the task.

He hits his stride quickly, and the near-effortlessness feels almost exhilarating. He closes his eyes, moving smoothly, using his mouth and hand in tandem, eliciting low, velvety moans from Pascal. He throws in slight changes to keep it dynamic whenever impulse strikes—messy kisses and flicks of the tongue and twists of the wrist and hard sucks, occasionally taking his hand off the base of Pascal’s cock to palm his own erection. 

“Kip...” Pascal keeps sighing his name. “Oh...”

Kip slides his hands around to grab onto Pascal’s ass, pushing his dick down his throat, sucking the length, swallowing hard against the head. Pascal cries out hoarsely and his hips jerk forwards; Kip moans around him.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck—Kip!”

Kip gives a few more sucks before sliding back to the tip, staying there, squeezing his grip on Pascal’s butt and pulling, encouraging him to start rocking his hips.

Pascal groans quietly and then gasps as Kip teases the head of his dick—he thrusts.

“Mm—“ Kip feels completely in his zone. He has such an inherent confidence that any insecurities aren’t even a factor—he knows he’s doing great, he’s going to make Pascal cum, it’s going to be good, and they’re both going to love it. He’s been loving it from the start, which is apparently evident to Pascal.

“D’you...like this as much as...oh, god—a-as it seems like you do?” Pascal struggles to ask, panting quietly.

Kip opens his eyes and looks at him, pushes a couple more inches into his mouth, massages the underside with his tongue and sucks gently.

“Mmhm.” He pulls off and kisses halfway down his length. “Probably even more than it looks like I do.”

Pascal laughs quietly, and Kip smiles up at him, smoothly pumping his dick with a pleasant shiver of affection. He kisses the tip the same way he would Pascal’s cheek, then shoves Pascal’s hips back against the wall and deepthroats him.

—

Kip sits back and moves his legs out from under himself, stretching them forward, tilting his head back as he draws deep breaths. His chin is streaked with his own watery spit, some of Pascal’s cum clings to his lips, he can smell it with each inhale, its taste in his throat mingles with the faint flavor of fruit.

He keeps his eyes closed for half a minute, listening to Pascal breathing almost as hard as he is. Then he pushes himself upright and licks the cum off his lips, brushes it off his nose with his finger and sucks it clean, wipes his spit off with the back of his forearm.

“Pasc,” he says as he steps over to him, still a bit short of breath. “You good?”

Pascal nods slowly and opens his eyes; Kip meets them with a warm smile.

“Good,” he says quietly, and kisses him.

His hands drift up as he presses in a few more kisses one after the other until he’s gently holding either side of Pascal’s jaw, licking slowly at his lip. 

“Mm—I’m gonna get my arms off the wall,” Pascal mumbles an inch from his mouth. 

Kip takes half a step back as Pascal leans in, rolling his broad shoulders forward until the first row of suckers detach from the surface with staccato, arhythmic snaps. With a ripple of his torso, he gets the rest of the his arms to to follow suit with a softer crackle, and wraps them around the small of Kip’s back as soon as the last inch of them is freed. He pulls Kip in and kisses his forehead, his nose, his lips.

Kip automatically rocks his hips against Pascal the moment his erection is pressed between their bodies; Pascal slides an arm down to sit beneath Kip’s ass, pulling him closer. Kip gasps into the kiss and Pascal flicks his tongue against Kip’s fang and sucks at his lip.

Kip grinds harder until Pascal reaches between them to get at his belt.

“Here,” Kip murmurs, moving away from Pascal with a brusqueness belying his reluctance to reduce their contact. But even his efforts to undo the buckle and unzip his pants are slightly hindered by his desperation. He finally shoves his pants down, then his underwear, then is being kissed and embraced by Pascal before he can even make a move to close the distance himself.

Pascal takes hold of his dick and it sends a surge of pleasure through Kip; he feels an accompanying wave of energy and heat and moans loudly into Pascal’s mouth.

Kip can’t quite tell if it’s him or Pascal who’s a little weak in the legs, but regardless of who’s in need of it, Pascal slides them down until he’s sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, pulling Kip towards him to sit in his lap. Kip gratefully leans his shoulder against Pascal’s chest and hooks an arm around his neck, clinging close to him.

Pascal’s ability to jerk him off—seemingly effortlessly—is as brilliant as usual. It undoes Kip, has him bucking hard and digging his fingers against Pascal’s skin, eyes squeezed shut; his voice breaks out of him intermittently, sometimes low and soft, other times a sharper, louder cry. Pascal murmurs to him, he doesn’t quite process all the words but he understands it—it works him up even more, the very sound of Pascal’s voice aphrodisiacal whether comprehensible or not. 

As Kip gets close, Pascal lifts him up with an arm around his back, burying his face in the crook of his neck, kissing and dragging his teeth across Kip’s skin, kissing down to his chest—Kip arches up into the feeling of Pascal’s scruff rubbing against him, pushing his head back against Pascal’s arm. 

When Kip’s right on the verge, practically kicking out at the tension in the pit of his stomach, tightly coiled and itching ferociously to be hit with his release, Pascal kisses his cheek and squeezes his grip and pumps down with such force that it rocks Kip’s whole body. 

“Pascal—!“ he begs. “Please—!“

Pascal cradles Kip’s head against himself and, with just a few more seconds of effort, makes him cum. Kip spasms in his arms, arching up and curling in and pulling Pascal down and shoving his feet against the floor, his body apparently wanting to move in all directions at once.

He seems to go from the peak of energy and tension to bonelessness in a matter of moments.

“Pascal...” He doesn’t have to articulate any further—Pascal pulls him close and presses their bodies together.

—

Kip leans against the wall, eyes closed, lengthening and evening out his breaths. He draws one more slow inhale as he listens to Pascal coming out of the bathroom, and then opens his eyes. 

“Hey,” Pascal says, laughter in his voice, brushing his hair back as he walks back over.

Kip smiles.

“Hey,” he says back. 

He brings his arms forward a few inches; Pascal takes his hands and leans in, brushing his lips against Kip’s forehead. 

“You’re wonderful,” he says to Kip.

“Aw, it’s not so hard to be an improvement on a long day of work,” Kip says, squeezing his hold on Pascal’s arms.

“Not just because of this,” Pascal says. “Even though, yeah, this was a great end to the workday. But even if you didn’t give me food and an amazing blowjob—you’re really wonderful. I’m happy getting to see you. I’m happy just knowing you exist.”

Kip slips a hand out of Pascal’s hold to instead slip around his waist, hugging him loosely. He leans the side of his head on Pascal’s chest.

“Aw. I love you too,” Kip says.

Pascal puts his free arm around Kip’s waist in turn—they both shift their weight slightly to one side to accommodate the adjustment, and for a moment it feels as though they’re dancing.

“It’s so good to be with you, Pasc. I’m such a good me with you. It’s such a good version of me, and it feels like a really real version of me, and that makes me feel...like a good person even when I’m not in the mood to believe that. That’s so lucky. It feels so lucky to know you.”

“I feel that way about you...what a coincidence.”

“You’re so sweet and in a real way, like—like anyone can say nice things, y’know? But I’ve always known you’ve been honest whenever you’ve been telling me that you like me, and that you care about me, and...I don’t know, that just fills me up, like...when I think about how I know that you love me, it’s a way bigger feeling. And then I think about how much I love you, and it sounds like I took this off a greeting card, but it’s like...it’s not just an emotion that I love you, it’s more than that, it’s like it’s part of my body, too, or—I don’t know, like everything I can feel is part of it. Heh—listen to me, jeez...”

“I love to listen to you,” Pascal murmurs. Kip turns to look at him with a smile; Pascal’s eyes are bright and his face is tinged with his blush.

“I talk so much with you sometimes,” Kip says. “It doesn’t ever really happen nearly as much any other time. I go on and on and—and I don’t feel that embarrassed about it. I mean, I do, because I think I should, because it’s always embarrassing in other contexts, but I don’t really. But I’m...like, I’m not...worried about telling you anything. Like, even the shit I AM embarrassed about, I’m not...it doesn’t worry me to tell you, not in a real way. And I’m scared of everything, and this is so important to me that it would make sense if I was terrified, but I...that’s not how it is, I’m not afraid at all when I’m with you. I don’t worry that you’re gonna judge me or hate me or anything like that. And I wanna share stuff with you. Anything I have to talk about. Including you, I like to talk about you, there’s so much to say even just about everything that’s fantastic about you. Like I said, you’re sweet in a genuine way, and you’re so gentle and I love that, and you’re smart and you’re so aware of everything going on around you and tuned in to people without even saying anything, and that you’re so generous and loving and you have this amazing ability to find the right words for things, and you’ll work through anything to help someone, and you shoulder being afraid so well that it doesn’t even look like you’re worried sometimes, and you just...go out and do things, if you think you ought to do something you just go out and do it, and you’re so quiet sometimes, you don’t—you listen to people, you have so many great thoughts and people don’t always hear them because you don’t force people to hear you, you don’t...build your presence by being loud, or trying to make people think you’re clever, or work your way to being the center of conversation, you just...like to be around people and you don’t try to compete. But you know? People light up when you come into a room. It’s not like everyone looks over and all their attention shifts to you, or even that everyone notices what you bring into a space, but they feel it, I see them feel it, it’s like you warm up the place and everybody benefits from it even if they don’t realize it’s because of you. But people like you, because of course they do, because you’re so genuine and good that it’s practically tangible, or visible, or—you have the nicest smile, it’s just so you, and you’re handsome, and you give the best hugs in the world, and I love being loved by you, you know?”

He finally stops his flow of praise and laughs. Pascal has an unfading smile and blush that makes Kip’s heart give a little jolt.

“I know,” Pascal says.

“I love you,” Kip continues. “And I love how you always let me know you love me just by the kinds of things you say to me, the ordinary things, the way you say them. I love the little things you’ve always done for me. I love the way you’ve always looked at me. I love how you’re so patient, and you can handle my being upset or stressed or nervous, and you’re not angry or frustrated that I’m like that, you don’t dislike the parts of me that aren’t the neatest or most put-together or appealing, even the parts that maybe aren’t good, and I love how you hold me, even when you’re holding me really tight you’re gentle, and you touch my body like you love it, and I love having sex with you, I love your voice, it’s beautiful and I think about it when I’m going to sleep. And I love how much you love me. I love how you know I love you, that’s the best thing that ever could’ve happened, that you know I love you, you really know it.”

“I do know it.”

“And I’m just going on and on and I could keep rambling forever, so I should probably stop before I do, but I have so much to say about you. And even once I talk about something, I’ll want to talk about it again on a different day, and say it a different way, and everything. I’m talking so much right now. And I keep talking. I say so much around you sometimes, it just happens.”

“Sure,” Pascal laughs. “But I like it—I like when you talk a lot, especially because I know you don’t do it very much. I’m proud that I let you feel comfortable with saying a lot.”

He leans Kip slightly over backwards, sliding his arms a little tighter around him.

“I like to listen to you. I don’t mind it when you’re quiet, either. There’s ways to listen to what you’re saying even when you aren’t doing it by talking.”

Kip laughs softly and leans his head against Pascal’s shoulder, closing his eyes.

“I don’t know why I wanna say so many greeting-card things,” he says quietly. “Especially when we’re just like, hanging out in the back of your store after getting each other off. And I know I’ve told you this before, and—well, it feels like forever since I have, and it probably has been. But I wanna say that being with you, like being in the same place as you, or just thinking about how I’m with you, it feels like I’m at home more than anything. Even if I’m someplace unfamiliar or, y’know, here. I guess it’s feeling safe and comfortable and...comfortable being myself? And liking myself, and liking the feeling, liking everything about it...you always give me that. I love it.”

Pascal kisses his shoulder.

“You remember me saying that? I know I said it more than once...the home thing...though I also remember I was probably half-asleep most of the time. I still meant it, though.”

“I do,” Pascal confirms. “It means a lot to hear even the things you say when you’re falling asleep. ...And it doesn’t feel like a greeting card, coming from you.”

“Good,” Kip laughs. “Because I don’t mean it in a fake way. Or like I’m just saying it to say it, or because I have an agenda or something... I’m just...really grateful that you give me everything that you do.”

Pascal squeezes him a little closer.

“The best I can hope for is that I can be as good for you, too,” Kip murmurs, sliding his hands up Pascal’s back. “I wanna be here for you and help everything be better for you. And I want you to have the feeling that comes with knowing that’s what I’ll do—that you always have that.”

“Aw,” Pascal whispers, and nuzzles his face against the side of Kip’s. Kip giggles at the feeling. “Don’t worry. I’ve known how much you care about me since we met. I could always tell that you were for real.”

“I am,” Kip says.

“And don’t worry about anything you say sounding, I dunno, cliché...I don’t care. I know you’re for real. I always wanna hear what you have to say. And...it’s important to me to know that I can still make you feel that way. You know, that you have a place to belong in the world, where you’re safe, and...that I’m here for you, in every way I can be, and all.”

Pascal’s voice is quiet and close; every word is warm. Kip slides a hand up into his hair.

“Hey, can I kiss you?” he asks.

“Yes,” Pascal answers.

He does.

“Can I take you out for dinner?” he asks.

Pascal looks at him.

“Is today some special occasion I don’t know about?” he laughs.

“No, I just like doing nice things with you,” Kip says. “And I like that I’m with you again, and we can do these things. And I wanna take you to dinner.”

Pascal blushes a little.

“Well...” He giggles lightly, and Kip gets soft butterflies. “How can I refuse?”

—

“Oh, god—“ Kip leans back slightly as a tortellini noodle falls from his fork. “Christ, I’m a mess.”

Pascal laughs.

“Embarrassing,” he teases.

Kip glances up in time to catch a warm look from Pascal, and smiles back.

“Whenever we next both have a free evening, you wanna come over to our place for dinner?” Kip asks. “I can’t be a public spectacle there. Only a private one.”

“Oh—sure, I’d love that.”

“I’ll figure out something fun to make. Or if there’s something you can think of that you’d like, I can work with that, too.”

“Anything you’d like is great with me,” Pascal says. “That’s always been the case. You have great ideas for what to cook.”

“You do too,” Kip says. “I really like your cooking. You’re great at it.”

“I learn.” Pascal shrugs.

“I’ve definitely learned from you,” Kip says. “I like how you kind of dive in while you’re reading the recipe and you adapt to whatever’s happening as you go—I really like that, I didn’t use to like, mess around and experiment with stuff I made before I lived with you, and I have a lot of fun with that now.”

“Yeah? I dunno, that’s how I’ve always done it. I don’t really make anything fancy enough that I can ruin it.”

“Mm...I sometimes kind of like to make the sort of complicated stuff that you have to be careful about, it’s kinda fun to make it to the other side of that once in a while. But for most days I like your style a lot better. I’m glad I practiced it, I feel like it’s saved me three hundred hours of my life or so. Even factoring in if I forget an ingredient every now and then.”

“Yeah,” Pascal laughs. “Yeah, I think that’s kinda where it comes from. I learned making simple stuff with the goal of getting something good in not a lot of time. I take my time with other stuff, but cooking for me has always kinda been about getting into a flow and not really slowing down.”

Kip smiles.

“You’re really good, whatever pace you go at,” he says. 

“Thank you—so are you.”

“Aw...” Kip swings his foot out and gently taps it against the side of Pascal’s, twice. Pascal responds by momentarily lying his arm atop Kip’s wrist.

Kip focuses on his food for a second, glancing intermittently at Pascal’s face.

“...Can I tell you something?” he asks, heat preemptively rising in his throat. “It’s nothing new or anything that terrible, but...you know, half the stuff I ever have to talk about is kind of heavy.”

“Oh...sure,” Pascal says quietly, sitting up a little to look at him. 

Kip gives half a smile and half a shrug.

“It just feels like some pointless secret, even though I don’t even think it’s important enough to be a secret, but...well...you know when I moved?”

“...Uh-huh.”

“Well...I know I was talking about how I felt like...I had this choice to go back to C or stay in D forever, and I knew I had to make that choice, because...if I didn’t, I’d know that I was avoiding it, and I was really...starting to feel guilty about avoiding C, especially because of Roy and Molly. You know.”

“Yeah. I remember.”

“I, uh, I mean, I DID make that choice, even if I was backing down from it pretty much as soon as we arrived here...but I don’t feel like I...like I really chose to leave you.”

He takes a deep breath and looks right at Pascal.

“And I’m not—I’m not saying that anyone forced me to do anything, or that it was somehow at all your decision, or that it’s not my fault, I’m not saying that. I’m just saying that I...you know, I SAID that, that I thought we were just going to have to stay apart so that my choices in C weren’t going to come back on you, and I did think that, and I did want to go on my own even though I didn’t even want to go, but...” 

He suddenly has to look back down at his hand.

“I...when I left, and even when it was leading up to me leaving, I didn’t feel inside like I had really made up my mind that I should go,” he says slowly. “I—I could tell from the start that you were being careful not to argue with me about it in ways that might push me too much, and I loved you for that, and I love you for that still. But I was never sure whether I was relieved about that or disappointed, because I never really felt like I had actually, genuinely committed myself to really leaving you, and...leaving behind our relationship, and our whole history and ideas about our future...”

He makes a fist on the table and presses his thumb between two fingers.

“Even as we were actually leaving, I knew I wasn’t being strong at all. I was...I knew if you asked me to stay with you even in the most gentle way, I wouldn’t be able to go. And I—like I said, I was terrified of you asking because of that, and then I’d feel like I really hoped you’d ask, even though I was still terrified, and then I’d feel guilty and weak and we were still sleeping in the same bed and I’d just be watching you sleep beside me and wishing with everything I had that none of this had ever happened to us...” 

He finds himself actually getting a little teared up at the memories’ weight. He keeps looking at the knuckles of his hand, pressing the nail of his thumb to the bottom of his pointer finger, hoping it will somehow help. 

He hears every sound in the space around him as he bites at his lip and builds up his voice again.

“...I run away from things so often,” he says finally. “And I ran away from you, too. I didn’t really make the decision we had to be apart and mean it the way I should’ve—I made the decision and then knew I couldn’t back it up if I was really confronted on it and so just refused to say aloud that I felt so shaky and confused—I didn’t know what to do so I didn’t do anything and then of course we moved—it was all just as cowardly and weak as anything else I’ve done. And after we got here, it wasn’t because I was confident I’d done the right thing that I...I mean, I’d gone ahead and done it and whether that had been right or wrong, I was so scared for what could happen that I wanted desperately for you to stay in D and not even risk being involved...but... Back then I shouldn’t’ve pretended I was so dead-set on everything when I was really just completely conflicted and unsure, I was—I pressured you to go along with it without having any real conversation because I knew I couldn’t hold up against a real conversation—it was awful, and I knew it was awful of me, but I had this roundabout reasoning that—that the fact I knew I was being a terrible boyfriend just proved that I really knew I had to go, when of course that’s ridiculous. And it was a horrible excuse. There was no excuse—I shut you out before I even actually left, and that was awful and unfair, and I’m really sorry, I hate that I did that to you.”

He finds he can’t look at Pascal’s face—not like this, while he’s confessing to him and only just managing to fight off tears—he doesn’t want to pressure Pascal into feeling as though he has to provide comfort.

“I know this might be hard to listen to,” he says. “That I was—that I think I would’nt’ve been able to leave if you’d outright asked me not to—it was unfair of me, and that’s coming back around now just with me telling you about it. I—I should’ve at least been honest about the things I was thinking. It wouldn’t’ve been fair even if you HAD asked, and I HAD stayed...I’d’ve created this situation where you’d’ve felt like you pressured me into staying when I might’ve wanted something else. And of course I didn’t WANT to go, but I really did feel like I had to, like maybe I could do it, maybe I could do better with doing anything for the people around me and...at least I’d know that Roy and Molly could be happy, and I felt like...the only way I could manage actually pulling it off was to just. Say that I’d chosen this and leave it at that until we left.”

He bites down on his bottom lip again.

“I’m sorry what I did to us. It wasn’t fair, and it’s still not fair now, because it...” He sighs. “It left us in such a hard, fucked up place. When I finally saw you again, I was shocked and scared and—confused and hurt and even angry, but I was also really, really glad, and...as soon as we’d moved here, I was missing you—I missed you from the second I walked away from you, and I know it hurt us both, and I know I was miles away from being over you even by the time I ran into you again. I...probably never would’ve fully gotten over you, and it doesn’t help that I hadn’t given us a situation where we could have any real closure. It—I don’t mean to say that I think I would’ve stayed, because I know you wouldn’t want to feel like you were making me want to do something I didn’t want to do, and I don’t know if things would’ve been okay even if I HAD stayed, I...it all became so much more complicated than I thought it had been back then. I wanted a dozen conflicting things at once, and I don’t know if...I don’t think everything that had happened could’ve left us alone forever. When I first came to live with you, I couldn’t even imagine going back to C, but towards the end, when I could, I knew it would be...” He trails off. “I thought I’d always be held back if I had to hide from it for the rest of my life. That I’d be holding all of you guys back with me. I thought I had to try. I don’t know. It was such a mess...I don’t know what would’ve happened if I handled it better, maybe I messed up in a way that was accidentally to all our advantage, I don’t—I wasn’t strong about it, but I was still really scared of being in C, and I did sort of impress myself by actually living here again...”

He sighs hard. 

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think a lot about... We can’t know how things would be different if we’d done something differently in the past...and I try not to think too much about things like that.”

It’s almost the most difficult to say that. The picture of his family flashes through his mind’s eye, and that’s enough to let a tear escape to start rolling down his cheek, and he squeezes his thumb hard in an effort to help keep his voice from wavering.

“...Still, even if it WAS the best possible way things could’ve gone, you still got hurt, and I didn’t treat you right with the way I left, and I...I ran from it, and I should’ve at least faced it fully for both our sakes. You were always worth that. You deserved that. It was my decision, even if I wasn’t sure of it, and I didn’t handle it right, and you had to suffer for it, and I—telling you this doesn’t change anything, and I hope it doesn’t make what happened seem worse, but I figure that...the least I can do now is face you after the fact and...tell you that I...”

The tear inching down to his jaw suddenly falls to the tabletop. Kip looks up at Pascal; he doesn’t find any anger or shock or even much tension there, just a quiet, attentive look, sad and soft.

“I ran away from it instead of at least being honest about it and talking with you first,” he says. “You deserved so much more than that. I’m sorry I didn’t face up to it. I’m sorry I...I’m so bad about running from everything. I’m sorry about what I did to you. How much I hurt you and the situation I left you in.”

Another tear spills and he looks back down, embarrassed. Pascal puts the end of his arm on the back of Kip’s hand. Kip’s knees are intermittently shivering.

“I’m really glad you came out here, too,” Kip says. “I know that was—it shouldn’t’ve been the only way you felt like you could see me again. I know I wanted you to be separate from anything I did in C so that it wouldn’t hurt you, but...I was still cutting you off. It’s such a mess. I’m so glad I’m with you again, but it scares me to think that—maybe I was really close to ruining it completely. You shouldn’t’ve had to come out here on your own just to...”

Pascal gently squeezes his hand.

“I was too scared to have you come with me,” Kip murmurs. “And I was too scared of talking with you about it and maybe saying I didn’t really want to go...”

“It wasn’t fair for me to come over without telling you, especially when I knew there was a decent chance you might run into me like you did,” Pascal says quietly. “I wasn’t sure what was best to do either, but it’s like you said...even if that WAS the best possible way, it still hurt you. And I knew there was a chance of that.”

“I’m not mad about it anymore,” Kip says after a slightly shaky inhale. Pascal gently strokes the back of his hand. “I’m just really glad you came. How could I stay mad anyways? I mean, even if it was kind of messed up, it’s only because I messed it all up first.”

He picks up his napkin in his free hand and pulls his glasses a little bit down his nose, squeezes his eyes shut, holds the fabric against them for a moment. He breathes in deeply, then puts the napkin down with a short laugh and pushes his glasses back into place.

“Man, I talk about being a public embarrassment, and then I just make it worse,” he mutters.

“You’re not embarrassing,” Pascal says. He loops his arm around Kip’s wrist, lifts gently, and kisses his knuckles. 

Kip smiles weakly at him and opens the hand in Pascal’s hold, turning his palm upwards to fleetingly cup Pascal’s jaw.

“I just...I wouldn’t blame you if it sounds a little ridiculous that I’m saying I want to be here for you no matter what, when I’ve...I left you the way I did, not even a year ago.”

He exhales heavily.

“I do want to be here for you. I want to be with you for anything. And we’ve already been through more than a lifetime’s worth of shit together even just since you moved over here, and I know I still want to be here for you for everything I possibly can. I promise I do, completely, I really mean it. But I just...I say it and I have to think about what I did and how that...feels like it was me doing the opposite.”

“It wasn’t.” Pascal takes his hand again, tightly. “Don’t worry.”

Kip looks at him.

“I know you really were scared for me,” Pascal says. “I know you didn’t want us to break up. Who can even blame you for being so afraid? Especially when you were pretty much proven right... You weren’t leaving for any lack of caring about me, and I knew that even then. That’s part of why it hurt so much. I knew we both loved each other.”

“...Yeah.” Kip brushes his thumb over the smooth side of Pascal’s arm.

“Listen, Kip,” Pascal says. “I know you feel bad about that, and that it’s hard to tell me about all this, and...I really appreciate that. Thank you so much for saying all of that. But...I’ve always known it. I knew from the moment you told me about it that you were confused and unsure about every part of your decision to go back to C, and that you were scared. It was really, really hard, because I wanted so bad to help you, but I knew that trying to confront you about everything you were struggling with while you guys were trying to get everything together...all it would accomplish would be making you more confused and making you feel worse. I always knew. I won’t deny the whole situation wasn’t a mess, and I was confused about what was best, too, and... We both know how much it hurt. And yeah, I’m sure we should’ve talked a lot more openly about it, but...I understand why it was too hard for us, why we couldn’t figure it out in time. We were doing our best, but...there was so much for you to shoulder with C. Way too much.”

“I could’ve done better,” Kip argues. “I really messed up. I could’ve done way better.”

“Maybe. Maybe I could’ve, too. It’s like you said. We can’t know what would’ve happened if we’d done things different. And look—we’ve still ended up here.”

He presses Kip’s hand to his lips again.

“It wasn’t a fair situation for either of us,” Pascal says. “But I was never really mad at you for deciding to leave. It just...broke my heart how lost you were, and that I couldn’t really comfort you or help you or be there for you...I was proud of how strong you were, too, and I know you don’t think you were strong, but I think you were. Yeah, it killed me to see you leave, but I knew that even if you really never wanted me close to you again, you would make it through things even without my help. And I understood why you wanted to go back. And I knew that the reasons weren’t anything you had ever really had any control over. I—I knew you wanted me to go with you and that you also wanted me to stay. I knew how you felt—it was obvious to me. I’d been with you for too long not to know.”

“...I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I’m just sorry you knew. It must have been awful to feel like maybe you could stop me from going, but weren’t allowed to, because of how I...” He trails off.

“Kip, it would’ve hurt just as much no matter what.” Pascal laughs softly. “And whether I thought you were set on it with all your heart or whether you were secretly wanting to stay, I wouldn’t have tried to make you stay. I just...knew it shouldn’t happen like that, I don’t know. I felt like it—it wouldn’t be right for me to try to stay together with you like that. It was too big and too complicated for that. It wouldn’t have worked.”

Kip drops his head with a breath of a laugh. 

“I wish I’d had even the slightest sense of confidence in anything I was doing back then,” he says. “But I can’t say that. The only thing I can say is that at least I was sure I still loved you, even when I was leaving you. It hurt way too much for me to have any doubt about that. Being with you...probably saved my life, and you were always the very best, and the way I felt about you, I always knew...”

He sighs.

“I was sure I was still in love with you, too,” Pascal says. “And, honestly...I can’t tell you that I wasn’t already subconsciously formulating some notions about following you to C, even before you left. It feels like it only took about half an hour after seeing you guys off to be sure that I needed to give it one more shot. Or...at least be sure that we couldn’t leave it like that. I promise I didn’t come to C only to follow you—I was totally prepared to still live here and have the shop and just keep it all on my own side of the fence if you said you never wanted to talk to me again.”

“Yeah, it actually would’ve been pretty doable to avoid each other forever if we wanted, huh.”

“I would’ve made sure of it, if that’s what you’d decided,” Pascal says. “I promise I had no intentions of, like, forcing you to see me every other day for the rest of our lives. I wanted to be close so that I knew I wouldn’t be a whole district away this time if you ever needed help. Not to like, spy on you. Or make you run into me. I figured you wouldn’t just wander around Berkley.”

Kip smiles and puts his other hand on Pascal’s arm, further up its length.

“I’m sorry I ran away from you,” he murmurs. “I’ve always tried to run and hide from stuff, and I’m still doing it now, but I...really don’t want you to have to be afraid I’ll do it to you again.”

“Ah, I believe you when you say you want to be with me,” Pascal answers softly. “I know you mean it. Like how I know you mean it when you tell me you love me.”

“I’m just...” Kip squeezes Pascal’s arm. “Just...ashamed of how much I messed that up and how I hurt you, even if I did have to leave. It might’ve been all for the best in the end, and I know we shouldn’t’ve had to deal with that situation in the first place, but it still wasn’t right. Pascal—I’m really sorry.”

“You’re alright,” Pascal says, stroking Kip’s arm. “You can say it if you need to, but I don’t need any apologies. I’m not upset with you.”

“I do feel like I should say it,” Kip almost whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Pascal leans forward an inch or two and reaches out to touch Kip’s cheek. Kip meets his eyes and takes a steadying but shivering breath.

“I forgive anything you did or didn’t do,” Pascal tells him softly. “I’m not mad at you.”

Kip nods. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I run from everything. Even now, I’m still doing it.”

“Even if you do that forever, I love you,” Pascal says. “If you run from every single thing in the world, I’ll be there with you, and I’ll love you just as much as I would if you refused to move an inch against the whole universe. Just as long as you want me to stay with you, I will.”

“I do,” Kip says at once. “I want to stay with you. I don’t want to make that mistake twice.”

Pascal smiles at him, so beautifully that Kip feels it in his chest.

“I love you,” Kip says, almost importuningly. 

Pascal takes his hand with both his arms and kisses it again, on the backs of his fingers, holding the kiss for several long, lingering seconds, his breath and lips soft and warm.

“I...I love how patient you are,” Kip says quietly. “You could be angry with me for everything that happened when I left, it wouldn’t be like you don’t have a right to be—but you’re always so understanding and you—you don’t get upset with me for putting you through all these extra disasters...”

“Of course not,” Pascal murmurs, lips grazing against his skin. “You’re so important to me, and I love you so much. I want to understand anything you’re ever dealing with. I don’t feel like I need to be mad, because I’ve never felt like you don’t care about me. I trust you.”

“But I’m not—you know I’m not perfect, even when I mean well, I...” Kip stops and sighs. “I want to make sure I don’t hurt you. Not just because I want to stay together—even if I knew for certain you’d never want to leave me no matter what mistakes I made, I wouldn’t ever want to do anything that would make you feel like—like you’re not every bit as important to me as you are, like I don’t love you as much as I do. I don’t want you to have to feel that. And even if I know for certain you’d never feel that way, I still wouldn’t want to ever hurt you. I’d rather you be angry at me than that you be treated in a way you don’t ever deserve at all.”

Pascal squeezes Kip’s hands and smiles affectionately at him.

“You’re wonderful,” Pascal says softly.

“I’m not being any better to you than I should be,” Kip murmurs, blushing. “Anyone who’s even a little bit good should want to treat you the right way. I—I know if there IS someone who’s the best person in the world, it isn’t me, but I want to be the best I can be for you, you know? I...I’d do anything for you. I want your life to be amazing. I want to be here to make sure of it, and to be here to help however I can when things aren’t going as well for you as they should be.”

Pascal drops his head and smiles, his eyes are bright and his cheeks flushed when he raises his head again, giving such a look that Kip feels his heart rate skip up—it’s soft but penetrating, holding such genuine love that it’s striking.

“You’re wonderful, Kip,” he repeats. “I wouldn’t care if there was some magic perfect person out there. That wouldn’t change the fact I’m in love with you. And I’m so happy that I get to be in love with you.”

Between Pascal’s words and voice and face, Kip is momentarily speechless. He finally lets out a breath and his smile flickers on; he curls his hand around Pascal’s arm and squeezes, rubbing it with his thumb.

“By the way, want to try some of my pasta?” Pascal asks quietly. “This vodka sauce is really good.”

Kip laughs breathlessly and Pascal follows suit.

—

Kip sits down on the bench next to Pascal.

“You can be mad at me, you know,” he says.

“Huh?”

“If you’re ever mad at me for something, you don’t have to hide it or anything. I know you don’t really...do that really, being angry—not in a like, yelling way or anything, unless someone’s really trying to hurt somebody, but...I’d rather have you yell at me than find out you felt like you had to like...hide how you feel about stuff for the sake of being gentle with me.”

“Heh...I mean, it’s not like we’ve never argued or neither of us have ever been in a bad mood or frustrated, but...I don’t know, that’s just how it works between us, that’s just how I am, and I don’t mind at all. Believe me, it’s not that I’ve been holding back—I’ve never felt like you didn’t care what I think, and I’ve never been afraid to tell you anything. I’m not putting on an act, and I just don’t... It’s so easy to talk to you and we’re so on the same wavelength that it’s just...well, you know, we can be soft with each other without worrying being walked all over. I never feel like I have to do anything else but talk with you.”

Kip laughs and blushes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, hooking his arm through Pascal’s. “It’s funny, because I’m usually... I guess I mostly come off as being kinda short-tempered and...irritable, I guess... And I know you know I’m like that a lot. But I’m also...not really like that? At least not always. And with you, I...the part of me that’s not like that gets to come out a lot more. It’s kinda amazing even to me to hear you say we’re on the same wavelength. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t felt that way too, but I’m really proud to be on the same wavelength as somebody like you. It’s just really nice to hear it from you.”

“We are, I always feel like I understand what you’re trying to say and that you understand me too,” Pascal says. “And, I mean, I could be saying the same thing to you—it’s not like you’re going around losing your temper at me. Even when you’re mad, even when you need a minute to be by yourself, you talk to me. Even when it’s hard for you to actually talk...you communicate a lot to me, you know?”

Pascal brushes the outside of his arm against Kip’s thigh.

“Even when you weren’t able to do things like conversations or—really, talking about anything at all,” he continues, “you still had ways to let me know what you were thinking...including that you loved me.”

Kip smiles softly to himself, looking down at the edge of the bench. Even during long stretches of hours when he could barely find it in himself to lift his head, Pascal would lie beside him and hold him, and Kip would run his hand through Pascal’s hair, drag his fingertips slowly up and down his spine, rest his arm on Pascal’s waist with his hand on his butt while resting his cheek against Pascal’s forehead.

“Oh, hey, remember this?” he says, turning slightly towards Pascal on the bench. 

He puts his thumb and index finger together and places them against Pascal’s arm, spreading them gradually out and then back in while moving his wrist up a millimeter or two and then down an inch, drawing the two halves of a heart in one smooth motion.

Pascal laughs.

“Yeah, I totally do,” he says. “And I remember you kind of simplified it—like, just put your fingers against me like that and then move them out and back in without really doing the shape, like a pinching motion without the pinch? And you’d stand next to me and do it on the back of my neck or my shoulder or arm and you were always really soft when you did it, just touching me really gently, like you’d be putting a heart against my waist or my face or back. It was cute, you know? I heard it as an ‘I love you,’ I didn’t even have to translate it in my head, it was as automatic as if you’d said it aloud.”

“Aw, good, that’s what it was,” Kip laughs. “Even though I know you can just say it...and it’s not like I’ve ever had trouble saying it to you, obviously—it’s just nice to have other ways to say it without SAYING it. Like how I’ve always liked to kiss you and hug you and just touch you to let you know how much I like being with you. I like to have options, I guess.”

“Yeah. Mixing it up.”

“Ha, right? And, well...I dunno, I DO have trouble saying stuff to other people sometimes. Like, I only really say ‘I love you’ to you. It’s like...sometimes it doesn’t feel right to me to say it, not even casually, even though I have these people that I really do love, and I’m lucky to have them... I mean, I say it sometimes, and it’s not like I don’t wanna say ‘I love you’ because I don’t think it’s true, or I think it’d be that weird or anything...”

He shrugs.

“Nah, it’s cool,” Pascal says, putting his arm across Kip’s shoulders. “I mean, you know they know you love them.”

“Yeah...I just feel guilty sometimes, cuz, y’know...Roy especially likes to say stuff directly all the time, and that’s great and it feels pretty awesome to have somebody complimenting you to your face every day, and I feel bad I don’t do anything as good as that for them. But I know I’m just not like that...even if I was saying the exact same things, it’d be different coming from me. It wouldn’t be like getting a pep talk, it’d be like, ‘god, what’s up with Kip,’ or whatever, haha...”

“Aw, you know Roy thinks you’re awesome even on days he doesn’t say ‘you’re awesome’—I’m sure it’s the same way for them. I mean, I lived with you guys for years. I never got the sense he or Molly thought you didn’t like them.”

“They know, and I know they do, but I’ve never exactly been able to be...just, regular, not the way I was before. And I know I got worse around the time we decided to move over here, like I had to be all on-guard and serious about who I was or...or the kind of stuff that happened anyways would happen. Which made me even worse again when it did. And now I’m no fun anymore and all I did for the whole time even before Wallace showed up was text them about where they were if they were five minutes off schedule or tell Roy to keep his head down more even though I know he never could or tell Molly not to go to Berkley too often or encourage Roy so much...or...”

He sighs and kicks his heel against the brick sidewalk, letting his head drop back.

“They know why you did that,” Pascal says.

“Everyone knows I’m just...scared of everything...”

“You’ve always been worried for us,” Pascal says, rubbing Kip’s shoulder. “Because you love us.”

“Of course—“

“Of course.

“But nagging them to shreds over everything isn’t as good as saying ‘I love you and am scared you’ll be hurt again or worse, but I want you to live your lives, too.’ I’ve just been doing the same thing I did to you, trying to act like I could protect anyone just by keeping them from doing certain things... I’m so...”

Pascal lightly kisses his hair.

“Believe me, Kip—it feels a lot better to have someone checking in on you even when they don’t have to than someone who pays no attention to you one way or another. It shows you think about them.”

“Maybe it did for like, the first week or so, but I know it’s just been annoying since then.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know it bugs them.”

“You‘re not annoying.”

“I’ve heard them say it,” Kip says. 

That makes Pascal pause. Kip suddenly feels a little tight in the chest, as though he’s said something he shouldn’t have, like it was a secret. He didn’t really mean to actually say it aloud and hadn’t quite realized that it weighed on him a little bit more heavily than simple embarrassment.

“I know they don’t...I know it didn’t really matter,” he fumbles to add. “They weren’t being mean, I just...overheard stuff a few times. It wasn’t that bad. I could just tell they—“

He grimaces and squeezes his eyes shut a moment.

“God,” he sighs. “How do you deal with the fact that any conversation with me could veer into the direction of all my issues like, five times over? Is it exhausting? I don’t mean to be so self-centered... Thank you for being so good at listening, though...”

“No,” Pascal says earnestly. “No, babe, it’s the other way. I like to talk about things like this, it like...it gets me kinda more energized? Like, yeah, it’s a bit of work to talk about this stuff, and talking about something casual isn’t the same kind of effort, but it’s effort I like giving—it’s good. I mean, it can be a challenge, but I’m completely up for it. And it means you trust me, and I get to help you, and man—if I can make you feel better about anything? I love that so much. You’re not making trouble for me at all, believe me. I love that you trust me enough to tell me about difficult things. It means a lot to me when we get to talk about it.”

Kip looks over at him.

“...I guess if you didn’t dump me back in the day, I don’t have to worry about any of my shit being too much for you, huh,” he laughs.

“Aw, don’t worry about anything you could ever have to talk about,” Pascal says. “I don’t care if it’s literally life and death or if it’s something you don’t think even deserves to be a problem. I love that you talk to me about anything you choose to talk with me about.”

“...I know the feeling,” Kip says, putting his hand on Pascal’s arm where it rests against his bicep. “I love that I get to hear and talk with you about your problems just as much as I love that I get to hear the good stuff. I guess I’m only insecure out of habit really...I mean, I know it’s not bad to talk about bad stuff. Like, you can tell a total stranger about something nice that’s just happened to you, right? And, well...you could tell them about the bad stuff, too, but usually you don’t. I appreciate that I can hear about all kinds of things from you, and I wouldn’t tell you about mine if I didn’t love you and know you love me as much as you do. I’m just annoyed at myself for apparently managing to make anything about my problems. ...My problem of being annoying.”

He laughs.

“You’re not annoying.” Pascal leans over and kisses his hair.

“I am,” he grumbles. “I believe you when you say I don’t annoy you. But you’re special.”

“People love you,” Pascal murmurs.

“I know they do... And you’ve all stuck with me for years, through all this shit. But I’m not all that much fun, especially compared to them—that’s just a fact.”

“You’re fantastic,” Pascal says. “And anybody who’s lucky enough to really get to know you knows you’re a lot of fun, even if it’s not as obvious at first. But, like, it’s okay that you’re not happy all the time and that a lot of things are a big deal to you. People don’t make their friends only act fun all the time and pretend to be cool with everything they’re cool with—not real ones, anyway. And Roy and Molly are real friends for you.”

“Yeah...they are.”

“So are you.”

Kip laughs.

“You know me too well,” he says. “...I said that to Eno, earlier. For answering aloud what I’d been thinking, too.”

Pascal laughs as well.

“They love you, but if it’s been bothering you, I think you should bring it up.”

“I know,” Kip sighs. “Eno was saying that kind of thing too. That I need to talk to Wallace. Because I haven’t been, and, shockingly, that’s not making things less awkward. He was saying how...for me and my whole brand of issues, it’s probably more important that I worry about managing to talk to him at all than worry about saying the right thing or accomplishing something... Cuz I told him I was worried about doing that thing where I just...avoid a problem for so long that facing it isn’t even an option anymore. But where I do that with a person and end up losing touch completely. And the longer I avoid something the more impossible it gets to stop, so...it’s probably better that I just say some nonsense like, ‘Hey, haha, I’m embarrassed and feel awkward around you and I don’t think there’s a solution but I wanted to say that I don’t know what to say.’”

“Mm...that’s probably true,” Pascal says slowly. “But, you know, I don’t even think you have to even talk about how you’re feeling if you don’t want to. I think it’d be just as good if you went over and sat down and talked about the weather with him for half an hour. If that’d make it seem less difficult to you...talking about anything would be good, if you have to work your way up to talking about more serious things.”

“You think?”

“Sure. It’s like you say—it’s about giving yourself the chance to talk to him at all, not say certain things or feel like you necessarily solved something.”

“Hmm...yeah, I do think the hard part is mostly going to be the, like, being in the same room and getting words out. That’s what I’m least sure I’m even capable of... Who knows. But I just want to make sure I don’t...I don’t forget what he actually means to me. But maybe I need to readjust my ideas of who he’s going to be in my life, now that we’re just...regular people with regular lives again.”

He sighs.

“Who knows,” he repeats.

“I don’t,” Pascal says. “I don’t think anyone does. But you just need to talk with him, doesn’t really matter about what. Since you’re worried about getting too distant to talk at all, right?”

Kip leans his thigh against Pascal’s. 

“Kinda...” he says. “It’s like...I’m worried that if I keep being so intimidated by this, my whole avoidance of Wallace will become this...thing, and whenever I think of him it’ll feel like crap instead of feeling like...what I actually think of him.”

He raises his heel slightly off the ground to rub his knee against Pascal’s. 

“It’s kind of funny that, uh, pretty much the first thing Wallace talked to me about after the whole mess was that he thought we should get together and talk because...he was afraid I was gonna avoid him for too long and get stuck and never stop...”

He runs his hand through the hair on the back of his head and laughs.

“I got annoyed because I didn’t exactly want to be confronted with anything at the moment but...here I am a few weeks later, basically repeating everything he said. I guess everybody knows me too well.”

“...Huh,” Pascal says thoughtfully. “Well, it’s alright. It’s just as important to take the time you need and go at the right pace for yourself. Back then, having all that space was what would help you. And now you’re wanting to talk, so hey, no harm done.”

Kip laughs.

“God, I need you to follow me around all day and say stuff like that,” he jokes. “So I’m not as embarrassed that everybody has way more sense than me, while I’m just, y’know. Making everything more difficult than it needs to be.”

“You have as much sense as anybody,” Pascal counters. “You’re just like everyone else—we all react to stuff different and look at our lives in our own way. There’s nothing wrong with you. Anybody making you feel like there is is the one who’s wrong.”

“Nnh.” Kip turns and presses his forehead against Pascal’s shoulder. “You’re sweet. And you’re so thoughtful. About everything, all the time.”

“Aw...”

“You are.”

“You’d know,” Pascal says. “I like how much you think about everything.”

“I overthink stuff, maybe.”

“Mm...I stand by my opinion.”

Kip reaches his hand up by his shoulder, feeling for Pascal’s arm, which, as soon as the backs of his fingers brushes against it, curls around his palm.

“I’m getting better about some stuff, I think,” Kip murmurs, eyes moving from faint star to star. “Or at least at trying to keep myself from like...taking that overthinking and turning it into making other people...deal with the standards set by my anxieties...”

He rubs a thumb around the circumference of a sucker.

“I mean, you know, I used to try to get on Roy’s case about wanting to be a part of anything that happens on the street,” he says quietly. “I knew it was useless, but I...I guess I thought I HAD to lecture everybody, I had to try because of how much danger I saw and how scared it made me... And I’d harp on Kate for wanting to catch wherever things were the most stirred up, tell her it was too much to expect that to always be okay, and Molly for wanting to be more involved in things around Berkley, and...”

He sighs quietly.

“I mean, you of all people know that I...I take it too far, being worried and cautious and everything. I know everybody knows I’ve always been scared for all of us...but why would anyone appreciate me interfering with their life and trying to hold them back from the way they want to do things. They all know what’s going on. What would even be the point of bothering them about it anyways. It’s a joke to pretend that keeping your head down and avoiding certain things will save anyone.”

“Kip.”

“Mm?”

As soon as Kip turns his head, Pascal catches his mouth with a soft kiss. Kip’s breath halts, his eyes close reflexively, and he presses back into it.

A moment later Pascal pulls away. Kip follows after him a millimeter or two before opening his eyes to see his gentle, lovely smile. The corner of Kip’s mouth flickers upwards.

“Yeah?” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” Pascal answers. 

“...I’m sorry I was like that to you, too,” Kip murmurs, and he looks back across the street. “I know you get why I did it. But I was still...I made you feel like you wouldn’t even have the option of coming here if you talked to me about it.”

“No, I knew you wouldn’t actually try to force me to do anything one way or another,” Pascal says. “I guess it was more like the way it was for you about leaving. I figured that I couldn’t make myself do it if you told me you wanted me to stay where I was. And I couldn’t really stand the thought of hurting you like that, even though...even though I did anyways.”

Kip sighs again.

“I can’t...” He bites his lip and glances upwards. “I don’t blame you for it. And I like how it turned out, so how can I complain? We were just caught in a mess, and...”

He pulls his hands into his lap to twist his fingers.

“I can’t be mad at you for wanting to avoid telling me you were moving here—I mean, god,” Kip laughs. “I could never be mad at anyone for avoiding anything. I do it worse than anybody, all the time. I know exactly how it feels to find yourself stuck.”

“I’m...” Pascal exhales slowly. “It was still messed up that I made Roy and Molly keep it a secret from you. I know you understand the why of that too, but it’s...that was different than just me not telling you. And the only reason they didn’t tell you was because of me. Just because I was too nervous to talk to you again in that situation...I told them I didn’t think I was ready. They weren’t too thrilled about it, but they...I don’t know, maybe they could tell it probably wasn’t the best time for us to be put back in touch.”

“Well...it’s not even like you were wrong. I WAS upset when I found out you were here.”

“I know.”

Kip glances over; Pascal’s face is a little flushed. Kip rests a hand on Pascal’s thigh and rubs gently, slowly.

“I just needed time,” he says softly. “I still loved you and wished we were still together; I never stopped. That’s why it was so hard to see you again. And...how much it scared me to have you so close.”

“...Yeah. I’m still sorry you had to find out like that. Running into me and all. And after Roy and Molly knew.”

“It was an accident,” Kip murmurs. “It wasn’t your fault. Wallace didn’t have a clue, and...well, like I said, Roy and Molly were never very interested in keeping off Berkley. That was kind of inevitable. I think everybody knew you were there but me.”

“Oh god, really?”

Kip huffs a laugh and shoots a smile over at Pascal, patting his knee. 

“Yeah, I was pretty much the only one who tried to keep to our little corner as much as I did...and everybody talks to each other, and knows when stuff’s happening, and knows where stuff is, and everybody knew I wasn’t supposed to know, and that I was too much of a mess to know yet...”

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t’ve created that kind of a situation around you...”

“You didn’t know. It’s kinda different from D. Things are more...just more connected. Everybody knows about stuff.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Nah.” Kip turns and loops his arms around Pascal’s waist, rests his head against his shoulder. “It’s alright.”

“But...did it feel bad to find out that all these other people already knew?”

Kip bites his lip, presses his forehead a bit harder against Pascal.

“Yeah, a little,” he sighs. “I was embarrassed and it made me feel...kinda ridiculous that people were seeing me and knowing something like that about me while I didn’t have the first clue about it...especially since I lived with Roy and Molly and we see each other every day and they knew for weeks before I did and...”

He sighs more heavily.

“I was only angry about it at first. I understood why they didn’t tell, and why you didn’t tell, but I had to be angry, I was embarrassed and still shaken up about things and...ugh. I wasn’t that mad about it for too long. There was too much going on for that to feel like that big a deal for more than a few days. But it all just made me feel like...I don’t know. I dunno. I was scared and I felt like...everyone was thinking I was stupid for being scared and...ugh, it just...”

He buries his face against Pascal’s chest for a moment, squeezing his waist.

“I don’t blame you for it or anything,” he mumbles into Pascal’s shirt. “There was never gonna be a painless way for us to, uh, be reintroduced. And I wish I wasn’t so afraid that I made people have to...like, adjust their whole lives around me. I don’t know. I’m trying to have a different approach. I don’t want to be bothering them anymore or feeling like...somebody they have to sneak around, like I’m trying to enforce these rules I make up for everyone, or whatever. I’m not gonna accomplish anything by bugging everybody—I’m trying to only say something when it feels necessary, y’know? But it’s not as though I can know ahead of time when it’s necessary or not... That’s the whole problem, I guess.”

“I think it’s okay if you talk about it whenever you’re worried about something,” Pascal says.

“Yeah, but you like me more than most people,” Kip laughs. “I’ll talk to you about anything I’m thinking. But it’s different when it’s just like...you’re trying to hang out and do the things you like to do and I’m over here telling people to text every other hour and be careful with the mostly-human areas and why don’t we all stay home and repaint the windowsill instead.”

“Aw, just cuz you’re careful doesn’t make you boring,” Pascal says. “It’s not like the riskier something is, the more fun it is, and that’s all.”

“Sure, but I just...ruin the mood too often, and I annoy people and make them feel like they should just do certain stuff without me, and...” He sighs. “It’s like I wanna feel like I can create this safe little world where nobody will get hurt if we all play by the rules I make up, and that’s just not even possible anyways. I’m trying to let go of that. I’m trying to accept that, just—it’s all so beyond anything like where you are what you do and who’s looking out for you and who cares about you, and...”

He pushes his head a bit harder against Pascal’s chest. Pascal tightens the arm around him, pulls him in close.

“I’m trying to be less...” He pauses to take a breath. “Everyone I’m friends with always knew what’s been going on. I followed all my own rules about trying to keep safe, and hell, look where that got me. I’m trying to get out of the habit of...pressuring everybody into meeting my personal standards. If anyone is actually in danger, it’s gonna mostly all be a matter of total chance that’s out of our control. And if they aren’t, I’m just making a nuisance of myself.”

He grits his teeth and closes his eyes to focus on the feeling of Pascal pulling him in closer, the slight rippling of his arm as he shifts it.

“It’s funny how things used to be,” Kip murmurs. “I’ll like, run into people I used to go to school with or something, and we just...of course there’s nothing connecting us anymore, and I know I must seem so different... I used to have fun with a lot of people back then, we’d all just hang out and mess around and...” 

He sighs slowly.

“Oh, well.”

“It’s okay. I didn’t really keep any friends from school, either,” Pascal says, kissing the top of Kip’s head. “It’s not like I didn’t have any, but I guess I was just on the sidelines of every friend group, and when things got shaken up...nothing really held.”

Kip slides his hand across Pascal’s chest, up to his shoulder.

“But I’ve found a few people here and there anyways,” Pascal murmurs. “Including you guys. And honestly, since the exact way my life went led to me standing in the right place at the right time to meet you, I don’t mind that things went the way that they did. I wish they’d been better, of course, but I made it through, and now I’m here, trying to run my own place, being with you...”

He leans his cheek against the top of Kip’s head and sighs gently.

“And I’m fine with all of it because I got to be here for you when you needed it,” Pascal says. “Even if you hadn’t wanted to be with me again after I moved here...I don’t think I could ever have regretted being with you. Those years we already had are so important to me. And to think we have more of them is just...”

He trails off, as though there are no words.

Kip feels it in his chest, and tilts his head up and kisses Pascal’s throat. He sits up and looks Pascal in the face, glancing between his beautiful eyes and reaching out to pet some hair to the side simply for the sake of the contact.

“I’m staying with you,” Kip says quietly. “You know that, right?”

Pascal smiles faintly and nods.

“Okay. Good. Because I am. I promise.”

Pascal nods again, face red, and Kip leans in and kisses his lips, holding it for a few heartbeats.

“Hey,” he says gently, pulling away. “I wanna watch the sunset a while longer, but...after that, you wanna go to your place?”

“...I thought you had to open tomorrow?”  
Pascal says hesitantly.

“I do,” Kip confirms. “But I can just get up half an hour earlier than I would’ve, it wouldn’t be a big deal. I mean, if you had plans to do stuff, it’s cool, I just like hanging out over there, you don’t have to entertain me. But if you need some room, that’s alright too...I only wanna come over if it doesn’t mess up your night—“

“No, god no, I’d always rather have you over than not, are you kidding? Like, I was gonna do some laundry and maybe wash some dishes and the bathroom, that’s not very fun, but...”

“You don’t need to be fun,” Kip says. “I wouldn’t exactly be doing anything more thrilling if I went back to our place, anyways. I could help you with some of it, I wouldn’t mind at all. And, hey, you know, maybe you’d have something to look forward to when you’re done, and all.”

“Mm... Some tea?” 

“Yeah—that’d be great,” Kip laughs. “Make me my personal blend, please.”

—

“Sorry I didn’t put everything into a neater pile,” Pascal apologizes, stacking up some bowls. “There’s soap in the cupboard, there...”

“It’s already a lot neater than what the three of us can build up sometimes.” Kip waves it off with his hand. “This is no sweat.”

“Thanks for helping,” Pascal says, stooping slightly to peck him on the cheek. “I appreciate it.”

Kip grins at the brush of Pascal’s scruff and the kindness in his voice.

“Mmhm, you’re more than welcome.” He rolls his shoulders back and turns on the faucet.

“I’m gonna take my laundry down, okay?” Pascal says over the running water. “I’ll be back up in a minute.”

“Okay.”

When the door closes and the apartment is quiet, Kip doesn’t feel awkward or slightly nervous or out of place. He simply feels at home. He takes Pascal’s dishes from earlier days, one by one, the mugs and the saucers and bowls, remnants of meals eaten alone, and slips them into the warm water.

—

“How’re you doing in there?” Kip calls as he towels off the inside of a teacup.

“Ah...” Pascal’s voice floats from the bathroom on the other side of the wall. “It’s going okay. I suck at holding rags, but that’s nothing new.”

“Aw, babe.”

“I’m gonna go down in a couple minutes to switch the clothes to the dryer,” Pascal says. Kip hears him working a scrub brush. 

“Okay,” Kip says. “I’m almost done with these—I can fold them for you, if you like?”

“Oh, love, you don’t have to...”

“Nah, I like helping you. Besides, you know how I like warm laundry for my hands.”

“I won’t stop you,” Pascal laughs. “As long as you really don’t mind.”

“It’s cool. I like being here for this stuff, really. It kinda feels like before.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

Kip takes a cup he used to use all the time and sets it on a shelf in the cabinet. He hums quietly and sings under his breath and pushes his hands into the heat of the water.

—

Kip smooths his hands overtop the stack of freshly-folded laundry. He hears Pascal shut off the bathroom sink; moments later he walks into the living room. Kip smiles at him from the couch.

“You done?” Kip asks.

“Yeah.”

“Awesome...I just put these back in the basket, I didn’t wanna try putting them in the drawers and end up organizing them wrong, or something.”

He lifts the basket off the cushion beside him as he speaks, setting it on the floor instead.

“Oh, that’s fine,” Pascal assures him. “Thank you for doing that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Pascal crosses the room and sinks down onto the couch next to Kip with a long exhale.

“You okay?” Kip asks.

“Yeah. It just feels really good to sit down somewhere comfortable.”

“Mm...this IS a pretty solid couch, especially for getting it secondhand and all.”

He watches Pascal lean back and close his eyes.

“Working all day must wear you out,” Kip says. “You haven’t really gotten to rest since, what—like, around one o’clock or something?”

“It was around then, yeah,” Pascal says. “It can get rough by closing sometimes.”

“Aw...you ought to have a nice chair for the desk in the back or something,” Kip says. “So you can get some chances to sit down and actually give your body a break throughout the day.”

“Heh, yeah, that’d be nice...”

“Mm... Lie down and I’ll rub your back?”

“Oh man, d’you wanna?”

Kip moves off the couch so that Pascal can maneuver his way onto his stomach, lying across its length, head on a pillow and ankles propped up against the arm. Kip lifts his leg across Pascal’s body and straddles him, settling his weight over Pascal’s thighs.

He leans over and brushes his fingers through Pascal’s hair, scratching lightly at the nape of his neck. Pascal breathes a quiet, happy whimper and Kip smiles.

He just rubs his palms over the expanse of Pascal’s back, following every slope and dip, moving his hands slowly and with middling pressure. After a once-over, he lifts the hem of Pascal’s shirt and drags the fabric up until it’s bunched around his chest; Pascal rocks slightly onto his side and pulls the shirt up over his head and off his arms.

Kip grows slightly heated just at the sight of Pascal taking off his shirt, at the shifting muscles and bare skin of his back as he resettles against the cushions. He slowly lowers his hands down to either side of Pascal’s spine. His skin is soft and so warm that Kip wonders if his own skin feels cold to Pascal—but with no sign of discomfort from his boyfriend, Kip begins sliding his hands across Pascal’s body again.

It feels so good to touch him like this, as always. The contact is relaxing, and the signals of contentment from Pascal are deeply gratifying. Kip begins to drag his nails lightly over Pascal’s skin, in circles and waves, back and forth, occasionally pausing to knead the heel of his palm or his knuckles into a spot that it seems could use some extra attention. Pascal gives soft sighs at the feeling of Kip’s fingertips running across his back, and Kip knows to linger in an area when his touch receives a breathy hum.

Kip is already pleasantly and quietly turned on when his massage of the top of Pascal’s shoulders earns a low whine. He feels a response that goes straight to his dick. His hands still momentarily. 

“Are you sore here?” he asks quietly, putting in a bit more pressure. He moves the massage inwards to get at the base of Pascal’s neck. 

“Yeah a bit,” Pascal breathes. “God, that feels nice, push a little more, maybe...”

Kip digs his thumbs into the muscles just on either side of Pascal’s neck and gives a hard, rolling massage. Pascal’s soft sigh of a moan makes Kip press his hips down just a little harder against Pascal’s thighs. He’s been anticipating sex again for a good solid hour, and his buildup is definitely intensifying through all this.

But he doesn’t want his libido to interrupt. He wants to let Pascal rest after a stretch of working and walking and cleaning that started over half a day ago, and he wants to knead away a little of his fatigue, and wants to at least let Pascal enjoy this treatment a while longer, even if his efforts don’t make any lasting impact on whatever aches Pascal’s muscles are holding. So he closes his eyes and focuses on the rhythm of his movements, leaning into it to give Pascal that much more pressure, trying to exhale away the edge of his arousal. 

After a few minutes he sits more upright to give his arms a break, instead moving his nails lightly all across Pascal’s back in broad swirls and sweeps. Sometimes he pauses to scratch harder at just one spot, the small of his back, the center of his spine, the perimeter of his shoulderblades, and delights in how Pascal laughs under his breath and pushes into it.

Kip leans down and kisses the back of his neck, the edge of his cheek.

“Mmm...” Pascal hums. “Are you getting hard?”

“Ah—“ Kip blushes and reflexively rolls his crotch away from Pascal’s ass. “Uh...a little, yeah. Sorry...”

“No, it’s okay, I like it. It feels really nice.”

“Oh. I...”

Pascal reaches back and slips his arm around the base of Kip’s waist, pulling him in until Kip’s erection is pushed unabashedly firm up against the softness of Pascal’s butt. He experimentally shifts his hips forward in a subtle grind. Pascal presses back just as gently, and it gives Kip a fantastic shiver low in his gut. He bites his lip and breathes in and smooths his hands up the plane of Pascal’s back and gently rocks against his ass a few times.

He feels more relaxed this way, being able to squeeze his knees against Pascal’s sides and grind on him at a lazy pace, focusing better on what his hands are doing while letting his hips just do whatever feels good.

“Oh, this is nice,” Pascal sighs contentedly. “This is so nice...”

Kip smiles to himself and digs his knuckles into Pascal’s shoulders.

—

“C’mere,” Pascal murmurs, holding his arms out.

Kip climbs into his embrace, laughs under his breath, aligns himself against Pascal’s front so his head rests on his shoulder and the edge of his ribs don’t dig into Pascal’s. He nuzzles his face against Pascal’s throat as Pascal’s wide, heavy arms loop around his back and rest there. Kip rolls his pelvis against Pascal’s thigh, still half-hard, and presses his own leg to the erection he can feel through Pascal’s sweatpants, shifting his knee so he rubs against it.

“C’mere,” Pascal repeats, and tugs gently against Kip’s back. 

Kip puts his hands on the cushion and lifts himself slightly, letting Pascal guide him forward the couple of inches needed to comfortably bring their mouths together. Pascal immediately sets the pace, sucking Kip’s lower lip before running his tongue over Kip’s teeth—Kip opens his mouth and Pascal brushes their tongues together as he scoops an arm beneath Kip’s ass, grinding more heavily up against him.

“Oh—“ Kip murmurs in a quick break for air. “Pascal...”

It still feels so good to be able to say his name.

They find each other’s mouths again and he nips at Pascal’s lip, then lets Pascal suck on his tongue. Pascal presses his own tongue against Kip’s teeth and gently bites on his lip, pinching just slightly.

“Mm, what would you like to do?” Pascal asks; his voice is enchantingly textured and low.

“I wanna fuck you,” Kip answers at once, scraping his fingernails down Pascal’s shoulders. “But first, I want you to fuck me. But before all of that I wanna keep doing this for a while.”

“Mm—“ Pascal kisses him warmly, arms gathering him in. “Then we’ll do it just like you want.”

A little jolt of anticipation goes through Kip, he squeezes his grip on Pascal’s body and humps him a little more aggressively.

After a few minutes of making out, Kip lifts his head slightly to breathe deeply, eyes closed. He opens them again at the touch of Pascal’s arm at his mouth, looks down at Pascal gazing at his lips.

“So blue,” Pascal murmurs wonderingly. “You’re gorgeous.”

Kip parts his lips and slips the first inch of Pascal’s arm into his mouth, nudges his tongue half-reflexively into the concavity of the suckers. Pascal laughs and flushes and Kip gives his arm a suck and a swipe of the tongue before sliding it back out through his lips. 

“So are you,” he mumbles, sliding his fingers through the hair on Pascal’s chest. “Wish you could see yourself.”

“I’m fine with not being able to if it means I get to look at you.”

Kip has to smile and blush, and makes up for it by flicking Pascal on the collarbone.

“Mm, well, at least I can tell you how handsome you are,” Kip says. Pascal’s slightly heavy breathing pushes against his stomach with a steady, comfortable rhythm. “Like, how your eyes are a lovely color and you give such sweet looks that anybody with any sense would fall in love with you. And your mouth looks as nice to kiss as it is, and even more when you smile. You’ve got the, like, perfect unshaved look, just the perfect length, it drives me crazy sometimes how much I wanna kiss it to feel it against my face, just start by one ear and kiss all the way along your jaw to the other one...”

He strokes the back of his finger against Pascal’s chin.

“You’ve got this great shape to the sides of your face, too,” Kip murmurs. “This really subtle curve to your cheekbones, I always see it and wanna put my nose right there and kiss your cheek, then kiss your nose up to your forehead...”

He stares for a moment at the path he described, vaguely noticing Pascal staring back at him, then leans in and does it for real, pressing more than a few intent, lingering kisses to Pascal’s right cheek, his hand cupping the left one, and kisses the tip of his nose, ghosting some quick kisses up the bridge, planting a firmer one between his eyebrows, then a slow and soft one in the center of his forehead, breathing in the scent of his hair and shampoo.

“You just have a face I wanna kiss so bad,” Kip says against his skin before lifting his head again. “And touch, and watch for ages while you talk. I just can’t get enough of it, you know?”

Pascal reddens nicely.

“And you have the cutest blush,” Kip adds, satisfied to see the remark elicit a deeper one.

“Not as good as yours,” Pascal says quietly.

Kip breathes a laugh and glances back and forth between Pascal’s eyes and his lips before smoothly dipping his head down to tuck his nose under Pascal’s jaw, pushing a kiss to his warm skin. He parts his lips to let his teeth slide against his neck, biting gently, detaching to place another heavy kiss an inch away, another, another.

The quiet answering sighs from Pascal convey enough enjoyment and unaffected arousal that Kip could be happy even if they left off with this before settling in for a night’s sleep. But it’s even better that they’re warming up.

—

“Tell me what you’d like,” Pascal murmurs in Kip’s ear. He shoves his arm down the front of Kip’s pants, squeezing him, and Kip gasps loudly and leans in further towards Pascal, throat pressed against his shoulder, chests rubbing together. 

He grabs Pascal’s hips.

“I wan—“ He cuts himself off with a sharp moan and squeezes his eyes shut and bucks rapidly against the soft underside of Pascal’s arm, rubbing his cock against the suckers. 

Pascal kisses Kip’s cheek, his jaw, his neck, sucks and works his skin between his teeth, and rubs enthusiastically at his dick. Kip’s legs twitch and he leans back in Pascal’s embrace and slides his hands around to grip Pascal’s ass. 

With one more hard suck, Pascal pulls off of Kip’s throat and kisses the hickey.

“What should I do?” Pascal asks, voice low and close and seductive. “What do you want? Tell me and I’ll do it.”

Kip pants and looks up at the ceiling and digs his fingers into his hold on Pascal’s butt. Pascal pushes Kip’s pants further down.

“I...”

“Don’t overthink it. Just say what you want, whatever you want,” Pascal murmurs, nipping the edge of Kip’s ear, kissing his temple. “Say what you want and I’ll do it.”

“Suck my dick,” Kip says breathlessly. “I want you—suck my dick but don’t make me cum and then—“

Pascal leans Kip further back, arm spooling around his erection, beginning a slow pump. He presses his lips to the base of Kip’s throat, then to the top of his chest.

“Okay. And then what do I do?” he mumbles against Kip’s skin, breath warm, lips soft, chin scratchy. Kip moans and thrusts and scrape his nails up Pascal’s back to bury his hands in his hair.

“Nnh... A-and then eat my ass—“ Kip’s voice is strained and he bucks harder into Pascal’s arm just from saying it. “And then I wanna be on all fours and you’re—on your knees behind me—and I want you to fuck me as hard as you want and jerk me off—make me cum while your dick’s inside me an-and then keep fucking me till you cum. Th-that’s what I want. Do that. Please.”

He arches up and pulls Pascal’s head down harder; Pascal drags his mouth to Kip’s nipple, teasing it with his tongue.

“Mm...” Pascal plants a kiss and rubs his cheek against Kip’s skin. “Sounds good to me.” 

And he bends further over Kip, leaning him all the way back to the mattress, and kisses his way down Kip’s stomach.

—

Pascal does a fantastic job with him, sucking his dick with confident enthusiasm, bringing him so close to orgasm that Kip squirms against the bed trying to hold it off, sure that he won’t be able to, trying to give warning, only for Pascal to pull away and leave Kip stunned that he got so close without actually climaxing—then a few breathless seconds later Pascal slips his mouth over the head of Kip’s leaking erection and again brings him right up to the edge. Kip cries out and accidentally kicks, Pascal pulls off again, Kip whines and gasps and clutches at the sheets—Pascal repeats it just a few more times before burying his face in Kip’s stomach and kissing it playfully, bringing an arm up between his legs to cup him with a gentle squeeze. Kip pants and groans his ache at the lack of release; Pascal murmurs comfortingly to him, pushing himself up to bite and suck on Kip’s throat while grinding against him, making Kip cling to his arm and back and moan with every other exhale.

Pascal pushes Kip’s knees all the way to his shoulders, and Kip starts feeling shivery butterflies in his stomach before Pascal even makes another move.

When Pascal does move, putting his arms against Kip’s the bottom of thighs and bringing his head down to Kip’s ass, shoving his mouth against him, Kip’s breath catches in the middle of a sharp groan and he freezes, tilting his hips just barely to press up towards Pascal. The gentle scratch of facial hair, the warmth and textured drag of his tongue teasing him with a mix of quick and prolonged strokes, quiet but passionate moans from Pascal—with the buildup from the blowjob still electric inside him, it’s all enough to drive Kip wild.

Pascal only encourages him the more worked up he gets, and eventually coaxes him to roll over, climbing up onto the mattress with him and arranging him on his elbows and knees. Kip lets his hands slide forward, face sinking into the pillow, rocking back on his knees until Pascal takes hold of his thighs and presses his tongue almost inside him. Kip swears and cries Pascal’s name and has to free up one arm to reach down and stroke himself; Pascal rims him with increasing pressure until finally Kip begs him to go ahead and stretch him out.

It’s a smooth transition from Pascal fucking Kip with his arm to kneeling behind him and rubbing his lube-covered erection up and down the rut of his ass, making Kip moan and grind back and breathlessly assure Pascal that he’s ready.

“You want it?” Pascal asks quietly. Just hearing his low, heavy voice goes straight to Kip’s dick.

“Yes,” Kip answers immediately. “I want it—fuck me, Pasc—“

Pascal leans in close; Kip feels the thick base of his hot, slicked cock pressing against his ass.

“I wanna give you something really good to think about next time you’re by yourself in bed.”

“Aah, fuck—“ Kip breathes. “Fuck me—“

“Does that mean you’re ready?”

“Y-yeah.”

Kip squeezes his eyes shut as Pascal lines them up.

“Okay, deep breath...”

Pascal puts an arm on Kip’s waist to feel his inhale.

“And let it out.”

Pascal smoothly presses forward as Kip breathes out, and Kip pushes back, and the first inch slides into him in one go.

As always, Pascal makes sure to take things one step at a time, and Kip appreciates the care taken despite the impatience of his arousal. Soon enough Kip’s basking in the familiar pressure inside himself as Pascal rocks the last inch in, holding them still for half a minute to catch their breath.

Pascal’s initial strokes are shallow and slow, and even as he lengthens and quickens them, he makes sure to pause sometimes while fully pushed inside Kip, letting them both enjoy the feeling and catch their breath for a second. It’s all perfect to Kip, the beautiful aching pool of arousal sitting low in his stomach, Pascal’s arms holding him up, the pleasure of feeling filled with Pascal’s dick, the anticipation of really hitting their stride and being fucked into the mattress all the way to a headspinning orgasm.

Pascal doesn’t need much encouragement to intensify his pace, but even when he settles into a nice, steady rhythm, Kip shoves himself firmly back against each thrust.

“You want it harder tonight, huh?” Pascal asks.

“Yeah!” Kip breathes. “Harder, Pasc. Please.”

After just a few more thrusts, Kip switches from chants of “harder” to “yes” and lets his body go as relaxed as can be managed, save for the bare minimum needed to keep himself upright. He lets the power and rhythm of Pascal’s thrusts move them, his sole preoccupation the roiling pleasure within his body that’s growing more blessedly overwhelming by the moment.

He hears intermittent moans and breathy whimpers from Pascal over the beat of their hips and his own breathing in his ears, it’s surprisingly soft in contrast to the forcefulness with which he’s fucking Kip. Kip finds himself giving little cries of mostly coherent words, voice throaty and a little rough, he hears himself distantly: yes—oh god—yes—Pascal—like that—right there—Pas—fuck me—please—please—

It almost feels like it’s going to go beyond what his body can contain, like the pleasure and all the sensations are going to overload his nerves and be more than he can even process, and he’s completely fine with that. But then Pascal’s arm wraps around his cock, and he remembers that it’s not too much, that he gets to feel it all and gets to cum like this, and that it’s going to be as good as the whole of this, packed into a burst of pleasure and relief that just might knock him out. He pleads and eggs Pascal on accordingly, and Pascal seems to bear down on him because Kip all but collapses under it, everything stripped down to the essence of all that he’s feeling, filling his head with fireworks, reverberating through his shaking body. His voice seems to be doing his own thing, he doesn’t think he has it in himself for words anymore but he hears Pascal’s name in the mix anyway, he bucks almost involuntarily into the squeeze of Pascal’s arm.

He grabs at the pillow and shoves it against his face as he feels himself near his brink—then grabs at both Pascal’s arms, the one around his dick and the one stuck to his waist, kicking himself forward in desperation as it starts inside him, and then the peak is everything.

—

A blurry swirl of sensations gradually sharpens into kisses dropped along the back of his shoulders and Pascal’s voice quietly repeating his name.

Kip drags his head to the side.

“Mmhm?” he breathes.

“How’re you doing?” Pascal murmurs. Kip notices he’s keeping still.

“Good,” Kip mumbles. “I came.”

Pascal laughs quietly.

“I noticed,” he says.

“That was perfect,” Kip says simply, and weakly rocks back. “...C’mon, your turn. Keep fucking me.”

Pascal does, and Kip does his best to contribute and make it as good as possible, and it feels like so much that he almost can’t handle it—but he likes it, and it’s so worth it.

Hearing Pascal breathe his name, over and over, his groans growing louder and rougher until he can tell through the sound of his voice alone that Pascal can barely hold it together—Kip finds himself whining softly in response, clutching the sheets and headboard for leverage as he pushes back into every thrust.

Pascal leans so far into it that his hair brushes against Kip’s back, tickling slightly.

“Oh, Kip...”

Hearing Pascal say his name like that, weak and adoring, sends a lovely flutter through Kip’s chest. He arches his shoulders up to press against Pascal’s chest and tells him to cum.

Pascal’s breath catches with a whimper.

He bucks hard a few times and then pulls Kip’s whole body back hard as he shoves into him, and Kip holds completely still and squeezes around Pascal.

He feels the cum inside himself, hears the burst of pleasure in Pascal’s voice, and breathes out slowly as Pascal starts to relax against him.

“...Good?” Kip asks quietly. He reaches behind himself to put a hand against Pascal’s thigh, rubbing it gently.

Pascal is panting heavily, his body shaking slightly, still leaning a bit into Kip.

Kip closes his eyes and waits, and sure enough Pascal recovers himself enough to run an arm down Kip’s side before easing back, slowly pulling out.

Kip sinks down onto his stomach and scoots a little to one side, reaches out weakly towards Pascal. 

“Lie down,” he says, and pats the spot on the mattress right beside himself.

“Okay,” Pascal mumbles.

The mattress dips under Pascal’s weight as he lowers himself onto his back, shifting Kip a little bit in his direction. Kip nuzzles his face against the sheets and looks at Pascal with a happy sigh. Pascal turns his head and smiles back.

“Nice job,” Kip murmurs, brushing his fingers down Pascal’s shoulder. “You did good work there.”

“Yeah?” Pascal’s face is gorgeous, hair messy, a few streaks of sweat shining against his skin, cheeks still flushed. Kip does miss getting to look at it whenever he’s being fucked from behind.

“Heh—yeah. That was everything I wanted. Actually, even better—I hope it was just as good for you?”

Pascal breathes a laugh.

“It was amazing,” he says. “I love when I can give it to you that good.”

Kip bites his lip and gives a contented hum, putting an arm on Pascal’s chest to touch his face.

“Did you cum as good as I thought you did?” Pascal asks. He shifts to turn slightly more towards Kip.

Kip smiles and strokes his thumb along Pascal’s jaw.

“Uh-huh,” he says. “I could never manage to get that on my own.”

“I’m better than nothing, then?” Pascal teases.

Kip smirks and scratches gently behind Pascal’s ear.

“Better than anything,” he says, leaning in, kissing Pascal’s forehead. He pulls away a few millimeters. “...I missed this so much. I fuckin’ love it when you fuck me.” He kisses him again, between the eyebrows, and slides his hand to the back of Pascal’s head, massaging his fingers through his hair.

Pascal laughs quietly and when Kip pulls away, he sees Pascal giving him that look, the one like he’s somehow seeing every part of who Kip is, and loves it all. 

Kip lies his head down a few inches away from Pascal’s and looks back at him, at the incredible, wonderful person he loves so deeply.

He draws a heart on the back of Pascal’s neck.

“I love you so bad, Pasc,” he murmurs. “And I’m all sticky and hot. Any chance you wanna take a shower?”

Pascal smiles.

“Sure, I do.”

—

Kip stays in the shower a few minutes longer than Pascal, sitting down under the hot stream, bowing his head to bend his torso forward, then arching it all the way back. He rubs his legs and stretches them in a few different positions, and then simply relaxes for a few moments.

He takes care to towel himself off well, then sits on the bathmat in the warmth of the air while letting the fan run a bit longer. Going into the bedroom, he finds their clothes picked up from the floor, folded on the dresser, and Pascal lying comfortably back on the bed.

Kip perches on the edge of the bed and leans across Pascal, putting his head on Pascal’s shoulder and gently rubbing his chest.

“Feel okay?” he asks, leaning back up. He brushes the backs of his fingers down Pascal’s cheek.

“Yeah,” Pascal breathes, looking up at him. “I’m feeling good, actually.”

Kip smiles and presses a kiss to Pascal’s lips.

“Lie with me?” Pascal asks. “I’d feel even better if I get to cuddle you.”

Kip beams and climbs up onto the mattress beside him. He snuggles up against Pascal’s side; Pascal’s arm starts sliding across his waist the very moment they touch. Kip puts an arm across Pascal’s chest and his leg between Pascal’s and sighs happily, closing his eyes.

It’s as lovely as always to touch Pascal’s body, feel the slow rhythm of his breathing, his pulse gentle under Kip’s palm. Every tiny shift of their limbs rubs them together, Pascal’s skin is soft, he smells so good, he warms Kip with every point of contact. When Pascal turns his head and kisses Kip’s forehead, Kip feels the suckers laid across his stomach attach to him, and giggles quietly.

This is Kip’s favorite, just lying here in the arms of someone so wonderful who loves him so genuinely. He’s able to completely relax against the bed, it feels like he’s insulated from everything that isn’t this simple embrace, bodies together, sharing comfort.

It’s one of the few situations where Kip actually enjoys the fact that each moment stretches on and on.

“I’ve missed lying in bed with you.” Kip says, eyes still closed. His voice starts out so softly that it catches. “Even though the last time it happened was just days ago. It feels perfect. I want this all the time.”

“I miss it too,” Pascal murmurs back. “I love holding you. And waking up and feeling you here is just...it’s the best, nicest thing in the world.”

Kip kisses Pascal’s shoulder and strokes his arm.

“I love you, Pasc,” he whispers. “Things seem so much better just knowing I’m with you again.”

He opens his eyes after a moment, and Pascal smiles gently at him before shifting further onto his side; Kip tilts his head slightly to meet Pascal’s kiss. Pascal pulls back for a moment and presses their bodies closer, entangles them more thoroughly, and kisses Kip again.

“...Did you still wanna fuck me?” Pascal asks against Kip’s mouth. Kip’s fingers twitch against Pascal’s back. “Because if you do...I’m really down for it.”

“Sure, absolutely I do. After a little bit longer like this?” 

Pascal nuzzles his face into the crook of Kip’s neck, breath hot on Kip’s skin.

Kip closes his eyes and buries one hand in the hair at the base of Pascal’s head. 

—

Kip begins by kissing Pascal, then sliding on top of him and letting gravity press them together while he kisses Pascal’s chest and arms and face and neck. But before he can hardly get started on anything else, Pascal sits up and guides Kip to the edge of the bed, and Kip lets him.

Pascal spirals his arms around Kip’s thighs and wastes no time taking Kip’s dick into his mouth and sucking him. He’s indulgent but slow, neither sharpening Kip’s libido by withholding pleasure nor overwhelming him with any surge in his efforts. He keeps a perfect pace to steadily elevate Kip’s arousal until Kip can’t stay still, fidgeting and shifting restlessly, hands clutching and flexing and moving constantly from the bed to his own thighs to Pascal’s shoulders and hair and arms.

Kip lets out a low whine when Pascal finally starts to slow down; Pascal takes his whole length and sucks and then pulls back to gently suck on just the head, looking up at Kip. He slides it out through his lips with a parting flick of the tongue and smiles softly.

Kip has to stare back at him for a moment before remembering how to do things like move and speak again.

Kip has Pascal get back on the bed and lie on his back while he crawls over to retrieve a condom from the nightstand. Pascal settles comfortably with a contented sigh; Kip looks over at him as he rolls the condom on and Pascal smiles, his expression warm, his posture completely relaxed.

Kip puts a pillow under Pascal’s hips and spreads his knees out to position his legs beneath Pascal’s. He takes his time, he wants Pascal to be able to remain relaxed after their previous athletic round of sex after cleaning the bathroom and carrying laundry up and down stairs after going on a walk after an entire long day of work. He wants Pascal to be completely comfortable, to just lie back and enjoy being given the kind of pleasure he deserves.

Kip is more than eager—he’s already imagining leaning over Pascal’s body, putting his head beside Pascal’s, hooking his arms under Pascal’s shoulders and holding on to the back of his neck, his hair, fucking him, feeling each breath, hearing each moan. His fingers twitch slightly. But he wants to take his time. He wants this to be gentle and relaxed.

He slowly but steadily strokes Pascal’s erection while grinding against his ass, stroking his thighs, massaging his hips, rubbing his chest. He spends a while getting enough lube between them, being patient and deliberate. When he starts pushing into Pascal, he gives the first inch or so in one smooth, easy thrust, but follows it with gentle nudges of less than an inch each time, at the pace of their steady exhales.

He keeps his eyes fixed on Pascal’s face. He wants to hold Pascal’s gaze, see all the little subtleties of his expression.

With his hips pushed flush against Pascal’s ass, Kip leans in, scoots his knees and elbows and knees forward until he’s leaning across Pascal, close enough to kiss him. He props himself up and presses a little harder against Pascal—Pascal sighs happily and looks up at him with a slight, lopsided smile. 

“I love you,” Kip says seriously. His chest feels filled with shivering warmth. “Pascal...I really love you.”

He leans in further and they kiss, it’s so good, so sweet and easy. He slides his hands over Pascal’s chest, he sets his hips into a steady, gentle roll. Pascal wraps his arms around his back. 

They’re so close, pressed together, building and sharing warmth and contact and intimacy and pleasure—Kip loves this so deeply. He gets to feel absolutely right, like he belongs here, he’s wanted, desired, he’s perfect, nothing he’s doing falls short or disappoints. He slides a hand into the hair at the base of Pascal’s head and deepens the kiss.

Pascal’s response to the smooth, gentle rhythm that Kip sets is lovely. He rocks back but lets Kip lead, the weight of his arms helping to hold Kip close. His breathing is heavy but not labored, Kip can hear it and feel it, warm and steady, pushing against his stomach, washing against his jaw.

If Kip can ever be proud of anything, it’s the way Pascal says his name, soft and full of such desire, like he’s some vision or fantasy come to life, perfect. Nothing else can make him so wholly satisfied with himself, something so good that he’s so solely responsible for, the only thing causing this moment, the only one making Pascal feel this right now, loving him the way he is and fucking him the way he is and making him say his name like this, look at him like this.

“Kip,” Pascal breathes, and Kip covers Pascal’s mouth with his.

Kip’s pleasure reaches a saturating height where everything feels effortless and he wants to stay right here for as long as they can manage. He keeps his pace smooth, trying as best as he can to avoid snapping his hips forward too much, and instead curls his back a little and rolls up against Pascal’s prostate, burying his face against his neck and biting gently as he does.

“Oh, Kip—oh my god—“ Pascal gasps. “Ah—oh god yes fuck me just like that—Kip!”

Kip bears down and Pascal’s words give way to rich moans that send thrills of arousal through Kip’s body, from his toes and fingertips and throat and chest, all flooding to his cock. He gasps and drops his head to Pascal’s shoulder and digs his fingers against Pascal’s skin and lets himself start a rougher, faster pace, he can’t help it. Pascal cries out softly in his ear and Kip is so completely glad.

He can start to feel Pascal’s body shivering beneath his. He kisses Pascal and reaches down and palms his erection, hot and heavy and velvety and he has to wrap his hand around it, feel its pulse against his fingers. He thumbs the wet tip as he prods Pascal’s tongue with his own. Pascal whimpers into his mouth; Kip feels a jolt of pleasure low in his stomach and smacks up against Pascal for half a dozen quick beats in a row.

Pascal starts growing tenser, and Kip knows to finish it fast before Pascal is left too sore afterwards. He squeezes his cock and then pumps it harder, bucks into him with shallow, quick thrusts, and kisses his throat.

Pascal’s groan dissolves into a whine.

“Kip,” he pants. “Kip...”

“Love you,” Kip mumbles, kissing his way along the whiskers on his jaw. He bucks against him with another burst of power.

“Oh god, oh god—Kip!”

He’s close. Kip puts their mouths together; Pascal kisses him back at once, messy and passionate.

“Pas,” Kip breathes against his lips. 

Pascal whimpers in response.

“Babe,” Kip mumbles. “‘M gonna make you cum, okay?”

He props himself up with his free hand, looks down at Pascal’s wonderfully beautiful face, and carries out his promise.

He rests for a half a minute after Pascal’s orgasm, just looking at him. He’s seen Pascal like this so many times, and it has this perfect mix of familiarity and an unfailing newness. It’s every memory of their nights together and it’s the quiet happiness that he’s here now, seeing this precise moment. 

This kind of moment that feels perfect. Everything is good, in a real and whole way, and Kip knows he doesn’t get this feeling any other way. It gives him this temporary sense of simplicity, this contentment within the straightforward experience of lying in bed with Pascal, sleeping together, hold each other, fucking, kissing. Kip loves this. He loves to see Pascal so thoroughly satisfied and relaxed, his unfiltered expressions of pleasured bliss, the way he looks at Kip like he wants him more than anything, he has to have him.

Kip knows it wouldn’t impress anyone to know how much he enjoys sex with Pascal, that he feels a deep connection and security and communication in all the kissing and touching, that a full-bodied, naked embrace makes him feel so loved. That the way Pascal fucks him conveys such a care for Kip’s pleasure and comfort alike, that Pascal’s reactions to being fucked by Kip make him feel more valuable, important even, than he ever does on his own.

He knows it’s not special, that he’s not special, that all this is so ordinary and common and unspectacular. But that’s its own comfort, too. This thing that seems far too good for him and so impossible to have ever hoped for really isn’t. It’s his, and it’s within his reach, and it’s right in front of him.

He pulls out of Pascal, takes off the condom, pushes it back into the empty wrapper.

Without a word, he leans in and kisses Pascal. He starts to jerk himself off, but Pascal reaches over and brushes his arm against Kip’s hand, and Kip lets him take over. Pascal curves his other arm beneath Kip’s ass to help him thrust; Kip climaxes within the minute with a helpless groan.

Collapsed beside Pascal, hand on his chest, still soaked in his heat, Kip knows he could fall asleep just like this. So he grits his teeth and forces himself to sit up, tempering the unpleasantness by pressing a kiss to Pascal’s chest.

He brings Pascal two folded paper towels wetted with cool water, one to wipe off his torso and arm and the other to get some sweat off his face. Kip takes them and the used condom and throws it away in the bathroom, then cleans himself off a bit at the sink. He looks unflinchingly at his reflection.

Back in the bedroom, Pascal is still flat out on the bed, breathing more easily, and shifts his gaze from the ceiling over to Kip. Kip kisses him before picking up his phone to send a quick text to Molly and Roy. He tells him he knows they probably figured he’s still with Pascal but that they’d also probably think something was up if he didn’t needlessly text them about it—though he filters out the tone of self-deprecation a little. He sets an alarm, and asks Pascal what time he needs for his—Pascal gives the same time.

Kip slides back into the bed, and brushes some of Pascal’s hair into place while blushing at the adoring look he’s receiving.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs. “Are you sore?”

“I’m okay,” Pascal replies. “You were really gentle.”

“Like, too gentle? Or...”

“No,” Pascal laughs. “Good gentle.”

Kip trails his fingers down the side of Pascal’s face and brushes his thumb a few millimeters below Pascal’s lips. He slides his hand down to the top of Pascal’s shoulder and kneads gently at the muscles; Pascal lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. Kip puts his other hand on the other shoulder and rests his head on Pascal’s chest as he matches up a steady rolling squeeze and press above Pascal’s collarbones.

A few minutes later he realizes his movements have already slowed and lightened, he lifts his head again and laughs quietly.

“I’m gonna fall asleep,” he mumbles. He scoots himself over to lie alongside Pascal.

“It’s alright,” Pascal says, voice soft and low. “I am, too.”

Kip looks at Pascal’s face.

It occurs to him, in a revelation so complete and instantaneous that he wonders if he’s been holding the idea in the back of his mind the whole time, that as much as he struggles to know what he even wants in his life, he’ll know he’s making the right decisions for himself as long as they mean he has this.

“Mm...can I hold you?” Pascal asks, shifting beside him. 

“Yes,” Kip answers. He feels sure, loved and in love. He gives Pascal a soft smile to convey it, and Pascal kisses the side of his mouth, and drapes his arm over Kip’s chest.

—

Kip wakes up in the middle of the night needing to pee, and feels grateful for the chance to appreciate anew that he’s spending a night here. When he climbs carefully into bed again, Pascal’s arm slides back around him.

—

The alarms don’t wake Kip until Pascal disentangles himself to sit up and turn them off. Kip gives a muffled grunt into the pillow and pushes himself up, weakly rubbing a hand up and down Pascal’s arm. Pascal turns to him with a tired smile and leans him back against the mattress to kiss him, which is when Kip realizes he’s woken up with an erection. He draws his knees up instinctively before remembering that he’s with the guy he’s shared a bed with almost every night for almost half a decade.

So he climbs out of bed after Pascal anyways and if anything, it makes things feel more familiar. Complete intimacy is something casual for them, and Kip is glad of it. Their comfort and ease with each other is more than earned.

As if proving his point, he’s mid-thought about how nice it is to look at Pascal’s bare legs when he’s caught in another quick kiss, and Pascal leans away with an arm on Kip’s butt and the other up against his dick.

“Good morning,” Pascal murmurs, and Kip blushes and smiles.

“Yeah,” he says. A tiny shift of Pascal’s arm wakes him up further.

“Hang on just a second,” Pascal says. He gives him a long parting stroke before stepping out the door and into the bathroom, leaving Kip to lean back against the edge of the bed and drag a hand down his face.

When Pascal comes back, he kisses Kip with passion no one could expect to elicit after just falling out of bed. Then he sinks to his knees and sucks Kip to orgasm in mere minutes, leaving Kip unsteady on his feet, shivering and laughing breathlessly. He kisses Pascal and wipes a bit of cum from his cheek and somewhat clumsily gives him a gentle wash of coolness.

Being suddenly brought to climax when barely even fully awake is a nicely effective—if also maybe jarringly so—way to face the start of the day. While Pascal showers, Kip makes the bed and slips into his clothes from the previous day and even manages to put together a plate of breakfast for Pascal, despite still being largely unfamiliar with his kitchen and instinctively hesitant to be too intrusive. It’s manageable enough to heat up and butter a muffin, make some hot oatmeal, and put a small bowl of applesauce on the side. 

Pascal is as stunning as ever straight out of the shower, naked and just slightly damp, and Kip feels like he’s been gifted for no reason at all with an ideal morning—the best morning you can have while still needing to get up extra early for an opening shift at work. But the deep, quiet happiness of getting to share this time with Pascal, starting the day after a full night lying in his arms, is more than worth the small added inconvenience.

“Oh, you’re wonderful,” Pascal says, pulling Kip in for a hug and a kiss. “But what about you?”

“Eh, I’ll get something when I go up to the apartment to change.” Kip shrugs.

“Yeah, but first you have to walk over there for like, twenty minutes,” Pascal argues.

“Closer to fifteen...I don’t wanna use up your dishes.”

“I want you to. C’mon. Please.”

Kip caves and has a bowl of cereal.

It’s all so domestic and it takes Kip a minute or two to realize what feeling he’s developed.

“Pas,” he says. “This is a bit like it was living together, huh?”

Pascal blushes and he momentarily drops his gaze to his plate as though bashful.

“It’s kind of funny,” Kip murmurs. “It feels like forever ago that we moved over here, but it’s still not at all as long as the time we were all in D. Being here just...makes it seem weird that I haven’t been here this whole time.”

Pascal smiles and seems to blush a little harder, shifting in his chair almost nervously.

“You alright?” Kip asks. “Sorry if that’s weird to say...”

“No, it’s okay, I was thinking the same thing,” Pascal answers. He reaches out and briefly touches Kip’s wrist.

Kip watches him for a moment more, but he seems alright. Kip decides to offer him a different subject anyways.

“Uh, did I wake up last night?” he asks. “I kind of remember saying something to you, but I might’ve just been dreaming.”

“No, yeah, you did for a minute,” Pascal says. “Bad dream.”

“Ah.” Kip looks at his feet with a reflexive smile. “Yeah, those have kept acting up a little, as usual. I guess it wasn’t too terrible, though—I don’t remember any of it.”

“It didn’t seem too bad, no,” Pascal agrees. “I think you like, accidentally elbowed me, and you were almost saying something, and I just touched your shoulder and you woke up. I told you it was okay and everything, and you were looking at me, and when I lay back down next to you, you said ‘I love you.’ That was sweet.”

“Oh—“ Kip laughs. “I hope you were able to get back to sleep...”

“Yeah, I think it only took a few minutes. I doubt I was much more awake than you.”

Kip leans over and kisses Pascal’s shoulder.

—

Even on an extra early day for him, Roy is already out of the apartment by the time Kip sweeps in to change into his work clothes, and Molly doubtless would be too if she wasn’t off for the day and instead still in bed. He’s grateful as always that his schedule isn’t as A.M.-oriented as theirs—they’re at least both morning people much moreso than him, though he generally tries to pretend he weathers the more distasteful hours of the day with solemn resignation.

Parting with Pascal does feel less like a tragedy—he does seem to be adapting to the idea that they truly, actually get to just be together now. That there’s no separation heading right for them, that their relationship is real again, not just a series of near misses and second guesses. He knows he’s always going to see Pascal again soon, and his feelings finally seem to have caught up with that.

Even with the stark contrast of being at work versus being in Pascal’s apartment, he can’t find it in himself to feel too downcast. He started the day with his boyfriend and got a blowjob, after all. He’s more than prepared for a middling-length opening shift.

It gets a touch busy two or three times, but if it’s ever much of a real rush Kip doesn’t particularly notice—by the time he emerges a bit from his own thoughts, the flow of people visiting before their 9 o’clock jobs has slowed, and the pace is more leisurely, the customers more unhurried.

Every now and then he watches the street outside the front windows, watches the people, the traffic, the birds in the branches of the trees across the road. He feels okay. He feels like maybe he’s even good. Maybe it’s just Pascal, but maybe that’s okay, too.

He empties all the garbage cans and wonders how Pascal’s doing. He hopes his day has been inherently improved the way Pascal’s improved his—though Pascal’s days are generally from a little while before open to a little while after close, so Kip’s influence has to have extra staying power. He wishes he could guarantee Pascal that he could be there at the end of any and every tiring day. And guarantee himself that he could always feel confident he’d done something to truly help Pascal, something direct and tangible. 

The slight swell for lunch ebbs after about an hour and a half, and an overcast dimness settles in. Kip spends a while in the back, washing dishes and warming himself from the arms up with the water, doing a bit of prep, counting off the numbers of remaining pastries to leave a list for Cuddy. He spends the last hour up front again and sees all the tree leaves shifted by slow breezes; the hanging sign on the lavender-painted shop shifts occasionally. The air that moves in whenever the front door is opened feels heavy and smells of the imminent rain.

Kip is just beginning to feel impatient to leave by the time Cuddy arrives. He comes up to the register in time to see her through the windows, saying goodbye to Lottie before coming in. She glances at him with a perfunctory lift of her hand; he returns the gesture and fiddles with the hem of his apron, his thoughts turning to reclining on his bed in soft clothes with a cup of hot tea while watching a summer storm through the window. 

Cuddy sends him off with her usual unceremonious brevity, and Kip wastes no time in heading back to the apartment ahead of the rainfall, which it seems like is going to be a bit of a downpour. He takes deep breaths of the air on his walk, and repeatedly casts his gaze up to the dramatic and picturesque cloud formations that shift minute by minute. He takes a picture of a particularly good view to send to Pascal later.

Their apartment is quiet—after just a few moments Kip ascertains that Molly must have gone out. Kip makes a gently sweetened cup of green tea he’d silently promised himself, brings it into his room, sheds his clothes, slips into jeans, a sweater, and socks, and unlatches and opens his window. The moving air tastes and smells good and feels nice on his face. 

Kip waters his plants, glances at the picture, and sits down cross-legged on the bed, holding the tea in his lap. The ceramic is warm against his hands; he presses them firmly to the surface to absorb as much of the heat as he can get. He breathes in the scent for a while, and the first few sips are lovely and comforting. This taste has been on his tongue countless times. He had this drink while his brother worked in the next room. When he got home from schooldays in the late fall. When he sat and looked at the blooming garden outside their windows.

Kip drinks half of the mug, then sets it down on his nightstand and lies back flat against the mattress. He stares at the ceiling, the muted light from the window, the deep shadows in the corners. He rests his hand on his stomach. He hears distant thunder, and a few minutes later, the rain starts softly, then in earnest.

—

Kip cycles gently in and out of catnaps, finding himself dreaming while only half-asleep, waking back up a little, falling asleep briefly, waking just enough to listen to the storm with his eyes closed, dozing off again.

The last little nap is the longest, about half an hour. He finds himself rolled onto his side when he wakes, and his mouth feels dry. He props himself up on his pillows and takes a drink of his tea.

He’s scared of the fact it’s going to have been six years. It sounds like too far away, and a reminder that he’s only going to get farther. But maybe it proves he’s survived. He rubs his thumb against the cup; the rain is still coming down hard. 

He’ll have Pascal to lean on. Just like the first time.

Everyone else is still with him. He’s so lucky for that. He’s lucky he’s still with them.

Six years later. 

At least everyone who made it that far back then is still here.

—

Around four o’clock, Kip is unexpectedly struck by the sense that he should try fulfilling his promise to Eno by talking to Wallace.

Even if it’s just about the weather.

He’s had a decent day so far, and he knows he’d definitely just be looking for a way to avoid the task if he told himself he needs to be at the absolute top of his game before even trying to see Wallace. And since the entire crux of the matter is his need to stop avoiding Wallace, he can’t be too impressed with himself if he tries to get out of it, even temporarily. Even with his level of self-esteem, he knows he can do better than that.

And he’s already doomed simply by the fact that the idea entered his head. If he puts it off now, the subtle guilt will layer in on itself and make it more difficult to try again, the acquiescence to his anxieties will only make them loom larger.

He sighs.

He doesn’t let himself change clothes or even glance in a mirror to see if he’s given himself bedhead or left flecks of coffee on his throat. He’s going as-is, damn it, and he’s not going to feel like he has to impress Wallace or even seem put-together. He isn’t, and Wallace has seen him in far worse states, and he really has no reason to care how Wallace sees him anymore.

He leaves his phone on the bed, puts his keys in his pocket, imagines being able to tell Eno he’s managed to meet basic expectations for once, and goes into the hallway.

As he descends the stairwell he tries to calculate the odds that Wallace is even home right now—half the time he spends full days in the office, half the time he does house calls, and for the latter, he tends to return with folders tucked under his arm by a little after three in the afternoon. Kip imagines saying that he did try to see Wallace, but just never caught him the several times he knocked at the door, and didn’t text him, or just try to catch him later in the evening...

He rolls his eyes at himself and steps heavily down the last flight to the bottom floor.

He stands in front of Wallace’s door and breathes deeply in, slowly out. He finds himself hesitating with his fingertips against the door’s surface, so he pretends he’s acting on impulse and knocks lightly on the door. His signature pattern, two knocks, a pause, two more knocks using a different beat on the same rhythm. Each quiet enough that if Wallace isn’t in his living room, he probably won’t hear it.

But there’s faint footsteps, and they seem to be headed towards the door, but something seems off—only increasingly so as the steps get louder, until Kip realizes exactly what’s wrong with a clammy jolt of horror just before the door to Ben’s apartment opens.

“Hey,” he chokes out automatically.

“Kip, what’s up?” Wallace says. “Need me for something?”

Some sort of persona that doesn’t seem to require his conscious input has taken over, and Casual Kip is running on autopilot while the actual Kip just below the surface, again trying not to panic.

“Nope, it’s okay,” he says nonchalantly. His shoulders lift in a shrug. “Just thought I’d drop by for a second.”

“Well, that’s alright, I just got back from work and was hanging out with Ben—“

“Right, yeah—“

“You can come in, if you want—“

Even Casual Kip flares up in a blush at that.

“Nah, you’re busy, it’s fine, I’ll just talk to you later.”

“I’m really not...” Wallace laughs quietly.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Kip repeats, smiling quickly as though he thinks Wallace is joking around with him. He takes a half-step back as he says it and Wallace looks a little bit bemused, fingers absently playing with the rolled sleeve of his button-up shirt.

“Ah, okay. I’ll see you later,” Wallace says slowly.

Kip shoots him another brief quirk of a smile and turns on his heel.

A few steps down the hallway and he hears the quiet click of the door shutting behind him; he looks back to confirm it. He slips into the thankfully empty laundry room to sit down in one of the chairs. None of the machines are running and the sound of his panting seems loud. 

He’s familiar enough with himself and with the effects of his anxiety to know what’s happening—his lungs seem to freeze up, his breathing shallows and quickens with seemingly no input from him, it’s all unfortunately familiar to him by now. The silver lining is that it doesn’t alarm him further anymore—he can sit here and see how it goes and if he thinks he can walk back up to the apartment or if this is going to develop into a physical ache, even nausea, even vomiting.

It was a thorough shock, he’d known immediately it would affect him like this—the deep chill that hit him in the chest as soon as Wallace came from Ben’s apartment told him everything. It could’ve been much worse, and seeing as he’s really been through much worse moments of panic and onsets of anxiety in this past year, even before Wallace showed up, even just when he was stressed from the transition into living in C—he knows this is manageable. It’s just a passing moment of unpleasant alarm. He just needs to let it filter out of his system.

He does feel a few threatening echoes of nausea, and his knees are shaking slightly, involuntarily. Despite his overall forced calmness, his breathing hasn’t returned to normal yet, and his limbs are a little tense. He stares at the floor for a while.

He has to be a little annoyed with himself for being so unprepared for such a simple surprise. After all, the anxiety of actually seeing Wallace with Ben, being so reminded of what he’d accidentally done to Wallace and maybe Ben and what situation he’d put himself in, had made him so nervously adamant to avoid the possibility that he’d refused to use the front door of his own building for a while. To avoid Wallace, to avoid Ben, to avoid running into them together and having no idea how to act.

And now he goes and completely forgets about it, because for whatever reason he’s never able to have his shit together. How hard is it to just talk to Wallace, to just say to him hey I feel really awkward around you now and I’m not sure how to fix it or if it can be fixed, but I want you to know you’ve become really important to me and I hope I haven’t ruined that.

But maybe he has. He didn’t do this on purpose, sure, but when has every bad move of his always been on purpose? Maybe he sealed his fate the moment he told Wallace he liked them. Maybe his fate was sealed even before that. Maybe it would’ve been okay if he hadn’t fallen for Wallace himself. Maybe it wouldn’t.

There’s a twinge in his stomach. 

He has to figure out what he wants from Wallace.

He wants to keep feeling as close to Wallace as he does now. 

But so much of the intimacy he feels is tangled up in his crush. And how close is he to Wallace anymore when Wallace’s newest job has been taking up so much of his time and focus since spring, and Kip has been adrift between his struggles with his efforts to settle back into a normal life, with his confusion over his sense of identity, with his feelings for Pascal and Wallace, with his relationships with everyone around him. Wallace did save his life, and those of others. But plenty of people who aren’t in love with Kip protected him similarly. Even Ben—who doesn’t even like him.

Even the fact that Wallace was there with Kip when he was close to breaking down or actually doing so, that he comforted and supported Kip even when Kip was trying to be strong, that, maybe even more significantly, Kip returned the favor multiple times—in the end, maybe none of it was ever that personal. Who doesn’t Wallace care about, who doesn’t he try to be kind to? Who wouldn’t he comfort? Who wouldn’t he have protected and helped in those situations?

He knows Wallace really cares about him—maybe even loves him, even now, even when nobody’s targeting him anymore, there’s nothing else to protect him from. But that doesn’t really count for anything all that special. Wallace cares about him, and all his friends, and all his clients, and maybe all but everyone he’s ever met. That doesn’t make it meaningless, but it means he can’t look back on what they shared while struggling through a life-and-death ordeal and consider it justification for continuing to want Wallace’s affection.

He digs his fingers into his thighs.

As though it’s okay for him to want Wallace at all after finding out he’s with someone else.

As if it’s okay that he has to sit here and try to talk himself out of wishing that he could be with Wallace, because it’s not enough to simply know he’s off-limits.

Like he thinks he can write off Ben just because Ben would rather avoid him. As if he wasn’t wanting to avoid Ben even before he found that out. As if it probably wasn’t his own fault Ben didn’t like him. Even though he’d used to think it was because he was only a reminder of Kent and of Yumi and of how everything used to be—he’d been self-centered and immature not to see how his own assumptions and attitude had likely been subtly pushing Ben away the whole time.

Self-centered.

He’s trying hard to see a way where all of this isn’t just a result of his own stupidity, where his distress isn’t a direct expression of his own acute selfishness.

Maybe he doesn’t even deserve to keep Wallace as a friend for the same reasons he fears he won’t be able to.

Kip finds himself steadied enough to stand; breathing evened out enough to make the trek back upstairs without risk.

He goes straight back into his room, where the air is still infused with the rain that still falls loud and heavy. He sits on the edge of his bed for a moment, then goes into the bathroom and throws up. It’s light, all fluids, which reminds him that he skipped lunch.

He cleans up, then goes and makes half a sandwich and retreats yet again to the softness of his bed and the comfort of the rain. 

—

Roy and Molly return together less than an hour later, and despite feeling recovered enough by that point, Kip is almost immediately asked by Roy if he’s alright. He confirms that he’s doing well enough, and then confirms Molly’s gently teasing remarks that he had a nice time staying over with Pascal, and then he pushes the conversation back over to Roy’s day at work and Molly’s day off.

He’s genuinely glad that both of them have always seemed to be so much more stable than him, so much better at adapting to whatever situations they find themselves in. At least he’s not so horrible that he can’t be happy for a couple of his closest friends and the fact that they’re so good at simply being okay. That they’re so good at helping each other be okay. 

That neither of them has ever had to rely solely on Kip is probably a blessing for everyone. Kip’s never had to find out for certain that he’d fail them.

Wallace is a lot more similar to them than he is to Kip. Maybe Kip wouldn’t be able to help Wallace be happy, either. 

But both Roy and Molly care deeply, stubbornly about Kip. They know him well and haven’t been driven away by anything about him.

And Wallace is with Ben, who’s more like Kip than like Roy and Molly.

But Ben likes Molly and Roy. But he doesn’t like Kip.

Kip leans back against the couch and looks at his knees.

It suddenly feels a lot more imminent that he’s going to have to move in with Pascal. The way he feels when he imagines getting to be with Pascal every morning and night contrasts too sharply with the bouts of loneliness he still feels when lying down to go to sleep alone, even now that he knows he and Pascal are together again. He’d be able to make Pascal’s life easier in practical ways. He’d know he could be there for him every day. He wouldn’t have to worry about being in the same building with Wallace and Ben, but they would still be so close, so would Roy and Molly.

Without him here, Molly and Roy wouldn’t have to cater to his hangups anymore. He’s always the one to slightly throw off the easy, natural consensus they’d otherwise have on virtually everything. He knows they love him, and he loves them, but he knows he’s somewhat in the way. The only reason they were living with him in the first place was because they knew he needed them. And then they came to C together because he was aware he had all but trapped them in D for the sake of staying at his side—he needed to let them return, and they wouldn’t go without him, and he could tell both them and himself that he thought he needed to return to C too, and he needed so badly to make sure they got their lives back that he even left Pascal.

Not like he had to. If he wasn’t too scared of being with Pascal while back in C, maybe things would’ve worked out.

Maybe not.

But things worked out anyways. And now that Pascal is here, and safe, and back with Kip, Molly and Roy won’t have to feel obligated to stay right by Kip’s side anymore. They can finally be their own unit again with their own space, operating freely. And Kip likes the idea of staying with Pascal in his little apartment. There’s not much extra room, but Kip doesn’t need much room. 

Yet it’d still be the first time in almost six years that Kip hasn’t shared an apartment with Molly and Roy. Even this new apartment has started to feel truly familiar to him. 

He knows, though, that being closer to Pascal is always going to be the right choice for himself. 

How long he’s going to put it off is another matter.

—

Pascal calls him that evening, after the storm has passed and left a peaceful stillness in its wake. Kip tells him he’s glad he spent the night, that it’s made his whole day better, that he wants to figure out something he can do for Pascal on a regular schedule. Bring him lunch at work once a week, or go to his apartment and pick up a load of laundry, or do a grocery run for him every weekend, or anything. Just one set task that Pascal can be sure Kip will do for him. And Pascal laughs and says he doesn’t need to do that, and Kip says he knows, but he’d like to anyways.

“Besides,” he says. “It’d be cool to do something where you know it’ll happen without us having to arrange it specifically each time. I wanna help out with the ordinary stuff some more. I can be better than just a special occasion.”

“How would I help YOU out, though?” Pascal counters.

“I have roommates. And less hours. And I don’t have to run a store.”

Pascal acquiesces to that, and Kip at least convinces him to say he’ll think about it.

Pascal leverages this to make Kip specify a little about his difficulties talking to Wallace, though Kip insists it’s not that big of a deal.

He tells Pascal he thinks he’s nearer to accepting the good chance that he just won’t be able to be as close to Wallace as he’d like—not even as a friend. And he lets Pascal coax out an admission that Kip isn’t exactly happy about that.

Kip says he thinks if he gives it space, everything will just naturally reorganize, and they can start over if they want, or not.

Pascal says he should still try talking to Wallace even if that’s true.

Kip says he has to give some serious thought to what he really wants to say to Wallace.

Pascal says that it’s most important just to say anything. Kip says that technically he already did, and Pascal says that saying we should talk later doesn’t really count, and Kip laughs.

“If I knew I could run back to your place after it was all over, I think I’d be bolder about a lot of stuff,” Kip murmurs, eyes closed.

“I mean, you always can. I ought to just make a copy of the key for you.”

Kip laughs softly again.

“You’re so excellent, Pas,” he mumbles into the phone. 

Pascal’s warm answering laugh is gentle in his ear.

—

Kip is changed into pajamas and laid out on his bed with a book when he hears a soft shower outside his still-open window. It feels like a bookend to his day. He falls asleep to it.

—

Kip lets himself sleep in for an extra couple of hours to help make up for his slightly shortened previous night. There’s a good-morning text from Pascal by the time he gets up, and he takes a warm shower to help compensate for his exit from the blankets, and spends a little more time than usual making himself breakfast. He steeps a mug of Pascal’s tea afterwards, and takes it with him from room to room as he does a few little cleaning chores, scrubbing off the stovetop, clearing off the bathroom sink and cleaning it, running the little vacuum over the carpet of his bedroom, then using it on the couch in the living room, turning over the cushions and pillows. He dusts off their coffee table and then rubs it down with a little oil and then sinks onto the couch, bringing the tea off the ledge by the window to his lap.

He imagines what it would have been like to live by himself this whole time. He doesn’t mind being alone, he’s always liked having his own quiet space, but he’s glad he gets to be guaranteed company in one way or another every day, if he wants it.

He puts his socks together and rubs the pad of his foot overtop the other.

He thinks about Ben, suddenly made alone the same day Kip was. He wasn’t wholly abandoned—Kip had known Eno was also working to make sure Ben found a place to go, a space to exist after all this, in very much the same way he was doing the same for Kip. But Kip had a boyfriend to live with in addition to two close friends, and even before the fire, Kip had been thinking of a life with Pascal. The same was true after the fire, even if it took a while for any concept of his future to reemerge from his grief and horror.

Ben must not have felt like he had a future. He had been engaged, so close to the wedding date that it must have felt like a certainty, already a reality. Kip knew enough from even his limited familiarity with Ben to tell that he was someone who found a lot of happiness and motivation in his relationship with Yumi. It had been obvious, even with someone as outwardly reserved as Ben. 

Kip wonders what Ben felt like, waking up alone every day. For weeks Kip would reluctantly crawl out of unconsciousness and have to realize anew what had happened to him. It was in some ways worse than his nightmares, and he was often all but inconsolable for what felt like ages, but when he managed to see and breathe again, at least the others were still there with him.

He knows that Ben hadn’t been truly solitary. He’d had friends that visited him all those years, made a point of seeing him often, as much for the sake of keeping him safe as for giving him company. But it’s not quite the same as living with someone.

Ben may not exactly get to live with Wallace right now, but the human was sent literally to his doorstep—because of Kip. And prior to that, Kip could tell that Ben was quietly glad that he and Molly and Roy had moved in a few floors above him—at least, that Molly and Roy had. Maybe nowadays, finally, he doesn’t feel as isolated as he had.

Kip wouldn’t really know. He’s only guessing how Ben felt in the years they were away at D, though he knows his guess is far better than a shot in the dark. But even back before the fire, he found Ben’s quietness and slight air of seriousness too intimidating to try to interact with. He was on the sidelines after all, trying to help in the extremely limited ways he could, trying not to be so afraid, trying to grasp the whole of what was going on even while a part of him was glad he was being protected, sheltered from what was really happening, wanting to believe he’d never need to know the full picture of it. Thinking that someday it would be so completely in the past that he could ask them about what they’d been working on, what they’d found out, all the things that had happened. Ben was engaged to someone as deeply involved as Kent and Eno, and Kip felt like Ben must know so much more than him. He must be more like the rest of them than Kip was.

Kip doesn’t know if he’s always been harboring the same sense that he wouldn’t even have anything of value to say to Ben. It’s not like he hasn’t been around Ben, visiting him, hanging out with him—but virtually only ever in groups. He doesn’t suppose it’s too far of a stretch to think he may have come off as disliking Ben, even when he was younger, feeling almost unworthy to even linger nearby—maybe his avoidance only came off as aloofness, some subtle distaste. He’s always avoided him, in a way. Surely Ben picked up on that.

Kip’s glad there’s been other people around who were always better to Ben.

He stares down into the rich red, almost purple hue of his tea.

He doesn’t know how to face Wallace like this anymore. It’s true that Wallace’s relationship with Ben isn’t the only one in his life, that it’s far from the only one in Ben’s life, too. But Kip’s gone and made the relationship he has with Wallace about his feelings for him. He can’t take that back.

How much simpler would things be if he’d approached it like they were in middle school and started off with something like, “Hey, are you seeing someone?”

Maybe not that much simpler.

He doesn’t know what to do. 

If he can’t extricate his crush for Wallace completely from their relationship, there can’t be a relationship between them. It would hurt both of them, and it would be more than a disservice to Ben. Kip owes him that much. Someone who ought to understand almost better than anyone what Ben went through can’t possibly do something to ruin what is, as far as he knows, Ben’s first real chance at regaining a new iteration of what he’d lost.

Kip is a little jealous. He knows that’s not at all fair, that Ben can’t do anything about the pain he feels about Yumi, that neither of them can regain the people and experience they lost or stop feeling the pain of a broken heart, the confusion of carrying a love that has nowhere to go. But it’s not as though knowing something can always overwrite his raw reactions to even the smallest opening of old wounds. In some ways he’s always felt guilty around all the people who lost family and friends to E—since at least the demise of his family left him with actual knowledge of what had been done, had left him something to inter. Most others had to deal with days into weeks into months of terrifying uncertainty, torturous opacity—their loved ones simply gone. Months becoming years, the few reappearances only bringing more pain for all those whose tiny, hidden-away pieces of hope left them unable to fully accept their loss, vulnerable to renewed grief even when they’d long grown numb to the loss that was now part of their normal life.

Even now, the answer that confirms the deaths in E brought no one any real comfort. It only narrowed the scope of the uncertainty—what had happened to individuals, what they had experienced, thought, felt, was now all forever unanswerable. And Kip knows that the confirmation of an agonizing death is only another burden. He knows it’s absurd to consider himself getting off easy because of having to watch an inferno blast from the windows of the house, because he got the chance to try to save them only to be completely overwhelmed by the fire almost at once, only able to clutch his brother’s folder to his chest, as if that would draw him nearer, and scream in the midst of a cacophony so absolute he couldn’t hear himself.

The damage left to so many people should make everything easier to bear when there’s so many who can understand, but it only hurts worse. It only leaves everyone obligated to each other in ways no one can possibly fulfill. It only makes each other’s suffering larger, ties them to each other’s pain, so that everyone’s wounds reverberate in a collective sting. No one can hear of someone else’s story without sensing their own in it—the similarities allow for real understanding, but every difference feels discordant, knocks and chafes against the wishes that things, even these little details, had been different, had been more like that, the way it was for them.

Kip knows that it’s still better to have a community of those whose lives were changed by E than to have only people who have no concept of the suffering involved. It’s evident from Wallace’s initial arrival at C, his clumsy attempts to forge inroads with his clients, his misguided sympathies that only served to clarify the depth of the gulf between him and the monsters around him. And that was if he managed not to say something that merely came off so thoughtless and insulting that he was really lucky that everyone—including Kip—refrained from outright hitting him across the face. Kip himself did once shove Wallace’s shoulder during an argument when the human landed himself way too far over the line, said something too stunningly hurtful and disrespectful, momentarily angering Kip so, so far beyond words.

But the way Wallace reacted to realizing what he’d done, when he stopped arguing back and processed the message behind Kip’s partly-incoherent fury—that’s what turned each instance into something that actually ended up making Kip like Wallace a little more. Even when Kip’s temper was so set off that he’d stalk away from Wallace to be by himself a moment, Wallace would be the one to carefully close the distance, look Kip’s anger in the face without any of his own, accept what Kip was feeling, that in spite of his good intentions and in spite of his ignorance he’d done something hurtful in a real, significant way. He would sit there and tell Kip he wanted to listen to what Kip had to say to him, whether it was a lengthy diatribe against his errors or a short, sharp condemnation, an expression of Kip’s frustration with him with no other benefit than to let Kip say it and be heard by him. And in the end he’d try to make Kip feel better, make up some comfortable space for him to have a moment of quiet and solitude, offer an apology or two without pushing for it to be accepted or even responded to. He made it clear he cared about Kip and he cared about learning to keep from hurting him, from hurting everyone else he knew in C, and he had the humility to recognize each time he was in the wrong and to back down, the humility to realize it wasn’t his place and it wasn’t even really about him. 

Kip was always nervous about losing his temper, about lashing out at the people who cared for him, who did so much for him. So if that made his reaction to Wallace more heated when he DID vent his anger, he could understand that in himself. But it had surprised him every time to see Wallace respond in a way as considerate and careful as the behavior that caused it hadn’t been. Wallace would hand over all the power and control in the interaction to Kip, and he wouldn’t begrudge Kip his frustration or try to argue back his own thoughts and intentions. Kip would replay the exchanges in his head and realize that it was only once he’d turned the context back towards the personal hurt, the specific feelings he had for Wallace, that Wallace would explain himself a bit and apologize and try to assure Kip that he didn’t want or mean to do this to him. 

Kip had never really been in a situation to be treated that way. It was the same as it had been in the days he first met Wallace—a moment of pleasant surprise and unexpected affection could turn to exasperation or butting heads or even suspicion at the drop of a hat, and, conversely, an outright fight, a moment of real pain and disappointment, could somehow transition into increased intimacy, to a quiet bloom of appreciation, sympathy, even a little flow of love. 

It always surprised Kip that as ridiculous and capricious as Wallace could come across on the surface, there was a vein of deep patience at his core, a determination beneath his nervous and at times even unpredictable temperament. He yelled at Wallace when he’d told Kip he should be more active in his community if that’s what he moved for, because he’d moved with the intention of carrying out house calls and had been pushing himself to do them despite his fear and doubt, so Kip could do it too. Kip had turned at once to Wallace and demanded to know how he felt able to say that, tearing up out of sheer fury, louder in his own ears than he thought he was being. He felt such rage at all the implications, that Wallace thought Kip’s fears were the same that a human from A who was taught to hate monsters and given the power to harm them and had no idea what they’d been through could feel, that he thought he could understand Kip’s or anyone’s situation and give advice on it, that he thought Kip only needed a nudge, that the only thing he was dealing with was a lack of encouragement from someone like him, that he thought the house calls he was only able to carry out because Kip was sticking his neck out for him was anything like what Kip was ever thinking of doing, like what Kent and others had done, had died for. Kip had vented such rage and pent-up frustration with what felt like such viciousness that when he wheeled around and stormed into the bathroom to wash his face and catch his breath and wait for his body to stop shaking, he fully expected to reemerge and find Wallace unwilling to look at or talk to him, to have wholly severed the positive connection they’d built up, and have to coolly take his leave. He made himself sure of it before he even tried to open the door, but when he did, he found that Wallace turned to look at him right away and stumbled through a halting but earnest apology. Wallace had confessed that he’d made the same kind of mistake here that he kept making with his clients, building on assumptions and leaning too heavily on his desire to relate as a way to establish communication, while actually destroying confidence in the process. He told Kip that he didn’t want to hurt him specifically, implying that it was because he cares about him. He interrupted himself to point out that Kip was shivering, and Kip watched as Wallace opened his closet and brought out a heavy blanket, unfolded it, walked slowly towards Kip and swung it carefully around him to rest on his shoulders like a hug, all while Kip struggled to process that Wallace didn’t hate him, wasn’t fed up with his efforts to work with him—or even speak with him.

Kip momentarily buries his face in his hands—the memory feels so personal now, while in the days and weeks after it happened he’d held that perspective steadily at bay. 

It’s no longer a surprise he’s fallen for Wallace—the only surprise would be if he somehow hadn’t.

But it doesn’t really matter how he feels about anything. Even if he thought Wallace was the sole love of his life—he has to give this up.

So what does he want from Wallace now.

He told Eno he’s afraid of losing Wallace entirely, losing their intimacy.

But he’s not so sure that intimacy will last outside what they did anyway—or even that it is now. There’s been no need for them to be up late into the night on the very couch Kip’s now sitting on, passing papers back and forth, whispering occasionally, leaning across each other to study a tiny, photocopied note. Nowadays, Kip tends to cry alone or with Pascal, it’s been months and months since Wallace was there to take his glasses and pass him some tissues and rub his back, cautiously but steadily. How would some of the closeness they shared even be continued now? Kip’s fairly sure there won’t be any further need for him to tackle Wallace to the floor and curl his body tightly over the human’s while a dome of ice arcs into place around them with a shockingly loud crash.

It’s strangely busy work simply trying to rediscover a kind of normalcy. Kip’s been trying to give Wallace space to do so—and has found himself somewhat anxious at the thought of simply dropping in on him now, though he had done so with decent frequency before having the dream. They’ve never been able to have a “normal” between themselves that wasn’t wrecked seemingly every week. And a handful of months in the aftermath of chaos doesn’t feel like it counts as having established anything. And now Kip has a crush on Wallace that he can’t pursue, so maybe none of this was ever meant to be lasting.

Kip doesn’t even know what to make of the fact that he’s gained feelings for Wallace like this. Wallace is so different from him. Yet he’s not. A human from A and a monster from C—it wouldn’t be Kip’s first choice based on that analysis alone. And he can’t ever pretend it’s something that can be transcended and rendered inactive through the simple fact that Kip loves him. If he had to pick a human, he’d start out with one from C or D. And yet he also stubbornly feels that he can pick any human he wants. He’ll be in love with Wallace if he likes, and dare anyone to think they can tell him otherwise.

But he can’t ignore himself.

He has to shake hands with Wallace and leave him to do whatever he will and go live a mile away with Pascal, close enough to stay connected, yet removed from the old framework of their history together, no longer haunted by the legacy of the tumult and trauma they shared so soon after meeting.

It’s not like Eno didn’t remain one of the most important people in Kip’s life even when Kip lived two districts away.

He brings the rim of the cup to his bottom lip just to breathe in the scent of the tea.

He wants to believe his feelings for Wallace have only been frivolous and superficial, the result of crossed wires caused by being so close to the man so many times, saving him and being saved by him, learning so much about him so quickly, supporting each other in such intimate, vulnerable moments. But there were more than a few times he knows he isn’t mistaken about, ones where the feelings that surfaced in his interactions with Wallace were beyond doubt, and certainly real.

Even he can’t think so badly of himself to merely wave those emotions aside. If he thinks of that kind of connection he felt as meaningless, he may as well throw out everything he feels for everyone else at the same time.

He drags his nails down his shoulder. How can he be surprised anymore at the idea that something is coming down the line to hurt him.


	6. Chapter 6

Kip had thoughts of writing or reading or maybe just making lunch before heading into work, but doesn’t end up getting around to any of it.

Kate is already there by the time he comes in, and she all but immediately lets him know she has something to tell him but that she’ll let him know what it is later with an email. He pretends to complain about the fact for a good while, but he knows it’s not in the least bad news. Kate is clearly happy about it—and although she, like him, has a tendency to mask her real moods at times, and is also, less like him, most often largely successful at doing so, he knows her well enough to tell that she’s trying to play it cool.

It’s one of the reasons her brand of teasing goes a lot easier on him than that of most of his friends. They have a sort of mutual understanding; they can read each other pretty well but will let each other set their own pace, choosing instead to communicate subtly through the undertones of casual banter and pretend rivalry. 

Kate is also one step ahead of him in most tasks around the café, so he figures she must be a bit worked up over whatever it is she is declining to actually tell him about in person.

He tries to make the argument that he told HER right away as soon as he’d officially gotten back with Pascal, and that he also gave her early access to his secret crush on Wallace. She counters that her surprise isn’t as big a deal as his news about Pascal was, and acknowledges that he let her in on some bonus knowledge, but she still wants to tell him via an email.

“Why does it have to be an email,” Kip asks flatly, dropping a tin on the floor and swearing under his breath as he stoops to pick it up. “Why not just text me, or something normal.”

“Email,” Kate says simply, heading into the back. Kip waits until she glances back to flip her off, and she laughs at him.

—

Kip is a bit lonely closing by himself, but there’s a few texts from Pascal to keep him distracted. They’re brief and sweet and funny, and Kip is immensely grateful that Pascal got a cellphone when he moved to C. If he could only be in touch with him for a short period each evening, he’s sure he wouldn’t be very content with the situation. 

He texts Pascal when he’s leaving, saying he’s glad it’s the summer and it’s not dark and freezing every time he opens or closes the café. Pascal says he’s also probably glad it’s not winter because he knows Kip hates almost everything about it, and Kip says that’s true.

Back at the apartment, Molly and Roy are sitting amidst a cityscape-like arrangement of tiny plastic bins of various dimensions, chatting with each other. Kip leaves it alone for the time being to take a shower and change into pajamas, but when he goes back out they insist he join them, and he discovers that they’re partaking in a craft Roy has planned for the kids at the daycare, making necklaces of rigatoni noodles and colorful plastic beads of various shapes, each housed in the plastic boxes.

Molly is already wearing one of her creations and carefully threading another, and Roy has a couple finished ones sitting beside himself as well. 

“I think it’s good to have some examples for them to look at, even though I think it’ll be pretty easy for them to understand,” he says. “And I don’t think they’ll have much patience to wait for me to start and finish one from scratch to show them, you know what I mean? They get especially excited about stuff they get to wear. You should’ve been there on the day we did t-shirts, Kip, they were all really amazed that they could actually make the designs on their shirts—I had to help them use these sponge stamps one by one because the paint wasn’t washable, so that took forever, but then I took them outside while the shirts hung out to dry and it all actually went pretty smoothly! With this one I’m just hoping to kind of do it in a circle, I think it’ll be easiest to make sure nobody tries to eat any beads that way. There’s only a few kids who sometimes try to taste everything, but most of them have pretty wayward focus, and I also don’t want to end up with a lot of these all over the floor in case somebody falls on one... And they’ll love it if I get to tell them that I’m showing them necklaces made by you guys, they think it’s a lot of fun to hear about you and everything.”

“How on earth do we ever come up?” Kip asks. 

“Well, if I’m teaching them about something and wanna use examples, I’ll just say stuff like, ‘If Kip wants to make a painting of grass, what color would he use? What colors should he mix to make green?’ Or stuff like, ‘My friend Molly is tall—‘“

“Oh, for when you teach them about lies and exaggerations?” Molly laughs.

“‘And Kip is tall-ER,’” Roy continues undeterred. “‘And I am tall-EST!’ They think it’s funny to hear about you at random times every now and then. And you know they love it when you come in, Molly.”

“They’d get that excited for anyone,” Molly argues.

“No, they totally love you!”

Kip adjusts his socks for a moment. He’s been a bit busy for most of the year, but mostly has never been brave enough to actually help Roy with something while the kids are there. He doesn’t think he’d have the energy to survive, even with Roy to bear the brunt of it, even with others helping. But he’s pretty sure even Wallace, who’s been busier than ever with his job, has volunteered a few times. 

Still, Wallace’s earnest and eager and bright nature has to make him better with kids than Kip can be. They ask questions he doesn’t know how to answer, others just stare at him, he can never think of things to say to them until their short attentions have shifted to something else. And he knows he just doesn’t seem that appealing to them. He’s too quiet and buttoned-down, and the only thing going for him would be that the kids at Roy’s daycare are too young to find him too boring or weird. His sheer novelty would grant him popularity with them for at least an afternoon.

But Roy always has other, better helpers he can call on. And he never pressures Kip to do anything he’s uncomfortable with. So Kip has gratefully kept out of it.

But he does try to help with things behind-the-scenes a bit, in part because Roy likes to go so above and beyond that a bit of additional assistance helps prevent him from overloading himself, in part because Kip does feel guilty that he never helps out during the day, and in fact part simply because Roy is his friend, and Kip loves him.

Roy and Molly’s back-and-forth has shifted effortlessly along a tangent to the subject of different kinds of sandwiches. Kip tentatively pulls a string from the pile in the center of their circle, and picks up a box of glitter-swirled opalescent blue beads. 

—

In his room, casually orbiting the task of settling in for the night, Kip decides to treat himself to a relaxing routine despite the fact that he knows he could probably fall asleep just fine without it. But he takes a hot bubble bath with the light dimmed, reading a chapter of his book, a teacup of chai on the rim of the tub. He pats himself dry afterwards and rubs lotion on his elbows and knees and the backs of his hands before blowdrying his hair. He cuts and files his nails while he’s at it, and rubs some mint-scented cuticle cream in afterwards.

Back in his room, he spritzes some orchid-scented perfume on his bed so the subtle smell will linger for a while. He attaches his headphones to his phone and plays some looped audio of rainfall and crawls onto the bed to lie on his stomach. After about ten minutes he gets up again and gets out of his pajamas, and goes to his sock drawer, and takes out his prostate massager.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this. He and Pascal never exactly got around to using that many sex toys while they were together, and it’s only since living without Pascal—and thinking he’d be indefinitely reliant upon himself for pleasure—that Kip invested in a small variety of tools to enhance his masturbation. There’s his first purchase, the dildo that approximates Pascal’s size and shape, and a smaller one, easier to insert and gently waved for stimulation, and then there’s a middling-sized plug, a cock ring he’s used for particularly lengthy sessions with himself, and his one slender, slightly curved massager.

While he and Pascal’s sex had never come close to stagnant or even all that routine, they hadn’t tried giving each other orgasms through prostate stimulation alone. For a while Kip hadn’t even known that it was an available technique, and even when he did, he was too satisfied with their sex life already to give all that much thought to it. When suddenly without his longtime boyfriend, though, he became a lot more interested in improving his personal skills. Unfortunately, he never quite got around to developing a real expertise in the realm. Though sexual frustration set in quickly after the move, his stress was a significant inhibition for the first month or two—he’d often be too impatient or tired or simply uninterested to do much more than rub out a quick orgasm, only occasionally taking more time, playing with himself a bit more, trying to allow himself to fantasize more freely, luxuriate in it, really enjoy it. He only went for a prostate orgasm with a few brief tries. The first time it was taking so long he simply gave up on it and wrapped his hand around his cock, but the second time he saw it through. It took ages, he suspected a few times over that he wasn’t quite doing it perfectly, but the orgasm had been a surprise, surprisingly slow and long-lasting, more of a slope than a sharp peak. The third time had felt like it was going more smoothly, but he simply lost patience partway through again. He never got around to a fourth—Wallace moved in, and shortly thereafter, the stress of the move seemed like a day at the beach, and things would only worsen, without reprieve, for months and months.

The intense anxiety, stress, exhaustion, and eventual fresh exposures to trauma quickly decimated even his exacerbated sex drive. He simply jerked off on infrequent occasion, a practical exercise, the potential heights of his enjoyment no longer that much of a concern.

But now he wants it lengthy, indulgent, luxuriating again. He was focusing more on his pleasure even before he was sure he was intending to be with Pascal again. Now that he’s actually with him, being kissed and touched again, getting dicked down and sucked off in spectacular ways, he’s only more interested in being better at getting himself off.

He wants a sleeve to jerk off with, something that can be soft and enveloping in similar ways to Pascal’s arms, maybe even have bumps on the inside to mimic the texture of the suckers. And if he can get the hang of it, the site he bought most of the toys from had a different iteration of prostate massager so impressive he distinctly remembers it. It was much more curved, almost like a U, meant to be used hands-free. He would sit on it, one end would go into him, against his prostate, while the other end would be pressed up against his taint—he could rock back and forth on it while on his knees. He’d found himself subtly dragging his hips forward and back just looking at the picture while imagining it.

He’d also felt a spark of interest in various other concepts—trying to ride a dildo on an exercise ball for that smooth rocking movement, using a sex swing for otherwise impossible positions, dripping hot wax onto his cold skin, spreading his wrists or locking them overhead—but he never figured any of his more theoretical ideas would ever be too relevant. But maybe now he can do a little more research, maybe bring up these kinds of ponderances to Pascal if they seem like things he’d be into as well.

Like how, right now, he can try to get himself off via his prostate again, see if he can do it even better than his first ventures, see how much he likes it.

Kip covers the massager generously in lube. He lies flat on his back and rests it against his stomach for a bit, eyes closed, breathing deeply, trying to relax himself even more than he already is. He suspects he was starting off a bit impatiently the earlier times he tried doing this, and maybe if he really gives it some extra time, he’ll feel like he’s found the right approach.

He lays his dick on his stomach—he’s already growing a bit hard out of sheer anticipation, but he doesn’t want to touch his erection that much from here on out. The massager slides smoothly into him, and he quickly nestles the end against his prostate and puts the slightest amount of pressure onto it. It’s so much easier than reaching the right spot with his fingers—even when Pascal does it for him, he knows it’s difficult to maintain a precise, steady stimulation for very long.

But this is just as he remembers—so easy that he’s tempted to just go for it all at once, push unrelentingly until he’s too far gone to patiently wait for orgasm. But he deliberately ignores the urge and goes even slower than he thinks he needs to.

He worries that he’s being too gentle and nothing is going to happen. But after a couple of minutes, something is kicking in that lets him know he’s got it.

He still has his whole body relaxed against the bed, but his knees are spasming. 

He’s definitely doing this better than the few times he messed with it before. Just a little more confidence in his ability to do this right, and it’s paying off sooner and more intensely than he thought it could. Every press feels like a little burst of sheer bliss—it should be too much, but it’s not, he’s still just resting, moving his wrist at an easy, flowing pace. 

When it starts feeling slightly effortless, Kip builds his rhythm—still slow and steady, but just a little faster-paced, an ounce or two harder. The first thing that happens is an involuntary groan. He gasps and immediately turns his head to the side, sliding his hand up to press his pillow against his mouth. Occasional whimpers keep slipping out, he buries them and digs his fingers into the fabric.

He so badly wants to jerk off, he wants this orgasm so much, but at the same time he’s so utterly enraptured with how it’s feeling as it builds at this slow pace. Already overwhelming, each stroke already providing a deep satisfaction, his pleasure thrillingly intense. 

He’s not even done and he already wants to do this again.

He gives another groan and chokes it back, manages to let it out as a quiet, drawn out, strangled-off whine. He’s trembling uncontrollably down the full length of his legs. It feels like every nudge of his prostate is a fraction of an orgasm in itself. His cock is leaking—not the usual clear drops clinging to the tip, but a slow, light flow that’s gradually puddling on his stomach, despite the fact he hasn’t yet hit his actual peak. 

Whimpering with every exhale, Kip feels something like pressure, tension, energy gathering deep in his core, a different yet unmistakeable sensation of imminent climax; he squeezes his eyes shut and hooks his elbow around the pillow to pin it against his mouth, all but smothering himself with it. He doesn’t speed his pace—he knows it’s coming and he only needs to wait for it.

His orgasm seems to start somewhere in his stomach, radiating out in an incredible, intense wall of sharp, dense pleasure; he’s overcome. He cries out into the pillow, distantly feels himself spill warm across his abs—it fades, and he uncovers his face and breathes and looks up at the ceiling, lying immobile, still soaked in it—then all of a sudden he’s hit with another wave of orgasmic levels of pleasure, arching up, gasping—then another and another, until he slumps back against the bed as smaller ripples gently ease him into an all-encompassing afterglow.

Kip considers sitting up, and with a brief effort at propping himself up on his elbows, he discovers an impressive amount of thick fluid across his front, but also that he seems to be barely able to move from the waist down. It’s initially alarming, but his legs are still trembling, and he can still shift his whole body, albeit weakly. He lets himself fall back onto the blankets and simply bask in the euphoric wake of his orgasm.

He gets up what must be about a quarter of an hour later. He eases the massager out of himself and walks carefully over to retrieve some tissues from his closet, legs still remarkably unsteady. After wiping up most of his spill, he wraps the tissues around the condom and tosses it all in his wastebasket, then slips back into his pajamas and goes into the bathroom for a bit of extra cleanup.

His skin is still overly sensitive even after his climax, even after his afterglow has ebbed away; the rub of fabric against his chest and his butt and his waist feels almost overstimulating sometimes, like he wants to flinch at the touch. But the pleasantness that lingers from the whole experience is far from gone, either. Despite the weakness of his body, he doesn’t quite feel wearied, and his movements are smooth, minimal, easy.

It’s all too much in a good way, but he still can’t see himself wanting this kind of orgasm too frequently—it’s different from the usual buildup and climax at every step, sharper and drawn out, just as good, but still not exactly superior. Not to mention—the way Pascal fucks him can’t be replaced or surpassed by any damn thing in existence.

Back in his room, Kip sheds his clothes again and climbs back underneath the covers, rolling onto his stomach with a happy sigh. He distantly thinks of telling Pascal about this, and, better yet, giving it to him too. Maybe he could demonstrate on himself and have Pascal blow him while he does. Maybe Pascal has stories of his own about getting creative during their shared drought. Kip dozes off while distantly imagining it.

—

Another rainy day, more at a drizzle than a storm this time. The little drops tap pleasantly on Kip’s umbrella as he walks to work, and he finds himself in the rare state of feeling pleasantly cool. 

At first it’s just him replacing Cuddy and dealing with everything up front while Molly works on her last few rounds of bakes in the kitchen, but after just an hour Kate joins him as well. They handle the lunch period together, and Kip shoulders the register and barista stations for a little while so that Kate can go into the back and chat with Molly a bit before the latter leaves.

They spend the last few hours of Kip’s shift pairing up their activities so that they can be cleaning next to each other, talking through their work. Kip still can’t get Kate to tell him in person what her news is, she just tells him to check on his laptop when he gets home, and gives a secret little smile as she turns away to keep scrubbing off the shelf under the counter.

But she’s on a roll with making Kip laugh today, so they don’t bother messing with each other much. The rainy weather seems to keep things a little slow, but they get a sizable group of friends all at once, and later the members of what seems to be a knitting circle come in, one by one and in pairs, to settle in the corner with each other. The quiet background noise of conversation is nice, his and Kate’s efforts seem to be second nature, and work somehow remains stress-free for the rest of Kip’s shift.

The rain starts up again a couple of minutes into Kip’s walk back to the apartment. The drops are fewer and further between but also heavier than before, and their rhythm on Kip’s umbrella is steady and staccato.

He empties their mailbox as he enters their building and glances at Wallace’s door when he passes by. He knows he has one more try in him, that he wants to actually say something for a moment, but he still doesn’t know what it should be. He doesn’t feel sure that he shouldn’t lose touch with Wallace, at least temporarily. In that case, he at least would owe Wallace one face-to-face meeting to tell him so.

He’s at least glad that the momentary lurch of unpleasantness from the other day didn’t manage to throw him off completely. Sure, his anxiety made him throw up again, and sure, it wasn’t as if he could shake it off completely. But it didn’t ruin his whole day, didn’t upset him as thoroughly as it could’ve. It was easier to turn his thoughts from it—he’s always known, ever since the worst of it, that the best thing he can do for himself is simply find a distraction. Think about something else for a while. Only let himself bear it in little intervals whenever he can manage to break it up.

Maybe he’ll talk to Wallace before he comes over for the dinner at the end of the week, maybe he won’t. The line between avoidance and simply letting himself off the hook when he’s not in the mood can sometimes be too thin to discern, but he at least knows that even if he feels guilty about having no progress to report at his next appointment, Eno isn’t going to be disappointed with him, think worse of him than he had, judge him. Kip’s dropped the ball plenty of times over the course of his years of therapy, and Eno’s never given up on him, nor even gotten frustrated. Whenever Kip’s struggled with some suggestion or project or given up on it completely, Eno just asks where his difficulties lay, and discussed with them how they might adapt some new method to better suit Kip’s needs and personality.

He wonders that Eno has such patience with him, and always has. He responds to it for sure—he worked up the nerve to come out to Eno even before his own family, full of dread and horrible anxiety at the task, even though he knew he had nothing to fear from any of them. He’s always known, how genuinely Eno cares for him. That he’s known about Kip’s skittish avoidance and weakness and anxieties, seen them worsened, seen them refuse to simply diffuse away after enough time, as Kip suspects a lot of people in his life had hoped or expected they would. Kip’s never felt like Eno saw him as anyone but who he was, or wished he was better than he was. 

Maybe it’s just the sheer familiarity with each other—the fact that there were essentially no stakes when they first met—the fact that, barely below his surface, Eno is full of care and gentleness. And Kip has always known himself, known that’s what he responds to—simply a soft, loving approach. He’ll raise a cold shoulder, a level stare, he’ll spark up with irritation or even genuine anger—all to protect himself and those around him from those who don’t care about them, who’ll hurt them one way or another. And the only thing Kip melts for is being regarded in earnest and given a real, genuine moment of thoughtfulness—evidence that his own softness has been seen and valued, that there’s been an even momentary understanding that Kip wants to, needs to be treated gently.

Eno has always treated Kip this way, allowed Kip to be as prickly and cold and sharp as he wants, or shaky and scared and upset—he sees all of it, unflinching, only seeming to love Kip the more for each of the years they’ve known each other.

Pascal is so deeply, inherently infused with these traits—compassion and such a capacity for attentive caring focus and unshakeable, soft, deep love—that it’s no wonder Kip was so immediately drawn to him, so quickly infatuated, and, once given the chance to get to know Pascal on a deeper level, see not only the traits that existed in the ways Pascal treats and regards others, but the way Pascal regards himself, the ways he’s independent of others, the things he likes, the kinds of things he does, endlessly unfolding little details about him—it’s always been obvious to Kip why he’s loved and trusted and wanted Pascal as surely and thoroughly as he does.

And when Kip gets right down to it, the tiny moments he had with Wallace even in the very beginning all fit this pattern, too. Even when he barely knew the human, when he felt suspicious and afraid and more than a little angry, there were little flickers of disruption when Wallace surprised him by acting thoughtful and kind, not only noticing the discomforts and needs that Kip tried to hide but seeming to have real concern—seeming to care about Kip in the way a real friend might. Kip had felt little skips of the heart, little glows of warmth in his chest and throat and face, little pulses of flustered affection. 

With virtually everyone he knows, it’s not the fact that they tend to be so much brighter and happier and bolder than him—it’s that each of them have their own way of being soft with him when he really needs them, and of understanding the quiet ways Kip tends to communicate his feelings on an everyday level. 

But he would push himself out of his comfort zone for any of them. He wants them to accept him for the worst parts of himself and not be disappointed that he’s not someone he’s never been, but he also wants to always try to be as good as he can for each of them—he would rather them be pleasantly surprised by him, impressed by him, feel as though he’s something positive in their world.

He’d like to be able to tell Eno he did talk to Wallace—very much so. 

But he doesn’t want to feel disappointed in himself if he can’t.

—

Kip carries a hamper of clothes down to the laundry room, puts it in the machine on the corner, treks back upstairs. He makes himself a warm cup of chamomile tea, and circles around a blank word document for a while, turning over various potential subjects to write about, before accepting that he just doesn’t seem to have it in him to write today.

He finally opens his email and glances over it for Kate’s address—and finds an email from her just third down the list, with the subject line “here, check it out loser.” It starts with just a couple lines of text, “jk love ya. now look at these before and afters & you’ll know my Good News (not the bible i promise!! ok reply when you know what it is!)”

Her “before and afters” are pairs of photos she’s taken, most of the old ones being simple, impromptu, candid shots that he recognizes from various posts on her blog from the past year and a half. But oddly, each “after” picture seems totally unrelated with the old photo it’s paired with—Kip doesn’t particularly recognize the new shots, but they’re at least all similarly everyday, ordinary imagery—it’s possible they’re just ones he’s forgotten about, or that she never posted before. 

There’s a shot of a table in a restaurant, sugar packets and salt shaker and a windowsill in the corner of the shot. And the “after” is a sparrow on a tree branch against a sunny sky, some clouds in the background. A clutch of houseplants, the overlapping fronds forming a kind of collage within the frame, a picture of the shot turned around on Kate herself, looking at something behind the camera with badly-restrained laughter, all windblown hair and freckles and a stripe of sunlight lain diagonal across her cheek. Kip makes a mental note to tell her she looks really good in that picture. A straightforward shot aimed down a street on what looks to be a late autumn afternoon, and a picture of Kate’s dog on the tiled floor of Kate’s kitchen, stretched out on her back.

There’s a few more pairs, all seemingly just as disconnected. Kip bites his lip and scrunches up his nose, scrolls up and down a few times, trying to see if a quick glance will provide answers better than studying each shot. Maybe there’s some kind of riddle here? Kate likes to be clever and fun and just a little difficult—it wouldn’t be too far off from various things she’s pulled before. She’ll either hit you in the face with some straightforward announcement or make you follow some scavenger hunt she’s somehow laid out for you, until you find her waiting at the end to hit you in the face with the reveal anyways. 

This one isn’t immediately obvious to Kip, so there has to be something deeper her. Maybe visual puns. Maybe something buried in the file names. Maybe there’s some overall theme he isn’t picking up on. 

After a couple minutes more, he still feels like he’s on a total dead-end with it all, gaining no new insights, thinking up no helpful avenue or perspective to pursue. He closes his laptop and looks around the kitchen for what he could make up into a dinner and goes into his room and texts Pascal and vacuums his floor and lies down for a little bit, then goes downstairs and transfers the laundry into a dryer.

He takes another look at the email again when he returns to the apartment and finishes his tea. After a minute he stops thinking about what it could actually mean and just looks at the pictures individually, appreciating them simply as examples of Kate’s passion and flair for photography in such a variety of styles and subject matter. He looks at the way she’s handled the balance in even a simple picture of her dog, seeming to capture every strand of fur, its soft texture and rich color and the way it scatters light amidst itself. It makes him look back up at the photo of the bird, the way delicate lines of shadow in the feathers of its throat are visible, a tiny glint of sunlight reflected in its eye, both the clouds and the branches rendered in clear detail and color.

Kip bites his lip again, glances up at the ceiling, then doubles down on his analysis of each pair of pictures, leaning slightly in towards the screen, eyes flicking rapidly over the details in the images.

He scoffs a laugh and clicks the computer shut again, standing up to pace around the rug while he pulls up Kate’s contact in his phone. He’s too worked up to text this one, so he calls her instead, waiting through a couple of rings before reaching her almost-formal voicemail greeting.

“Hey,” he starts just after the beep, still pacing in tight circles. “Sorry I called you! I know you’re still at work and your phone just buzzed a lot and you’re going to see a voicemail from me and be annoyed that I didn’t just text you, because now you have to wait until a break or after work or something. But you made me wait, too, and I bet you already know that I know, or I would’ve just texted me. Why didn’t you tell me you were going to buy your new camera! I want to see it! Jesus—congratulations, I’m really glad you’ve finally been able to get a new camera. We have to do lunch sometime soon to celebrate it. And you better not have told anybody about this before me or anything. Congratulations. Thanks for the email and just text me or tell me things next time because I had to stare at it for like ten minutes and you’re lucky I figured out what you were talking about at all! Anyways I knew you were really happy about something and I’m glad too, and bye, and congratulations again.”

He ends the call and shoves the phone back in his pocket and sinks to his knees, shoving his face against a pillow on one end of the couch. His heart is still beating hard enough for him to feel.

This makes it feel even more like Kate is maybe always going to be okay. Maybe he can feel this way about all his friends. And himself.

It wasn’t that long ago that he wasn’t so sure even these kinds of simple moments of happiness weren’t solely in his past.

—

Kip is still fairly stuck on Kate’s news an hour later, itching to see her so he can freak out over it in person—her goal of getting a new camera, a real, high-end, seriously professional one that could match her wants and vision and skills has been one so long-held it seems almost legendary. He really wants to text her but is fighting the desire, if only as a way to get a tiny amount of pretend-revenge for having to wait and decipher an email puzzle. 

When Molly suddenly shows up, he’s so stuck on it that his initial impulse is to ask her if she was with Kate—as though all three of them hadn’t been at work earlier, and Kip hadn’t witnessed Molly leave well before either of them, and didn’t know Kate was closing. So he trips on the very start of his sentence and then struggles through a long pause, fumbling simultaneously with a cluster of potential options that only make it out in a disjointed mess of syllables, before finally abandoning hope of recovering it at all, sighing, and landing on “What’s up?”

Molly, who waited patiently through the whole disaster, sets a paper shopping bag down on the couch and leans against the arm as she straightens out the hem of her sundress.

“Not too much today,” she says. “I came back here for lunch and went out for a walk, I got some more of that shampoo I liked, and I hung out with Ben for a while.”

“Ah, cool,” Kip says. He likes that his heart only just barely accelerates. It’s no big deal, and it’s nothing new.

Besides, knowing that Molly tends to visit and chat with Ben at least once a week has indirectly provided him with some bonus knowledge—that Ben has never told Molly about Kip’s momentary outburst that now seems so long ago, since Molly has never tried to drag him into a room with Ben and only let him out once he resolves the issue. And Wallace must not have told Ben about what Kip did, because Kip is fairly confident that if Molly suspected such a rift was set up between Ben and him, she would drag him into a room with Ben and only let him out once he resolves the issue.

“Hey—“ he says, before his silence becomes anything too weird, noticeable, or pointed. “Did you hear about Kate’s thing already?”

“Not yet, she was telling me she’d say it with an email? Which I was thinking, ‘what?’ But it’s Kate, so...”

“Okay, yeah, that’s what she told me too. I said I was gonna be mad at her if she was only doing that to me. But I guess she sent it the other day, or this morning or something...”

“Oh, you got it? What’s it say?”

“Well, it doesn’t quite tell you—not directly, or anything.”

“It’s one of those things she wants you to figure out?”

“Yeah. Want me to tell you, or...?”

He watches as she looks up towards the ceiling, crosses her arms, runs her tongue over the front of her teeth.

“Aahh, gimme a minute, I’ll see if I can figure it out—“

She turns and heads off into her room, and Kip laughs softly and leans back against the wall.

—

“Hey, need any help?” Roy swings into the doorframe mid-stride.

“No, thanks, I’m good...” Kip says, giving the skillet a superfluous stir. “I meant to ask you guys, though—Wednesday, I’m supposed to be off, do you think it would work to have Pascal over for dinner then?”

“Oh! Sure, that’d be great! I haven’t seen him since last time...”

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “Yeah, I don’t think he’s been over often enough for any of us. It wouldn’t have to be a big thing, you know—I think he likes to be uh, considered, not a big deal...like, more like the way it was when we all lived together, right? I was thinking I could make a cake or something...if you and Molly think it’d be a good day for it, I mean. I just thought I should throw that out there, I’d been talking about it...”

“Yeah, absolutely, I can ask her, we should do it!”

“I—“ Kip starts, but glances over to see Roy is already well on his way. He turns back to the stove and warms his fingers in the steam rising from the pan.

—

“wanna come over weds night?” Kip texts Pascal. Then: “i know you’ll be here on friday too, but molly and roy say wed would work too, if you want. if not, thats cool, i’ll keep watching out for days you can come over anyways”

Pascal texts back after a few minutes to say he’d love to come over Wednesday, and Kip smiles and lays his phone on his chest.

—

During work the next afternoon, Kip gets a text from Kate saying she’s planning to get some more practice in with her new camera at the park on Saturday, and that if he and Molly wanted to join her, they could all hang out. She sends a follow-up text a little bit later, saying she’s just remembered to check the forecast, but the weather is supposed to be partly cloudy, and not overly hot.

He steals a quick moment in the back to accept.

There’s one downside to his quiet shift when he accidentally burns himself on the side of the espresso steam, and it’s more of a shock than it should be. He goes to the kitchen area and sits on the stool for a minute, his head in his left hand, the other hand crossed over his front to hold the side of his waist. He slips his hand underneath his shirt to touch the area of his burn scar, somehow finding it grounding. The quietly awful, shuddering feeling fades after about a minute, and he holds his wrist under some cold water, then closes his hand around the slightly bluer patch of skin and infuses it with a bit more chill.

The gentle press of a bandage helps alleviate the slight sting, and he can go about the rest of his shift without any more unpleasant memories acting up. 

—

Kip is just about to be frustrated that someone else is coming in during the last ten minutes the café is open, but then he glances up and sees that it’s his boyfriend, and he beams in the middle of taking an order as the feeling does a complete 180.

Pascal lingers around the doorway, looking around the café as though he hasn’t been inside enough times that everything isn’t already familiar to him, glancing at Molly’s posters, at the tiles on the floor, at the tables and chairs along the opposite wall. Kip knows that the forced preoccupation is for his sake, so he knows Pascal isn’t going to be looking at him the whole time and he doesn’t have to feel too self-conscious. Kip keeps glancing at him though, because Pascal is this perfect blend of ferociously sexually attractive and just impossibly cute, and Kip appreciates how nice he is to look at and how much nicer that he’s here, and how happy it makes Kip to be with him.

He catches Pascal glancing back at him a few times and Pascal waves and blushes a little, which delights Kip endlessly. After handing off the last order across the counter, Kip meanders back to the register, hands clasped behind his back, half-stifling a smile until Pascal notices him and he lets himself laugh.

“Hey,” Pascal says as he walks up to the other side of the counter. 

“Hey,” Kip returns. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah? I thought I could, y’know, walk you home and all. It’s pretty nice out tonight.”

Kip smiles.

“That’s really nice, Pas,” he says quietly. “I’d really like that.”

The fact that such a simple thing could again make Pascal blush and smile a little harder, seemingly almost flustered, makes Kip’s heart feel light. He wonders that he can make anyone so happy so easily, especially someone as wonderfully good as Pascal.

“Hey,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Pascal laughs and brushes some hair back and Kip reaches across the counter and takes the end of his arm.

“Jeez, what’re you so happy about?” he teases, rubbing his thumb up and down against a sucker.

“Nothing,” Pascal says. “It’s just good to see you. I really like getting to see you.” 

Kip doesn’t say anything, just gives Pascal’s arm a little squeeze and holds his gaze for a moment to let him know he understands. 

“Oh—“ Pascal glances down at Kip’s arm when he lets go. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah...” Kip touches the edge of the bandage, standing out obtrusively against his blue skin. “I just burned myself a little. It was kind of rough for a second there, but it doesn’t really hurt anymore.”

“Aw...I’m glad you’re alright.”

Kip giggles and hugs his arms across his front.

“Yeah, me too.”

Pascal hangs out in a chair while Kip finishes up closing, turns out all the lights, runs a mop over the rest of the floor upfront.

“I wanna kiss you, but I guess you’re still technically at work and all,” Pascal sighs, leaning back against the wall.

“I’m almost done,” Kip laughs, pushing the mop against a spot of dirt on the floor, trying not to think too much about the idea of Pascal making out with him right now, pushing him up against the wall, fucking him. It’s a nice fantasy, but he thinks he’d probably rather save the “sex at work” theme for occasional escapades in the back of Pascal’s shop after hours.

A few minutes more of closing up the register and turning everything off, and Kip finally clocks out. He goes back around to the front and Pascal looks up at him as he approaches and Kip leans down and kisses him.

“I’m a little gross from work,” he murmurs against Pascal’s lips.

“It’s okay,” Pascal breathes. “I was gonna go home and shower anyway.”

Kip laughs slightly and sits down astride Pascal’s lap, wrapping his arms over his shoulders, and leaning in for a deeper kiss.

Pascal wraps his arms around Kip’s back, and one slow, lazy kiss becomes another, another.

“Mm...missed you,” Kip sighs between kisses. Pascal answers him with a slightly more passionate press of his lips, and an arm slipping further up his shoulders.

After a minute Kip leans back and meets Pascal’s eyes, smiling almost unconsciously at the sight. Pascal shifts and tightens his embrace.

“I...” Kip finds his train of thought lost, and just laughs quietly instead.

“Yeah?” Pascal leans in and kisses the corner of Kip’s jaw, brushes his chin against Kip’s neck so that it almost tickles, and plants a kiss just beneath Kip’s ear while Kip giggles and draws his shoulders up in a reflexive cringe.

Kip buries his fingers in the thick hair on the back of Pascal’s head and tucks his face in the crook of Pascal’s neck. Pascal’s hold shifts subtly into a hug, and Kip gently scratches his fingertips up and down Pascal’s shoulderblades.

They sit there for a quiet minute or two.

“How was your day?” Kip asks quietly.

“It was alright, you?”

“Yeah,” Kip says. “Not too bad.”

They’re quiet a few moments more.

“I really like being held by you,” Kip murmurs. “I think about it a lot.”

“I like holding you,” Pascal responds. “And I like being held by you, too.”

Kip smiles against Pascal’s shoulder. 

After another minute he gets up, telling Pascal he knows that with these chairs it can’t be nearly as comfortable as when Kip curls up in Pascal’s lap on the worn-in armchair in his apartment. Pascal says it’s worth it anyways, and Kip takes his arm and leads him outside.

—

Pascal’s goodnight kiss is sweet as ever, and the way he conveys such warmth in only a couple of seconds, the way he touches the small of Kip’s back and just barely bends him over, the way he makes the kiss so soft but so sure—Kip is somewhat lost in it all the way up the stairs to the apartment.

While changing into his pajamas, he gets the text saying Pascal got home safely. He responds by saying he’s glad, and telling him to take a hot shower so he can relax after a long day. The lack of an immediate answer makes Kip wonder if that’s what’s actually happening. A few lingering thoughts featuring Kip’s knowledge of what Pascal looks like in a warm shower, body naked and so close and soaked with warm water, and then a brief recall of his earlier impulse to be fucked by Pascal, and Kip slides his hand down past his waistband.

He follows several fuzzy threads at once—showering with Pascal, sex in the shower, the idea he gets sometimes in a slow day at work when he’s tired and lonely and imagines Pascal wrapping his arms around him right where he is, whispering low in his ear, chest pressed against Kip’s back, his cock hard in his pants and pushed right up against Kip’s ass. Gripping a broom handle a little tighter, face getting a little warmer as he imagines Pascal grinding forward, pushing him against whatever surface is closest, imagining trying to find something to hold on to as Pascal fucks him, pushing him down against the countertop, imagining gasping for breath, eyes closed, giving Pascal total control of the situation for the moment.

Kip never knows that his brief fantasies of being fucked at work are necessarily that exhibitionist, since if he thinks of other people being there it’s usually just various amalgams of hot guys who sometimes stop by the café. Maybe one who can fuck his mouth while Pascal fucks him in the ass and jerks him off. Maybe two, one to fuck him from behind and one to suck him off while he blows Pascal. It tends to bleed over into his occasional fantasies about being the focus of a whole group, cocks pushed all up against his body, hot and hard and leaking cum, in his mouth and ass and hands, against his thighs, the small of his back, against his stomach.

He imagines Pascal’s arms spiraled around his thighs from hip to knee as Pascal sucks him off, while warm hands hold and grope and caress him all over his torso, mouths bite at his neck, kiss his face and lips, suck and lick his stomach and chest. He could look down and watch someone fuck Pascal, someone blow him—his dick twitches in his hand, he shoves his pants off and fumbles in his nightstand for lube.

He thinks of sinking to his knees in front of Pascal, hands holding on to his hips as he kisses the dripping head of his cock, of Pascal’s arms on his shoulders, pushing him down, pulling him in once Kip takes him in his mouth. He pumps himself at a firm and rapid pace. He thinks of Pascal fucking him hard and fast, of coaxing him to go even harder and then getting his wish, getting the kind of orgasm he could only dream of giving himself while lying alone on his back in bed. He thinks of the orgasm he gave himself just the other day, of Pascal kissing him, sucking him while he does it again.

Kip’s thoughts are starting to get less coherent, so he slows down for a second to rest and think about what Pascal must really be doing right now. He thinks about how much Pascal enjoyed simply seeing him and sharing a nice, close, gentle moment, for no other reason than that they love each other. He bites his lip and remembers Pascal’s enthusiastic response to the video he sent. 

Kip turns on his lamp and the string of lights along the corkboard and holds his phone up above himself, switching to the camera facing himself. He puts his hand on his dick, takes it off, tilts the camera to show more of his chest, tilts it in the other direction to show more of his thighs. He takes a few different shots and then swipes through them all, trying to find the one that’s best. He settles on one with his fingertips grazing the base of his cock, the arch of his back subtly visible in the way his ribs press up. There’s a surprising level of visible detail to his pubes, waves of hair defined by shadows and little gleams of light. The deep flush of the end of his dick shows up as a nice color. And the bottom of his left nipple is just visible at the top of the screen if you look for it—even some of his dusting of light blue chest hair made it into the frame.

He sends it to Pascal with the text “thinking about you” and then refocuses on the task at hand.

His head gets too staticky with pleasure to focus on following the thread of any cohesive fantasy, so he gives way primarily to memories of sex—generally recent, some from years in the past. But little flickers of entirely fictional encounters come into the mix—mostly featuring attractive strangers from one random day in a store or in magazine ads or on his weekly train ride, but a couple of times it’s undeniably Wallace, holding Kip’s knees to his shoulders and fucking him, lying in bed while Kip spoons and fucks him from behind, holding his wrists in one hand and his waist in the other.

But Kip doesn’t miss a beat even when it’s Wallace whose face makes it into the show, whose hands are on Kip’s face and dick, whose mouth covers his, voice sighs in his ears. Such a thing doesn’t trouble him the way it once would’ve. He’s just harboring an attraction to Wallace that he’s been aware of for a good while now, and right now he’s jerking off and drawing on various sources of arousal. It’s not that complicated nor that big of a deal. He’s trying to cum, and momentarily fantasizing about Wallace doesn’t have anything to do with pledging his love to Wallace alone, any more than he’s devoting himself to the one really attractive guy he saw at the library once a couple of years ago, whose dick he’s just thought about sucking. He thinks of Wallace’s mouth around his own cock for a moment just to solidify the point to himself, and then he’s thinking of a jeans model with a really nice ass and jawline, and then he’s thinking of Pascal.

He finishes himself off with his hips practically raised from the bed, thrusting into one hand while the other grips his own ass and thigh. He spills across his chest and is immobile for a second or two before sinking back down to the mattress with a long, slow exhale, satisfied and relaxed.

He checks his phone to see a text he didn’t realize he’d gotten.

“well, i’d already jerked off before you sent that but now i have to again”

Kip takes another picture, with the cum on his front shining in the light. He lets his face be in the shot for the sake of sending Pascal his smile as well.

—

Kip jolts awake in the middle of the night to a sledgehammering heart. His limbs are shuddering and he’s so cold and saturated in clammy sweat that for a disorienting moment he thinks he must’ve wet his bed. He tries to prop himself up—his arms are so unsteady from shivering that he struggles for a moment. He switches on his bedside lamp in one quick movement and focuses simply on breathing as well as he can.

The moment he’s sure of where he is and what his reality consists of, he cautiously tries to recall anything from whatever nightmare he must’ve awoken from. He can barely get the faintest echoes of what seems like a few milliseconds of memory, but the moment he tries to pin it down he feels all traces of details slip away, and knows it’s hopeless.

At least he didn’t wake up in the midst of complete panic—though this one had apparently left him with an ominous feeling of intense gravity and dread, maybe even horror. But it had slipped away quickly as his consciousness returned.

Kip goes into the bathroom, pees, washes his hands and face and gazes at himself in the mirror, looking exactly like anyone would if they were wrenched out of heavy sleep and made to stand under the glare of a lightbulb. He turns a little and looks at the slight discoloration seated above his hip, partway on his back. He touches it and sighs and returns to his bed, hoping for a smooth return to sleep.

—

Kip and Kate’s shifts overlap the next day, so they the whole time talking about her new camera. Kip keeps encouraging her to talk about it at length, despite the fact that about a third of it is stuff he only has a vague understanding of, and some details go by him completely. He’s just glad she’s so into this—it feels like forever ago he heard about her getting her first camera, and she’s done so much great work and developed her skill so much with just the slightly-better-than-amateur-level camera that he can only guess what she’ll be able to accomplish with this one.

He has to admit to himself that he’s a little jealous of her passion, simply because he’s never felt that way about anything he’s pursued, and he has no idea what—if anything—he might want to base a career around, and he’s sure Kate is that much closer to the day she’ll not only stop working at the café but doubtless be traveling all the time, as her favorite application of her work has always been front-page, frontlines, breaking-news and investigative type photos. And he’ll be glad for her but miss her fiercely as he did in D, and will miss her even more here in C after another year’s worth—to put it lightly—of growing closer and bonding.

He’ll celebrate with her when she lands a position, or maybe even just commits fully to freelancing, of maybe actually starts her own one-woman company or something, anything’s possible with her—and he’ll really be happy for her and he’ll really support her but he’ll really miss her and he’ll really have to see the lack of a sense of vocation in his own life.

Maybe he can go ahead and accept he might not have one—for all the passion and energy he secretly has in his personality, he’s never felt like he’s been certain of what he wants to do. He wanted to help people the way Kent and Eno and Yumi were, and that never stopped even after that day, but the fact is that the desire was hopelessly entangled with everything that happened and has happened since. And now Kip has to try to sort out what stems from his own wants and needs and what is a sense of obligation to his brother’s legacy—although within that obligation, maybe there’s part of him that really does owe it to people to try to continue being a remnant of his brother. It’s already been put upon him—another reason he’s been so keen to hide himself away as much as he has, to prevent the mere fact that he’s living his life from being some kind of statement. Which has hardly prevented it.

Maybe he just wants a quiet life, focused on the smaller task of sitting quietly in the background, helping his friends build their lives in whatever ways he can manage. Maybe that’s all he can and should be focusing on right now. Resting and healing without a sense of inadequacy and guilt. Loving himself even when he’s accomplishing nothing relevant to what Kent did, to what he’s done in Kent’s wake, and in the past year. Maybe in a little time he’ll discover a spark for something in himself. Maybe not. Maybe it’s fine if he hasn’t completely jumped back into even the simple task of updating his blog as well as he’d like. Maybe it’s okay that right now his one ambition seems to be nestling into his boyfriend’s cozy little nook of an apartment and trying to help him settle into C for real. 

And then Kate returns from the back and they finish up with the slight wave of customers and he shakes himself out of his circle of self-preoccupation to instead continue enjoying Kate’s excitement and enthusiasm. He’s excited too just to be privy to this—she’s been waiting and working towards this moment for ages and ages, and getting be a part of making it even better is all he could want.

—

Kip pauses and looks at Wallace’s door for a moment. He sighs and walks towards it, puts his hand quietly on the frame. He’d gone in and out of it with barely a customary knock, and now it seems practically out of bounds. It’s so quiet that he doesn’t think Wallace is home anyhow—he’s probably out, he doesn’t spend so many evenings in the apartment building anymore, he seems to be venturing out at least a couple of times a week. Kip is glad Wallace does seem to be taking to C as his home the way he’s been talking about. Wallace has always seemed like he’d thrive in the liveliness and variety of the area, even if his previous existence in A is a major setback, one completely at odds with C and D in particular. Wallace is at least committed to trying to fit in, trying to learn from the ground up so that he can be better at his job than he is armed with his admittedly significant compassion alone.

Kip, by comparison, is still something of a homebody, despite having grown up in the area, living in it most of his life—maybe even moreso than he was when they first moved back, mostly keeping at home unless out with friends. He realizes that the very fact he has this thought means he’s probably feeling a little cooped up, even if that is mainly self-inflicted. But he heads up to his room anyways. 

He feels sort of vaguely tired, like he only wants to lie in bed for the rest of the night until he falls asleep. He figures that’s a reasonable desire after just finishing up a nine hour shift at work. And right now the most appealing thing to him is just lounging around in comfortable clothes, reading, messing around on his laptop or phone, texting with Pascal, taking a nice shower, jerking off, warming himself from the inside out with a cup of tea, letting himself fall asleep whenever he feels like it—so that’s what he does.

—

Kip wakes up feeling off. So he tries to be gentle with himself, and is glad that it’s a fairly good day for all his depression and shit to act up. He didn’t have to get up early, it’s not one of his days off that’s being ruined, and he’s not hanging out with Pascal, or, as far as he knows, anyone else today. The fact he’s not firing on all cylinders won’t really have an effect on anything.

He makes himself a nicer breakfast than usual, listens to some music while he washes dishes and sings along a little, has a cup of orange juice, soaks in the tub for a while mostly for the sake of warming up every part of himself, infusing the water with a honeydew-scented bubble bath soap. After getting out and drying off a little, he lubes up the smaller dildo and has a slow, easy climb to a nice, solid orgasm, exactly the kind he’s in the mood for—rather than the overwhelmingly intense kind of climax he’d achieved the other night that left him drained and exhausted for the next hour or so, rather than a quick release that gives relief and feels good enough but doesn’t bring the same deep, shivering satisfaction as a longer buildup. He rests for a while in its wake.

He kind of wants to go for an aimless walk just for the sake of being outside for a while, taking in the scenery and weather, getting some sun and air. But as decent as the idea sounds, after a while he finds himself still in the apartment, making no particular efforts to get changed and go outside. It just seems like too much somehow to even make the first step, so instead he sits on his bed and opens up his window, moves his plants onto the sill, and gazes outside with his head resting on his arms.

He sits there for a while watching everything happen outside his window, birds and people and cars. The air feels nice. Kip closes his eyes, lies back on the bed again and feels the faintest shift of a breeze reach in and brush over his skin. He imagines the sort of kiss he would get if Pascal was in the room. The way he’d always say “Hey, Kip,” quietly, in his lovely, low voice, walk over, lean down and gently press his mouth to the corner of Kip’s, put his arm on Kip’s opposite shoulder, let it linger there for just a beat more after pulling away from the kiss.

So many little touches from Pascal became so familiar to Kip over the years that recalling them is as easy as imagining the sound of his own voice. The feeling of tip of Pascal’s arm brushing across his lips, trailing slowly, gentle and smooth. Pascal’s hips nestled against his, the weight pressing him securely down. 

He would love to be lying back on Pascal’s bed like this, letting Pascal lie atop him, letting Pascal kiss and bite his neck at a lazy, indulgent pace, both of them basking in quietness, relaxation, a slight summer breeze. He’s not sure what kind of sex he’d be in the mood for on a day like this—maybe simply letting Pascal straddle him and frot them both to climax, maybe be the one to spoon Pascal while fucking his ass, arm around his chest, leg hooked around his thighs, rocking into him, burying his face in Pascal’s hair, breathing in the scent, luxuriating in the physicality of every sensation. 

He draws a deep breath. Maybe he’d like to taste Pascal right now, have the length of his cock filling his mouth. He could lie back on the bed, shoulders nearly hanging off the edge, let Pascal fuck his mouth, let him do most of the work of it and push himself down Kip’s throat. Pascal could lean in so far across his body that with a simple curve of his back he could wrap his arms around Kip’s thighs and suck him off too. And Kip would only have to lie there, getting and giving it all so good, and he’d make Pascal’s orgasm hit him hard and headspinning and then get to breathe freely again, lying there with cum and spit all across his cheeks and lips and chin, clinging to his nose. 

He opens his mouth and pants slightly just imagining it, and bunches up his blanket in his fist and presses it down over the front of his crotch. He breathes deeply for a little while, rubbing himself in small, gentle movements, but doesn’t get himself very hard, and doesn’t particularly want to. He’s still in the wake of a satisfying climax; it’s nice enough to simply give himself a quiet little swell of arousal, let it melt away again, and leave it at that.

Kip changes his mind about his ability to take the walk. He finds himself a little choosy about what to wear—something that seems to come up most strongly on bad days or great days. He kind of wants to go for a more casual look. He finds himself oddly wanting to look more fun and sociable than he used to—his look after they first moved to C had leaned more than ever towards seriousness and sophistication and a style that reflected how put-together Kip had wished he was. But now, maybe again because of being with Pascal, he still likes having as good and coordinated an outfit as ever, but likes it a bit more relaxed. Cute, comfortable sweaters over fitting jeans, shorts and roomy tees with open necks. 

He’s even found his tastes migrating towards a wider variety of colors, and brighter ones in general. He doesn figure he’ll ever be able to pull off a whole spectrum of rainbow stripes the way that Roy can, but he likes letting himself ease into this more varied wardrobe. It feels a little more like being himself.

And today, for a simple walk alone around the neighborhood, he puts on a pair of white shorts he got only about a month back, and a peach-colored tee with a gentle gradient and the white outlines of a few tiny stars scattered across the front. He looks at himself for a moment—maybe he’s trying to project an image of more upbeat and lighthearted than the person he really is, someone only just beginning to feel steady again a little while after a fresh round of nightmarish experiences and trauma and exposure to his most intense fears, someone who feels like he’s beginning to breathe for the first time in years and years and years, and wants to figure out who he is now. But it’s okay if who he is is someone who wants to try wearing kind of different than usual outfits just for the slight element of fun in it all.

And he does look pretty cute in shorts and tees. Slightly vivid colors look nice on him. And he doesn’t mind looking a bit more casual sometimes. He studies himself in the mirror for a bit. He does look good—and doesn’t particularly look like he woke up feeling the way he did.

He puts the bracelet Molly made him around his left wrist, and leaves the apartment before his motivation has the chance to depart.

Kip hums under his breath on his way down the stairs, and is a handful of feet from the exit when his peripheral vision registers that the person who just came in the other door is Wallace, and before he can even react or not—

“Oh, Kip! Hey!”

Kip stops short and automatically turns to look at him. He seems like he’s dressed for work, in a light-green polo tucked into tan pants, his brown messenger bag against his side.

“Hey,” Kip responds.

“I meant to, uh...” Wallace rubs the back of his head and glances away from Kip momentarily. “That is, uh, I kept wanting to ask you if you had something you wanted to talk about the other day, when you came by my apartment...”

“Oh. Right,” Kip says. 

He feels a kind of levelness he assumes stems from a feeling of resignation—to the fact that he’d run into Wallace in the front of the building like this, to the fact that Wallace would immediately ask him if he wants to talk. Kip is unsure how to for a moment, staring at Wallace’s shoulder. He hears the door to the stairwell open, footsteps come towards them, Kip circles over towards Wallace to let the monster go past him.

“Um,” Kip says quietly, simply for the sake of saying something at all. Then he glances up at Wallace to see him give a quick but real smile.

“I was heading back in for a while since I’ve been doing calls today and I don’t have my next one until a few hours from now,” Wallace explains. “I figured I could have lunch in my apartment, do a little paperwork from home for a while before heading back out, right? And, well, if you wanted to come over for a minute, if you have the time, you could.”

Kip presses his lips together and looks at Wallace’s face. 

“...Sure,” he says. 

“Okay, cool,” Wallace laughs lightly. “I’ll let us in.”

Kip’s gaze stays on the back of Wallace’s head as he follows him on the short journey to his door. He keeps running the fingertips on his left hand along the hem of his shorts as Wallace unlocks it. The apartment is a little messy, but nothing Kip hasn’t seen before. Wallace sets his bag down on his couch as they step inside, and Kip sits down on the other end out of habit as much as anything.

He can’t help but think of the times they’d spent in the room sorting quickly through paper, the weight of disaster leaning against their backs, seeking the smallest traces of certain details and urgently showing the other whenever they found one. Wallace had impulsively thrown his arms around Kip when Kip breathlessly passed him a page he’d found buried in a file, and Kip’s first feeling had been reflexive irritation at being surprised like that while under so much stress, but Wallace squeezed him tightly for a moment and dragged his hand across his back as he leaned away again, and Kip was actually glad for the contact, feeling a little more grounded, just slightly comforted.

More than once they took turns napping on this couch during long nights of effort. Kip remembers standing in Wallace’s kitchen, feeling weak and hopeless and scared, crying a little out of sheer frustration while Wallace slept in the other room, his head resting on the same spot on which Kip now sits. He remembers being beside Wallace at the table, listening to Wallace’s hushed phone call, almost holding his breath, waiting for Wallace to finish and tell him the other end of the conversation, realizing just how much he was leaning on Wallace’s help, really trusting him, and feeling like that was actually okay.

And then there was the first time they were in Wallace’s apartment for the sole purpose of hanging out, with so many other people gathered there with them, everyone so glad to simply be alive after everything, that everyone else was alive, that everything finally was better, safer, they had that much less to worry about, that much more to celebrate. Kip had been happy, but a little surprised at finding himself unable to really relax and talk and laugh freely. He had wanted to think he might feel so much better now that everyone was here, recovered, now that everything was done with, now that after all these years, he had gained a kind of closure, had done things and survived as he’d never dared to hope he could. But he hadn’t felt like a better, stronger, freer version of himself. More like the same as ever.

And months later, sitting here, he’s still the same. He’d have thought that facing down everything the way he did would impart him with some kind of sturdiness or courage he hadn’t had before, but he doesn’t think he’s gained all that much, if any. Nothing in particular about him has become impressive—it was all merely what he did when forced to act, same as before, accidentally surviving through luck and the rescuing help of others once again.

All the thoughts take only a few seconds to pass through his head, before Wallace has even turned around to face him again. Right as Wallace begins to, one more thing occurs to Kip—one that’s immediately relevant, to his relief and in contrast to the string of memories before.

He knows that even though he feels a great amount of pressure in this situation, Wallace isn’t intending to place any pressure upon him. He’s the one who, despite expressing to Kip a desire to keep talking, hasn’t intruded upon the slight distance Kip has been maintaining since his confession. Kip was the one who came to Wallace’s door, and for all Kip knows, the only thing Wallace is acting on now is his own desire to get to sit down and talk to Kip for the first time in ages. Maybe he could guess that Kip had wanted to say something serious and is trying to give him the chance again, maybe he thought Kip just intended to casually chat and was disappointed that they couldn’t.

Whatever Wallace is expecting, Kip knows they’re both nervous for their own reasons. He wonders if it’s ever gotten any easier for Wallace to read him—he’d grown much more open around Wallace, only to backtrack slightly out of sheer uncertainty after Wallace got his new job, then lose a little more confidence around the human after his first explicitly romantic dream about him, and now be completely unsure of how he and Wallace should or even can fit into each other’s lives anymore. He has to instinctively put up a front around him again—even if it’s not comparable to the way he’d tried to protect himself from Wallace before, Wallace has to be noticing, because Kip can tell he’s feeling a little self-conscious.

“Uh—so, uh—“ Wallace starts clumsily. He’s fidgeting, touching the back of his head, tugging at a belt loop, rubbing his thumb against the seam of his pants. 

Kip feels himself blushing just a little in a directly sympathetic reaction. But rather than make him more uncomfortable, seeing Wallace’s awkwardness seems to put him a bit more at ease.

“Um, want something to drink?” Wallace manages. He shifts his weight slowly from foot to foot. “I’ve got, y’know...”

He trails off for a moment, wrinkling his nose slightly.

“Actually, I forget what exactly I have, but I can check.”

“Just water would be good,” Kip says, making himself sit back and lean a little against the cushions.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Kip absently rotates his bracelet while listening to Wallace in the kitchen. He knows it’s even a little distancing of him to sit here like it’s his first time in the apartment again, rather than being in a space so familiar to him that he’s often been the one to fetch them both drinks and food from Wallace’s kitchen while Wallace pored over a file in the next room, too voraciously focused to stop. Kip wonders if his efforts at withdrawing from Wallace and their shared history and familiarity—and inarguably, intimacy—is wholly a self-defensive act, or if on some level he’s trying to level the field by signaling to Wallace that he shouldn’t be too comfortable. He tries to detect any elements of bitterness or spite in his emotions, but everything feels sadder than that, and everything about Wallace is still ultimately rooted in the realization of how close to him he’s become, how important Wallace is to him and everyone he knows, how a fire-forged trust and admiration has grown into deep fondness and affection. 

But even without any conscious intent to cause Wallace any extra distress, Kip can’t feel certain he isn’t unconsciously pushing for something by withdrawing like this. Maybe he’s trying to evoke in Wallace a reaction he can’t have himself but feels he should, trying to get Wallace to be outwardly concerned about the state of their relationship, maybe express the need to sever it himself, maybe even be angry. Kip can’t begin to guess what response from Wallace would feel most right to him, most understandable, most relieving.

Maybe it’s just a childish attempt for revenge. Maybe he’s trying to get Wallace to reach out as he backs away. Maybe he’s just trying to passively freeze over any remaining feelings of intimacy between them. Maybe something else. Maybe he really is only just nervous and unsure and it’s as simple as that.

“Here you go.” Wallace holds out the glass of water as he approaches.

“Thanks.”

Wallace circles around and sits in the chair across from the couch, setting his own drink on the table beside him. Kip keeps his glass in his hand and is reminded of the drink he held when he shared his secret with Wallace and realized his mistake. He glances up; he can already feel that the tiny pause after Wallace sat down has grown too long to feel natural—it’s obvious that they’re going to have to fight off awkward silences.

“How’ve you been?” Kip doesn’t find that the knowledge prevents him from finding words. “I know you’ve been okay, and I know you’re liking living here and being in your new office, and we don’t exactly see each other every day the way we did, but I don’t think I’ve been asking you that enough myself. I should be asking you more often. How you’re doing.”

He leaves out the parts of his thoughts that call him selfish for doing so, for being a bad friend. 

“I’m too distant,” Kip says as he thinks it. “I’ve been too distant, even before this. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what was best to do after we almost got back to normal, I didn’t want you thinking you needed my approval on everything, I thought maybe seeing me a lot would just remind you of everything that happened. And then I...well, it all led up to here. I have reasons for not knowing how I should talk to you anymore, but that doesn’t change that I’ve...if you wanted me around more, I’m sure it maybe felt like I was trying to avoid you again. I...don’t think I’m considerate enough. Thank you for letting me have some space after...after what I said.”

He turns his gaze from the edge of his glass to Wallace’s knee.

“How are you?” he finishes, raising his eyes to Wallace’s face.

“Uh...” Wallace sits still, one hand hovering above his lap.

He laughs softly but suddenly.

“Well, I’m doing pretty good,” he says. “Still getting used to work all over again, but I like it already. I really think that I’m actually in a good situation right now, don’t worry.”

Kip nods slightly. It’s nice to hear. He makes a mental note to replay this moment whenever he wants to stress about having wrecked any tenuous contentment Wallace has found.

“...What about you?” Wallace asks. “Are you doing good?”

“Kind of, yes,” Kip answers unhesitatingly. “It’s fine. I...”

He sighs and closes his eyes and lowers his head slightly. Now that he’s here, actually looking at and speaking to Wallace, he knows he wants to be as honest as possible again. He knows he can do it—he’s done this multiple times. But it could hurt either of them, and he wants to allow himself to withhold what he needs to without backing himself into a corner, unable to say anything further at all. And it’s going to change things between them one way or another, at least a little.

“What is it?” Wallace asks levelly. “...Were you wanting to ask me something when you were at my door earlier?”

“No,” Kip says, sort of relieved Wallace brought up his prior visit. “No, I was just...I’d been thinking you were right about what you’d said, that we should talk just for the sake of talking. I wasn’t getting anything new out of keeping our distance, and I got some advice that it’d be a good idea to just sit down and have a conversation about anything, and I...I wanted to tell you that...”

He taps his finger silently against the cool glass and flicks his gaze over to the wall.

“I just had the idea that I wanted to face you and say that I’m not sure what I want to say to you, but I want us to be talking anyways. I don’t want to be giving you the message that you can’t ever talk to me again. I’m not sure what I need to say, or what’s best, or—but I’m saying something, at least.”

“Yeah.” Wallace sounds a little more relaxed already, and that lessens Kip’s edge a bit too. “Yeah, I haven’t really been sure what I ought to say either, but I’ve always been good to talk.”

Kip nods again. He crosses his ankles and looks at his water.

“I—I’ve been thinking about how much of a mixed message it is to tell you...I felt about you that way and then to ignore you for, basically weeks,” Kip says. “I’ve been a bad friend to you lately. And I’ve had to ask myself if I’d... That is, I don’t think I have to be—you have to consider me your friend just because of what we went through back then. If I’m not a good friend to you, I...shouldn’t be your friend.”

“It’s...” Wallace trails off at once. Kip glances at him to see him blushing slightly, turned in Kip’s direction.

Kip feels like Wallace has more to say and subdues the impulse to fill the pause.

“It’s been hard trying to learn what you’re really like,” Wallace says slowly. “I feel like I’ve seen the real you plenty of times by now, but...I won’t pretend I’m always certain what you want from me. I know that you like to...shut yourself off from things or leave when something’s wrong, I get that, I’ve just, you know, tended to be on the other side of the walls you put up.”

Kip nods silently again, face warm. He lifts his head from its bowed position as he listens.

“It’s your right to do that,” Wallace continues. “You have reasons, and after everything you’ve been through, what you’ve been through because of me...”

He sighs.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were just tired of seeing me. I’ve always been really glad you aren’t, and that all of you guys have been so great, absolutely amazing... But I’m never sure what you need when you don’t want to talk with me. It’s difficult. It’s difficult to not see you or hear from you and wonder what you’re thinking, why you might need space, and try and guess what I ought to do...I don’t know. I don’t even know if this is a complaint, this is just me saying that it IS difficult.”

Kip presses his lips together. He nods again after a pause.

“I’m not...I’m not angry or anything,” Wallace says. 

“No, I know,” Kip says quietly.

“It’s just...I know why you’ve been wanting space these last couple of months, you’ve told me why, but the whole time I wasn’t sure I fully understood why until you said so. I wasn’t sure if I was doing something wrong, or...” He rubs the back of his neck. “I was just always wondering if maybe you didn’t want me as involved in your life. We—after all, we never quite got the chance to know each other the normal way. We got to hang out for an hour or so that one time, and then you and I got all...involved in...”

“Mm.”

“It feels like we got to know each other so incredibly well in some ways, but then in other ways it’s like I barely know you. We never got a break to just breathe and exist normally and...after all that, I had to wonder if I wasn’t as close to you as I thought I was, you know? Or, more like, if you didn’t think of me as an actual friend in the way I’d thought you did, or maybe you did but you were changing your mind or something.”

“I get that,” Kip says. “I’ve been thinking a lot about...well, really similar things, actually. And...even though it’s not like I’ve been more quiet towards you because I was mad or something, I’ve been thinking about it, about how I’ve just basically been avoiding you and...not really acting like a real friend, and now after I, uh, that—I mean, after I put us into the position we’re in now, I’ve been thinking about whether we do need distance to figure out how we should feel about each other, or try to have the normal start to a relationship that we never got...or if that’s just me wanting to avoid you more, and it’d just keep us from getting to be friends...”

He exhales at length. 

“I don’t know the answers and I was worried I’d end up...messing things up even more by trying to wait until I DO know before talking to you, because I usually don’t feel certain about anything.”

He meets Wallace’s eyes and finds him looking back steadily.

“I...I didn’t know what I’d come here and say,” he continues. “I feel like...I don’t know. Maybe if we pretend that there’s nothing weird, eventually it’ll actually become normal. I—I feel really uncomfortable still, and I’m trying to figure out where the line is between...figuring out how are lives are gonna fit together now that we actually HAVE lives, and trying to stay close, and...not getting in the way or making this all about me, all about what I want...”

“I—see, I think that shows you AREN’T focusing too much on yourself,” Wallace says, leaning forward slightly.

“Heh—only to a degree,” Kip says. “I’ve known for years that I’m too scared and avoidant and...well, just knowing my flaws hasn’t meant I don’t have them. It’s like, just having adequate enough self-awareness doesn’t automatically make a good person.”

“Sure,” Wallace says. “But you are a good person, for a lot of reasons.”

Kip flashes a somewhat flat, reflexive smile and lowers his gaze to his water again. He doesn’t want Wallace to be taking the position of lobbing reassurances at him until he shrugs off his worries and stops being so difficult. He wants this to be a real conversation.

“So are you,” he finally says. 

Wallace is quiet.

“I guess...um,” Kip starts. “I’m always thinking about how little control I have over all the external factors in life, and...so I tried to address that by being really cautious—I guess I could’ve responded in the other direction and just wanted to be reckless all the time because I knew it wouldn’t matter, but I didn’t react that way. Even though I’ve always been...kind of nervous, I got really, really careful and guarded towards anything until I could figure out if it could be a threat or not, and I’ve always, um, you know, I always think up these ridiculous worst case scenarios for even the most routine things so that I can try to...not so much be ready for it, but at least be expecting it. And so I’ve made this situation for myself where I want to feel certain about the outcome of something before I get involved, but because I know how out-of-control everything is, I never actually do anything until I’m forced to. Well, that’s not exactly fair to say ‘never’...but usually.”

“I follow you,” Wallace says.

“I’m...trying to act more just on instinct, or what I think will be good, even if I’m not certain,” Kip says. “Because I can never be certain, and it puts me in an impossible situation to only do what I know will be safe for everyone. I...still can’t say that I...I’m not just using this as an excuse to hide from everything. The fact that I know I can’t control much, I mean. I’m trying to...I don’t want to give the impression I’m trying to swear off responsibility for anything I do, if it goes wrong. That’s kind of part of why I end up just not acting at all. I don’t...”

He sighs again and brushes his hand back through his hair.

“I just know that sometimes your...decisions and actions have serious and totally unintended consequences on the people around you, and...I’m passive, and I’m cowardly, sure, I don’t pretend to be great. I’m not going to say I’m a good person. I’m pretty sure I’m weak and selfish, but I’m trying not to hate myself for it and trying to be understanding of it, because other people might not be, and maybe this is just how I am. I don’t know. So I don’t know what’s best to do and I run away from things that feel unsafe or feel like too much for me, or...”

He glances up and meets Wallace’s gaze for a moment.

“I don’t want to do something wrong here, Wallace. But I know I’m being self-centered too, because I’m the one who made this one-sided choice to avoid you, and it’s, at the very least, inconsiderate to not be there for you and to just leave you so unsure about things without a way to get any answers from me.”

He exhales more quietly, face slightly warm, and looks over to the wall opposite himself. 

“I’m not asking you to tell me I’m a good person,” he adds. “I’m...okay with myself. I’ve been doing my best with everything, even if that’s not worth much. I...am aware that that doesn’t mean I’m always doing the right thing, or that I think everyone should have to accept everything that I do, or like me, or want to be friends, or any of that. I feel like I want to explain myself, but I want you to know that I think you should...feel—or, not feel like you HAVE to want to be close to me. I’m not sure what I want myself, it’s confusing.”

He bites his lip quickly.

“You mean a lot to me and I want you to—I want things to be good for you. But that can be true without me being that big a part of your life. I don’t know, I—I’m grateful for everything you did for me and for us and I like you. I do like you as a person, even without what you did for everyone. But we were still forced to be together through everything, with the way things went we HAD to work together and rely on each other like that. I’m not saying I don’t consider that important now that it’s over, but I don’t think...you have an obligation to me anymore, just because you happened to get involved in all this.”

Wallace laughs softly, and Kip’s gaze turns to him at once.

“No, no,” Wallace placates, raising his hands in front of his chest. “Sorry. It’s just that—heh, well, I haven’t really heard much from you for a long time, and I haven’t known how you feel about me, and now you’re saying so much and telling me all this stuff about what you’ve been thinking...I just don’t expect it.”

“Hm. Yeah.” Kip glances away again. “I do actually talk a lot sometimes...too much, even. I didn’t really come here intending to have a soliloquy or anything. I just want to be honest, even if I’m not really sure I have anything to say. I can’t be honest about what I think I want or what I think we should do or what I think would make everything fantastic, because I don’t know any of those things.”

“You don’t know what you want?” Wallace echoes, somewhat incredulously. And there’s a teasing undertone that Kip doesn’t appreciate and he feels his expression shift just slightly in a stormier direction.

He fixes Wallace with a look for a moment. And somehow just the fact that he’s doing that again, shooting that silent, chastising glance at him, feels almost warming. It’s been a while.

“I didn’t mean it like that—“ Wallace blurts out, already blushing. “Sorry. I didn’t—uh, sorry...”

Kip shakes his head slightly and shrugs.

“I don’t know, Wallace,” he sighs. “It feels like it’s harder to see you because of how close you live. Like if we were in the same apartment it’d be easier, or if you lived a few blocks away it’d be easier too. I don’t really know how to deal with you just being on the bottom floor. It’s not like I see you all the time just by following my routines, but it’s still also kind of...always really casual to just walk downstairs and visit you here, like, it’s different somehow than if I had to go to a different building to see you. Or something. I don’t think I’m putting it well, but it’s strange somehow. Especially with you being right on the lobby. I dunno—see, I’m just rambling now.”

“No, it’s fine,” Wallace says. “You can say whatever you’re thinking.”

“Ha. I have a therapist already, you know.”

“Heh...” Wallace blushes again and looks down with a smile.

“I don’t think I have any real points to make,” Kip says slowly. “I just wanted to actually talk to you finally, and I wanted to say that it’s nothing you’ve been doing wrong. That’s what I want out of this.”

“I mean, that’s fair enough,” Wallace says. “I really was just hoping you’d like to talk to me again, and to make sure that you weren’t mad or anything.”

Kip puts his water down on the table in front of him.

“See,” he starts, making an effort to keep his voice from becoming either too quiet or too loud. “I shouldn’t make you feel that way. You shouldn’t have to...be so unsure if I’m mad at you or not. That’s just bad, that’s just bad coming from a friend, or from anyone, or...” 

He sighs quickly.

“I don’t know that I’m actually up to the task of being a good friend to you, like an actual good friend. I don’t know if I was before and I don’t know how I’m going to be any better at it now, when I’m not even sure if I want to stay in the same place anymore—“

“What? You mean like, moving?”

Kip flushes; he hadn’t meant to say that or for Wallace to so immediately suss out the implication.

“...I’ve been thinking about it,” Kip admits. “Like, really recently, so I didn’t mean to actually tell you that. But I do think I’ll move eventually, because I want to live in the same place as Pascal, and at this point I think Molly and Roy would do really well with their own place, and because, well...”

He gives half a shrug and trails off. 

“Me?” Wallace says quietly.

“It’s not as simple as just because of you,” Kip says. “And it’s not your fault. I don’t dislike seeing you, I’ve just made being so close to you more uncomfortable for myself because of my own actions and...I have to think it might be better if you didn’t have to have this pressure of giving me all this space in the same building you live in. And you’re friends with Roy and Molly, you should be able to hang out with them whenever without me being there in the corner all the time. And...I’m...I shouldn’t...”

He shakes his head again.

“I’ve been thinking about moving in with Pascal for a while now,” he says. “It’s not new, I’ve just been thinking about it harder these past few days. And so then I have to wonder about things like...I mean, I’m only here now because we just ran into each other. After I...told you those things, the first time we talked again was because you ran into me. I can see myself just getting into a loop of avoiding you even more if I lived somewhere else, even if I wasn’t trying to.”

“But if you didn’t WANT to stay away from me forever, you don’t have to,” Wallace argues. “You’re saying so many things about the stuff you’re worried might end up happening. What about the fact that there might be ways you actually want things to happen?”

“I don’t know how I want to do things. It’s—it’d times—lot of times—ugh, I mean—a lot of times it’s really...not helpful to ask myself how I want things to go. The most I can do is know what I want my immediate next step to be. And even then I’m not always capable of carrying that out. And right now, I don’t know what I want to be doing. In a weird way, I miss being as close as we were when we were working together, even though I—technically it should never have happened, and because of what it was all a part of, I shouldn’t wish for any of that to even exist. But it did. And I also—it’s also true that I want to be your friend and never have to worry about jeopardizing that. But I don’t know if I ought to have space and step back to figure things out, and I feel kind of guilty putting myself around you anymore, and you’ve been so obligated to like me this whole time that I...just think it would be better for the both of us, in the long run, to not be forced together anymore.”

“H-hang on, hang on,” Wallace says, raising one hand up and squeezing his eyes shut. “Hold on. Okay. First. Why d’you say you feel guilty being around me?”

Kip glances away and shifts the heel of his foot against the floor.

“You didn’t—you didn’t do anything to hurt me,” Wallace says.

“No, it’s...more that I don’t want to do any damage now, with the situation I’ve created...”

“What do you mean? Is it about, I mean...are you worried about being embarrassed?”

Kip huffs a laugh. The direction of the questions make it sound like he’s a child, but at the same time he knows Wallace is probably just following vague ideas as he fishes in the dark for details Kip won’t give.

“Are you saying you feel guilty because you’re with Pascal, or...?”

“No,” Kip sighs, leaning back against the couch. “I’m thinking more along the lines of Ben.”

“Oh...” Wallace straightens up somewhat, then touches his chin. “Oh. Right. Okay.”

“I’m not sure it’s ever been the easiest for him, having me around...” Kip murmurs, leaning back. “I’m not about to cause any more stress for him, and honestly, I’m just in the way right now. I put myself in the middle of things and I just...need to get out of the way.”

“Kip,” Wallace says quietly. 

Kip looks over at him, sees him a little flushed, looking almost concerned.

“It’s alright,” Kip returns, softer than he expects. “Wallace, I’m fine.”

“You’re not ‘in the way’...” Wallace places emphasis on Kip’s phrasing. 

Kip exhales a laugh.

“A bit, I am. How else can you look at it? Wallace, I LIKE you. I know that means...if, you know, you hadn’t been with someone but just weren’t interested, what’s the harm in me being around, even if I’m weird about it for a while, right? But you’re with Ben, and he lives right here, and I live right here, and...ugh.”

He puts his hand to his forehead.

“It’s not like I think I can’t be around you, or that I hate it now or something, but... I can’t just change the way I feel overnight and it—I see both of you a lot and you’re right here and he’s right there and I...it stresses me out a little, I feel like I’m intruding, I feel like I can only cause problems, I—Wallace, I’d hate myself so much if I ever did something to Ben.”

“Like what?” Wallace says. “You haven’t done anything, Kip. Are you, like, expecting to do something to hurt him?”

Kip looks down.

“No,” he says. “I won’t let that happen. I just don’t....”

He puts his hand to his forehead again; his own touch feels a little cool.

“I don’t want him to find out what I said,” Kip continues. “You shouldn’t have to keep this secret for me so that I—“

He threads his fingers through his hair and wrings at it slightly before dropping his hand to his lap with a sigh.

“The—the thing is that we, or, me and him, we—he doesn’t...”

Kip closes his eyes and slides both hands to his knees.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says quietly. “I just don’t want to...I don’t want him to feel like he has to...I don’t want him to have to know that I’m just living here, having—having a crush on you, and just...make him have to deal with that, he’s been through enough, I’m not going to be the one to—I’m not going to do anything to ruin this for him when he’s...”

Kip clenches his jaw and shakes his head.

“He ought to be able to just...”

He shakes his head again.

“What is it?” Wallace says. “Do you think he’d think you would do something, or....what are you worried about?”

“I don’t want him to have to be bothered by me anymore,” Kip says, gripping his knees. “It’s not that I think it’s about me doing anything wrong. It’s not about things like that. It’s that I—I know just how long it’s taken him to get to this, I’ve known him since before—since before—everything happened, I...he knows I know what’s happened to him and what—I know kind of what it feels like to...lose people.”

“What...so, what? I don’t...I don’t really understand what you’re trying to tell me,” Wallace says.

“I’m not about to do anything to get in the way when he’s finally getting to—to be able to—“ Kip exhales heavily. “I don’t like to bring up what happened to him but you know what I mean, and he knows that I know how hard things are, and I know how important it is to be able to just—“

“What do you mean you’d be in the way?” Wallace repeats, a slightly imploring tone beneath his words. “Kip, I don’t know what problem you’re thinking of here.”

“He doesn’t like me,” Kip almost snaps, patience fraying along with his nerves. “I don’t know if me and him ever had a chance to connect but we never really did, and then I only saw him once in a while for like, years, and we were both different people by the time I moved back here, and maybe he wasn’t—I don’t know, I don’t think he’s ever liked me being here, and my being all tense about it hasn’t helped, and if I’m just reminding him about what happened to the both of us then it’s not worth it for me to stay. Even if he hated me for no reason, I don’t care, I don’t want to be making him think of all the reasons I’m here in the first place. But he’s been tolerating me, and, you know, there’s about a billion things I’d rather do than make him feel like I’m getting in the way of things finally being better for him. It doesn’t matter how I feel about anything else, THAT’S what’s most important.”

He folds his arms across his front and stares at a stitch in the seam of his shorts. 

“He doesn’t hate you,” Wallace says.

“I know.”

“You think anybody here WANTS you to leave?” Wallace asks.

Kip looks at him levelly.

“I’m not saying I think it’s impossible for me to stay, or something. I just think it would be a better situation for all of us.”

“Kip. You’re not in the way, oh my god...”

“I know I don’t HAVE to go,” Kip argues. “I’m not thinking about it like anybody’s forcing me to want to leave. I have somewhere else I could live, and there’s advantages to me being there, and there’s disadvantages to me staying here.”

“You...want to go?” Wallace asks slowly. He sounds almost cautious.

“Yeah, I want to live with Pascal, like I said. He lives just a little bit past Berkley, it’s not even that far. It’s just...I just think it’s best. I know that...that it’s been hard for Ben to see any reason to...”

He fades off with a lengthy sigh.

“I just feel like it’s what I should do.”

Wallace shifts in his chair and Kip glances over at him; he’s flushed a solid pink in the middle of his face and is nervously rubbing his thumb against his index finger.

“I’m not talking about going away,” Kip says quietly. “It’s, like, a fifteen minute walk from here.”

Wallace smiles down at his lap before raising his eyes to Kip’s.

“You shouldn’t have to feel like you have to move because of me,” Wallace says quietly. “Just because I was sent here—you were living here first.”

“Heh—it doesn’t matter,” Kip says. “I’m not tied down to any particular building or another. It’s—Pascal and I could even move to a different apartment than the one he has, if we wanted to. And his is still right in this same area. And it just—it doesn’t really matter trying to think about how things SHOULD be. I mean, ideally, we should never have met. Or maybe we would’ve, because maybe you would’ve left A on your own. I don’t know. But I’m just thinking of adapting to how things actually are.”

It’s quiet between them for a moment. Kip hugs his arms a bit tighter across his front.

“Man...” Wallace sighs finally, tilting his head back a little. “It just feels weird to think about you being somewhere else... You guys were some of the first people I met, right in the lobby...”

“Yeah...it’s been a while since then.”

“And I remember feeling like you were—were like, representing everything I was hoping for,” Wallace says. “It seemed like if I could figure out how to get along with you, maybe I could figure out how to fit in here in general.”

“...It was a bit more complicated than that,” Kip says.

“Yeah,” Wallace laughs.

“I don’t suppose you liked me much back then,” Kip says. “After we first met, I mean. I was mad at you more often than not. And then having to wonder if you wanted to kill me and everyone I love, I don’t think that made me warm up to you that much more.”

“I...I didn’t dislike you,” Wallace says. “I was...well, I knew I was lucky that you even gave me the time of day. I wished you liked me better, sure, but even then I...I knew I wasn’t in a position to demand you feel a certain way about me.”

“You didn’t like me, it’s alright,” Kip says. “For a long time I couldn’t figure out how I felt about you at all.”

“Well, your stakes were a bit higher than mine. I was scared and stressed and even then I could tell that you were too... But I didn’t really appreciate until later exactly how bad it was for you. I thought you were just nervous.”

Kip nods and lets his forearms slip a little lower.

“See,” he says. “We never really got the chance to get to know each other in a regular way. We didn’t—I mean, hell, from the very start, it was always about what we HAD to do. And everything got so complicated so fast, bigger than either of us. We never got free of that until, well...”

He shrugs.

“Is that what you were saying earlier about being, like...obligated to like you?” Wallace asks.

Kip blinks.

“Uh, I guess it’s something like that,” he says. “It’s like, when you first got here you had to try to like me because you were new, and then I had to try to get along with you so everyone else wouldn’t hate your guts or be terrified of you, then you thought you had to try to convince me to work with you so you could keep your job, and then I was thinking I had to go along with it so wasn’t, like, letting my brother down and myself and my friends...and you had to try to keep me happy while you brought me along for house calls and I had to try to make it work so that I wouldn’t feel like everything I was doing was just a joke, and then...from there on out, of course we had to work together. It didn’t matter if we liked or hated each other, we were caught up in all that shit together, we had no real choice but to figure things out together and even depend on each other. And even now, I mean, after everything we did is just hanging over everything all the time, it’s not like suddenly our whole history can just feel...normal. Like, even if I didn’t care about you one way or another after all that, I’d feel like a jerk if I just...ignored your existence, or something. And we still live in the same building, and it’s still true that we did so much together, we did so much for each other, it just...it’s impossible to just shrug that whole history off and pretend we’re just regular people with a regular past and whatever. We didn’t ever get to have that. We didn’t get to have even sort of normal lives here until now, we weren’t ever able to just...not be required to deal with each other before now. And it’s like, we’ve known each other for a while, but also we haven’t, we haven’t ever known each other when things were just...ordinary. We’ve barely started to now, but it’s like, we shouldn’t have to feel like we never got to know each other because of course we did. But in other ways we didn’t at all. It’s...just really confusing.”

“But I liked you anyway, even when things got bad,” Wallace says. “I know that from the start the whole reason I was ever here was to...basically make you get involved with me, and I know that we had to work together to basically just try to stay alive even, but I liked you anyway, it wasn’t just about...I wasn’t ever forced to like you or to care about you. Yeah, I had to care about your problems and everything I’d gotten us involved in, but I still cared about...just, you. I don’t like you because anyone made me.”

Kip quickly fixes his eyes on his lap as he listens, blushing. He stays quiet after Wallace finishes.

“...I mean, do you feel like you only like me because of the exact circumstances of what we did?” Wallace asks.

“No,” Kip sighs, crossing his ankles, then uncrossing them.

“I don’t feel like that, either.”

Kip sighs again; his face still feels warm and it’s frustrating him.

“Okay,” he says, voice low.

“Hey.”

Kip looks up; Wallace’s gaze doesn’t even flicker when it meets Kip’s.

“What?” Kip is a little taken aback by this slight jump in intensity.

“Do you actually believe me?” Wallace asks, and only then does he seem to become a little more nervous again, glancing down once or twice and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt for a moment.

“...Yeah, I do,” Kip admits quietly.

“Promise?”

Kip laughs briefly.

“Yeah... What, you don’t believe me that I believe you?”

“...I just wanna be sure you know it,” Wallace says. “I mean, you’re telling me you think I don’t actually like you besides that we had to help each other. I, you know, I thought it was obvious to you that I do actually like you.”

Kip’s fading blush makes a resurgence and he looks away, somewhat abashed.

“I’ve told you you’re important to me, right?” Wallace’s tone makes it sound like a genuine inquiry, as if he’s not sure himself.

Kip finds himself unable to answer; his mind is stuck on a loop of the moment Wallace told him he was one of his closest friends, trying to decipher exactly what that implication means.

That he’s important to Wallace? That as one Wallace’s few friends, he’s automatically important? That Wallace considers him significant in some way? That Wallace feels close to him? Is it intimate, personal? Is it based on the fact that Wallace has washed Kip’s blood from his face, held him up and helped him walk, gripped his trembling arm as Kip struggled to breathe, rubbed his back and told him he was going to make it through this, put hot towels across his forehead and chest as Kip laid on his bed, passing out almost seconds later with Wallace’s touch still on his shoulder? Is it that Kip walked them forward with Wallace’s back right against his chest as he slowly crafted a tunnel of ice, that he stood with his hands on Wallace’s shoulders, pressing him against the wall, keeping his attention focused and repeatedly telling him that he was here with him, is it that he’d touched Wallace’s face and chest and cooled him down, that he’d made them countless drinks when getting through long nights and learned which ones comforted Wallace and would bring Wallace’s cup to him and gently touch his hand to get his attention, that Kip had let Wallace apologize after making Kip so angry he’d gone and cried, let Wallace hug him, hugged him back? 

He doesn’t know what had been their situation and what had been them, what was an objective, genuine connection and what had simply been necessary, simply would’ve happened between anyone in those situations, what could only exist in that kind of duress and vulnerability and life-and-death need, be irrelevant once they were finally freed from such a situation.

“Kip?”

He jolts and looks up quickly.

“Um—“ Kip says automatically.

“I didn’t ever want you to think you don’t matter to me anymore, just because I...we don’t NEED to work together now,” Wallace says, voice softened slightly. “But I didn’t...want to pressure you to keep seeing me as often as you used to have to, I didn’t want to intrude or cross a boundary when I’d done that so many times already...”

“I don’t want to pressure you either,” Kip says. “I’m... You know you don’t have to guarantee me a certain status in your life forever because of everything that happened.”

“That’s not what I’m...I don’t feel that way,” Wallace says. “I—I just like you because I like you.”

The heat in Kip’s face feels like it’s reached his throat.

“You’re important to me, okay? Not because I feel like I have to feel that way, not because it’s like, you’ve made me be in some position to have to pay attention to you, or something. I’m telling you, and I swear I’m being honest, I’m speaking for myself—you’re important to me.”

He’s so clearly earnest in posture and expression and tone that Kip is a little struck, his chest tightens, he squeezes a hand into a fist.

“I—alri—“ he stammers. “Alri—um  
—I-I believe you.”

He clenches the fist a little harder.

“It’s that I...” He struggles to continue. “What do you mean?”

“What do you mean ‘what do I mean?’”

Kip exhales through his nose and glances around the room.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “I just...I don’t know what I am to you, or what I should be. It’s all different. I don’t... Even if I hadn’t said anything to you, I’d still be confused, I still wouldn’t...”

He shakes his head.

It’s quiet; he can hear Wallace inhale.

“I—it’s immature and it sucks but it...it hurts that I... It hurts to think about you being with someone and it’s useless and all just jealous and stupid and I hate that I feel that way,” Kip says towards his lap. “I’m not actually angry because I KNOW I’m not mad about it, I know I think it’s a good thing, I know that you—“

He digs his fingers into his knee and presses his feet into the floor.

“I swear to god I’m happy for you,” he says. “I promise that I am, I know I haven’t said it but I couldn’t say it when you told me because—“

“N-no, I know—“

“I want you to be happy, I promise that I do,” Kip continues. “I’m not so awful that I don’t want you to have what’s good for you. I’m glad you have this, I swear, I’m glad Ben has this too, I don’t care, even if he hated me I don’t care I’d want him to be happy too, and I—I HATE that I still get these feelings that it—that it hurts to think about it. I wish I was better at not being selfish and I could just...not feel that way, but I can’t tell you that I don’t. I’d be lying if I acted like I was too good to not have these stupid reactions and...”

He momentarily covers his face with his hand. 

“I’m sorry,” he says shortly. “It’s completely ridiculous, but I...I just feel like I can’t be comfortable anymore, like I’m just going to get upset and have shitty reactions to normal things and have to keep closing myself off to recover from it and...and that’s only gonna get in the way of actually being a decent friend for you. And, you know, I don’t even deserve to be close to you if I can’t get over myself enough to—to not be upset by things that’re important to you, something that’s totally good and fine and you guys deserve it and it makes you happy, and—and if I can’t feel okay about all that, then how can I even look at you or tell you I really care about you? I mean...god...”

He puts his forehead against his hand.

“...I...” Wallace’s voice is soft.

“I’m sorry, Wallace,” Kip says. “I know I’m just being selfish and ridiculous but I can’t just switch it off. It hurts way more than it should, like—how could I feel this way if some part of me wasn’t treating it like something bad? But it’s not, I KNOW it’s not, only it still feels horrible sometimes. I—I can’t offer an excuse for that. I...”

He shakes his head slower than before, then lifts it slightly to look at Wallace’s knees rather than his own.

“There isn’t any good excuse,” he repeats.

“I mean...” Wallace breathes in, a little shakily maybe. “You were embarrassed, and I—you didn’t know about us, I get it that you were probably a—a little caught off guard about it. I don’t think it’s so surprising if you... You know, if you feel weird about it. I’ve...it’s not like I’ve never had that experience. Like, back in high school, there was this one time—“

“But I’m an adult,” Kip interrupts. “We’re all adults, I should be better than this! I should be better to you than this, I—I should—“

“You’re not, like, going around trying to sabotage my life because you’re jealous or something, okay? You haven’t tried to...I don’t know, get back at me or be pissed at me all the time and hate me, or anything like that. THAT would be like we were in high school. You’re allowed to have feelings though, okay? It’s like you think every time you let me know you’re feeling something, you think you’ve done something wrong. Well, I don’t think you have.”

Kip exhales and tries not to let Wallace’s words feel relieving.

“I’ve just been self-absorbed this whole time,” Kip says, feeling a little stubbornness setting in. “I’ve just...for a long time I’ve just been focusing on what would make ME comfortable, and acting only on that, like that’s all that’s important. And I’ve been more distant from you and just, like, assuming you’re fine and assuming you’re fine with me, and I wasn’t even being consistent about keeping in touch, and I—obviously I didn’t even have a clue about what your life was like anymore or what was important to you and I was only being a really superficial friend at best, just relying on routine, and then I have the nerve to just come over and say that I like you? I’m not even...I’m not even good enough to be your friend anymore.”

“Stop saying that.” Wallace’s tone seems caught somewhere between exasperated and entreating. “You’re my friend, okay? I thought you at least knew that much.”

Kip stares at the wall, feeling his expression set into a steady look of vague frustration.

“Look.” Wallace sighs. “You’re my friend, you’re important to me, I’ve always liked you—liked you for real, and I care about you, and I know that you like and care about me too. I’m not gonna be mad at you for feeling things, okay? I know that you get mad and that you get upset and that you feel like you have to at least act like you have your emotions completely under control, but of course you don’t. I know you don’t. Nobody does.”

Kip’s stare towards the wall is shifting a bit towards a glower.

“You’re a person,” Wallace says emphatically. “I knew you didn’t feel comfortable when I told you I was with Ben, I knew you had to leave because you were upset. Of course I’ve known you still feel upset—it’s barely been any time at all. I’m not mad at you for just—needing time and having these emotions you can’t just wish away. I don’t think that makes you immature, or bad, okay? You’re just hu—“

He cuts himself off and Kip finally looks over to see him blushing hard.

“‘Human,’ huh?” Kip says quietly.

“I wasn’t thinking,” Wallace murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“...It’s alright.” Kip sighs. “And, okay, look...I won’t pretend I haven’t felt like I have to act like someone who always has every part of himself in line. A lot of it is because, like I said, I’ve...I know how little in life I can control, so I always tried to put all this effort into being careful, and making sure everyone else is careful, and trying to look out for threats and analyze and avoid every problem and...”

He sighs and folds his hand.

“Well, I’d always get so overly stressed and caught up in it because underneath it all I knew it meant nothing. I know that anything can come along at any moment and ruin everything, no matter how careful any of us are. I knew that all I had any real control over was myself and the things I could do, so it just...it really kind of makes me furious that I can’t even control THAT all that well. I have feelings I wish I wasn’t feeling and thoughts that just make things worse, I try to change and make myself better but I haven’t, I try to be strong and smart and someone who just...can be taken seriously, but I’ve never been. I’m...I pretend to be somebody who can actually handle things. But this is who I am.”

He half-heartedly shrugs as if to indicate himself, the whole situation, his whole existence.

“Sometimes I’m so...beyond even myself and what I want that I can’t even deal with a simple conversation,” he says. “I can still barely control my ice, I’m still almost scared to try. I get so...so upset by things sometimes that it affects my whole body. I end up making a liar of myself because I say I’m going to try to do something different, and of course I’ve overestimated myself, of course I never thought I could really do it—I just can’t ever seem to learn that I won’t change just because I want to try and decide to change.”

He looks down at his knees again.

“I don’t know if these feelings are going to go away just because I wish I didn’t have them,” he murmurs. “Even if I try to get rid of them.”

Wallace shifts his feet against the floor; Kip hears the soft drag of the carpet fibers.

“So...you’re worried about that?” Wallace asks. “That you won’t be able to stop being upset, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Kip admits. “I don’t...I don’t know how I’ll stop, unless I, like, stop liking you, or just feel like there’s a lot more space, or something. Cuz I know there’s no problem here, I know I just have to get past it and move on. But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that knowing all that kind of stuff doesn’t mean I’ll actually get over it. Even if I finally move on, I might still just feel bad when I think about all of it. I don’t know, but I know myself, and I know I’m shit at getting over my feelings. Even all these years later.”

He shrugs again.

“I think I just...I don’t know, I’ve just kind of fucked this up. I wanna think that I’ll be able to make this all fine again just because I want to, but like I said, that hardly ever ends up happening.”

“Hey,” Wallace says. “Even if you don’t think things will go smoothly, you don’t KNOW that—that everything’s just ruined now. You can’t be sure everything’s gonna go bad between us, you know? Because I won’t let you think that I hate you, or anything. I just won’t.”

“And I’M not gonna make you split yourself up into pieces just to make me happy,” Kip counters, moving his grip to the edge of the cushion beneath him. “If I can’t be comfortable with the fact that you’re with Ben, what the fuck does that leave for you? You have to pretend that’s not a part of your life whenever I’m around just so I can, like, get over my own bullshit for a moment? What if I can only be a friend for you if you have to hide this whole part of your life for me? That’s not—that’s just me wanting to get to be around you but not actually treating you with like, this basic amount of respect. That’d just be selfish, I am NOT going to make you have to—to pretend things are different just to humor me. I don’t know how I can be a good friend for you like this. I think we just—or me, at least, I think I just have to move back and—and approach everything like we’re starting over. Like we have a regular introduction and get to know each other the regular way and I just leave all this mess in my head behind and learn to just...think of you normally.”

Wallace half-successfully stifles a laugh.

“What,” Kip says flatly.

“God, just...” Wallace sighs. “A lot of things. A lot of things.”

Kip sighs too.

“Y’know, when we first met, I had no idea you’d ever think this much of me,” Wallace murmurs. “I figured I’d never get you to like me, and you’d never want anything to do with me besides when we had to work together. I figured that’s all it’d be. I’d get you to come on some of my rounds for a few months or so, and then I’d only see you if I ran into you in the hall for a second.”

Kip huffs more of a sigh than a laugh.

“If things had been able to happen like that, it would’ve saved us a lot of trouble,” he replies.

“Yeah, that’s true.”

“...But it didn’t happen like that,” Kip continues quietly. “No matter how much we might wish it did.”

Wallace doesn’t answer for a moment, and his voice is low when he does.

“...You know,” he says. “You’ve had important parts of your life that you’ve never shared with me before, and I’ve never felt like that was a huge problem. Or proof I was being unkind, or anything.”

“What?” Kip says reflexively, looking over at him.

“Well...you know...” Wallace leans back slightly and stretches a leg out. “Like, I’ve never known you when you were with Pascal, and now that you guys are back together, it’s not like it’s been that big of a change between us.”

“It’s only a big deal for me who you’re dating or not because I went and got a crush on you,” Kip argues. “That’s not something that’s a problem for you.”

“I—“ Wallace cuts himself off at once; Kip looks over to see him give a shrug, slightly flushed. “Still, it’s not like it’s hardly ever come up between us.”

“I’ve been avoiding you and getting all clammed up when you’re around since even before I got back with Pascal,” Kip murmurs. “And you didn’t even mention Ben until you were basically backed into a corner about it. We haven’t exactly been having a lot of conversations.”

“Mm...” Wallace rolls his shoulders with something of a shrug. “Well, still, you’ve never told me about...stuff like...”

He sighs and drops his head a little. Kip’s chest tightens a little.

“What?” he prompts.

“Well, like...you’ve never said much about what happened to you,” Wallace says, his voice softer than Kip’s heard it in a while. “You’ve kind of...said some things about it in a general way, and of course I’ve picked up stuff about it, but...you’ve never talked about anything directly with me.”

“That’s all just about my past,” Kip says, face hot.

“It’s why I ever got sent here,” Wallace counters. “It’s why everything happened.”

“No, E is why everything happened.”

Wallace looks down, mouth twitching.

“It’s just that...I don’t know, it’s such a big part of your life, and you’ve never told me anything about it,” he says quietly. “I understood in the beginning that maybe I didn’t know you well enough to ask for details about something so serious and personal, and I thought that maybe you didn’t trust me enough yet to talk to me about it.”

He shrugs, shifting his weight slowly forward until he’s leaning with his forearms against his thighs, slightly hunched.

“...I was kind of thinking that you trust me more now than you used,” he murmurs, gaze fixed on a spot on the floor. “But I still didn’t mind that you didn’t bring it up.”

“Of course I trust you,” Kip answers. His heart is beating somewhat hard but he folds his arms across his stomach. 

“Enough to tell me about anything?” Wallace lifts his head to look at him; Kip glances away.

“Wallace,” he mumbles warningly. “Why do you want to know?”

“You’re important to me,” Wallace says again. “It’s still part of your life. I...wish I knew more about it, like everyone else. So I can know you more, and understand you better. It’s not that I want to do anything to hurt you.”

Kip blinks and glances away to the corner of the room, heart still beating in his throat.

“You don’t NEED to know to understand me,” he says. “You know the basics of it all. My family was killed, it was on purpose, I was there and I survived by accident. What more do you need?”

“I only wanted to hear the story from you,” Wallace says. “Your story, the way you want to tell it. Everything I heard was always coming from somebody else. And—just—is there some particular reason you don’t want to tell me? Did I—do you feel like I don’t have the respect for you, or...”

“No, but why should I have to explain why I don’t want to talk about it?” Kip grouses. “Why can’t the default be that I don’t have to talk about it? Why do I have to defend that?”

“You don’t—I just—“ Wallace leans back up in his chair again. “I always figured someday you might tell me about it, if I finally proved myself as someone who didn’t want to hurt anyone, or who...cared about you, or...”

Kip looks over at him coolly; Wallace is looking down at his lap, fiddling with the edge of his shirt, face pink and expression oddly sad.

“I know you don’t want to hurt me,” Kip sighs. “I just... It was years ago, Wallace. The details of the story doesn’t have anything to do with anything.”

“It has something to do with you, though,” Wallace says, lifting his gaze. 

“So what?” Kip’s response is childish, he knows, but he’s growing exasperated.

“So...I want to know about things that’re so significant in your life,” Wallace responds.

“I don’t know every detail of YOUR life, but I still know you,” Kip argues.

“But I don’t have anything as huge as that in my past,” Wallace says. “My life was pretty uneventful before I came here, comparatively.”

“Sorry it couldn’t be as exciting as mine,” Kip says flatly.

“I—I don’t mean—“

“I know,” Kip interrupts. “Sorry. I’m...”

“It’s just that... Well, you had a whole plot and program conspired around what happened,” Wallace says. “I’ve always just...wanted to hear what you had to tell me. Just because I’ve...because we did become friends after all. It’s like this big piece of you that I don’t know all that much about, only the really simple facts, like you said. I...I know it must not be easy to talk about, I understand that. I’m not trying to force you. I just...is there something about me, some reason that you think I shouldn’t know more about it, or something? Because I want to try to fix it if there is, w-whether that’ll make you want to tell me or not.”

“No,” Kip answers simply. “It’s just that...it wouldn’t change anything even if you had the whole biography of my life. None of that stuff changes anything now.”

“It’s—it’s not that I’ve ever thought I needed to know,” Wallace says. “It’s just...it’s a big part of who you are now, right? I...I don’t know. Maybe I was always just thinking it would be a way to automatically feel like I’d gotten closer to you, or I’d proven myself to you, or something. But...but I... It just feels like it’s something hanging in the air, like I can’t acknowledge it, even if it’s relevant. I just wish I knew, so I could...stop being so in the dark about something so important.”

“When do you think it’ll ever actually come up?” Kip asks. “When would it ever be relevant?”

“I mean...I know the anniversary is coming up next month...”

“What?” Kip sits upright. “Wallace—what the hell?”

“What—what’s wrong?”

“How did you know that?” Kip demands. “Wh-what did you—“

“I—it’s just what Ben told me,” Wallace insists, sitting back in his chair as if the force of Kip’s bewilderment has pushed him there. “A little while ago, that’s what he said, and...I just...”

“Oh,” Kip says. “...Of course. Sorry.”

He looks back to the floor by Wallace’s feet.

Wallace is quiet. So is Kip.

“Uh,” Wallace starts hesitantly. “I didn’t mean to push you on this. It’s just that, um...”

He trails off.

“Just that what?” Kip’s voice naturally comes out quiet and steady in a way that he always wishes he could replicate whenever his speech turns jittery on him.

Wallace shrugs helplessly.

“I’m not trying to argue that there’s some reason you HAVE to talk to me about it,” he says. “Just that...I sort of hoped you would. So I could know. I guess I’ve sort of been holding it in the back of my mind as this...idea that someday we’d be close enough that I would know, and I equated those things, or something.”

“You can probably look up most of it, you know.”

“I...I mostly wanted to hear it from you,” Wallace says. “I...didn’t want you to feel like I was just going to go behind your back and try to get this personal information from somewhere else—“

“I mean, it’s fine. You already know what day it happened, just look through newspaper archives or ask anybody else here about it and they can tell you, okay?”

“I don’t want that!” Wallace argues. “I’m not trying to do that—I only want to hear about whatever YOU want to tell me about it!”

Kip closes his eyes and sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “Sorry I’m so on edge. I don’t exactly...enjoy fielding any surprises with this particular subject.”

“I get that,” Wallace says. “...I really didn’t mean to push you on this. I’d just...been thinking about it lately.”

“Why?” Kip asks, nonplussed.

“Ben,” Wallace answers quietly.

“Oh.” 

Of course.

Kip slips his arms across his stomach again.

He ducks his head, face warm all over again.

“You see,” he says, so quietly it almost doesn’t come out.

“...Huh?”

“I’m too self-centered about all this,” Kip says. “I never even stopped to think about things like...how much you’d know from talking to Ben.”

“It’s okay,” Wallace says. 

Kip shakes his head. 

“I’ve been selfish,” he repeats quietly, almost to himself. 

“Ever since I met you, Kip, you almost never have anything good to say about yourself,” Wallace says. “I don’t think you’re any more selfish than anybody else.”

“Heh, well...” Kip leans back a little. “I’ve lived in the same building as Ben for about a year now, and I don’t think I’ve ever done anything for him but make things more difficult. And now apparently I can’t even consider him. I don’t know what else to call that, when I know exactly what was done to him and...and he knows I know, and I don’t think I’ve ever acted like I gave a shit about it.”

He rubs his thumb across the bracelet on his wrist.

“If I don’t even think about him or...if I’m not even able to just...” He sighs. “How are you or him supposed to put up with me, then?”

“...What do you mean?” Wallace asks. “Kip, I... There’s these things you must be thinking about yourself, but I don’t think them, I can’t follow them, I don’t know what you’re getting at. You haven’t DONE anything.”

“I’ve never done anything to help Ben,” Kip says flatly. “I’ve never tried to help, and I’ve only made things harder by being here. And now look how I’ve gotten all caught up with you, I’m making things even more of a mess...”

“Well...so what? Everything about all of our lives here has always been messy and complicated, why should it be any different now?”

“Because it’s been awful and we deserve to, I don’t know, have some stability? Have a break for the first time in years, and not have to feel like any good thing we’ve found is about to be lost all over again?”

Wallace sighs lightly and rubs his arm. 

“Wh-what are we talking about at this point?” he asks. “I’m trying to understand how...all of this ties in to you and me getting to stay close or not.”

Kip bites his lip.

“Look. This whole situation I’ve gotten myself in is really uncomfortable and it makes me feel like I don’t wanna be around here because I...because me and Ben, as long as we’ve known each other...” He trails off with a sigh. “Just...whatever reason he doesn’t love being around me is fine, I don’t care, because you know what—the thing I care most about is that Ben gets to have the chance to actually feel okay with his life again. Alright? I’ve never done anything to help him and the last thing in the world I’m gonna do is get any closer to fucking shit up with who he dates. I am NOT going to make that ANY harder for him. The least I can do is just...finally get out of the way.”

“You didn’t ever make it harder in the first place—and you are NOT in the way!” Wallace argues, but Kip forges ahead.

“There’s just no reason for me to be so close to you guys, there’s no advantage to me staying here when I could move someplace nearby. I don’t know, I can only...let everybody have some space...” He shakes his head. “The way things are now, it doesn’t even matter if I move or not, one way or another I just...I just want to kind of keep to myself more with this whole area.”

“What whole area, like...?” Wallace shrugs.

Kip shrugs back.

“Just, like, being around here. It was already awkward, and now I’ve made it too awkward—I just want to get out of the way and nobody will have to worry about it all that much. It’s not that big a deal. I’ve just made stuff weird, and I’m not saying that I wanna leave because I don’t wanna see you ever or I don’t like you or you don’t matter or any of it...I just want to step back. I feel like I just have to...get a new approach here or something, you know, and figure out how I should be in your life from here on out. Because right now, the way this feels being here, it doesn’t feel good. And I don’t want to feel like I don’t want to be near you or don’t want to even see you...I LIKE you. I just wanna make sure I don’t mess things up more than I already have.”

He focuses on his hands in his lap, continuing to look at them even when Wallace exhales slowly through his teeth and pushes the soles of his feet along the carpet as he shifts his weight.

“I don’t want...” Wallace begins. “You shouldn’t feel like anybody’s forcing you to go somewhere else.”

“Nobody’s forcing me to,” Kip murmurs. “I want to for my own reasons, and it additionally just feels like there would be other advantages.”

Wallace sighs again, quiet.

“I don’t really get it, Kip,” he says. “You just say all these things like you’re seeing something awful about yourself that doesn’t exist. You’re a good person. Everyone will tell you that—everyone’s told ME that. And I know it for myself.”

“I don’t hate myself,” Kip assures him. “I used to, and I can’t pretend it doesn’t happen anymore, but this isn’t...it’s not really about what I’m like or not.”

He sighs silently.

“Thanks for saying that, though,” he adds.

“It’s no problem; it’s true,” Wallace says. “Help...help me out here, though. I’m trying to...kind of read between the lines and all, but...what is it that makes you feel like there’d be anything bad about staying? I’m not trying to convince you to, I’m just...trying to understand the reasons you think you shouldn’t stay.”

Kip sweeps his hand along his forehead as if brushing back his hair and closes his eyes for a moment. He can hear Wallace draw a soft breath.

“First, I’m not talking about leaving,” Kip starts. “Just being in a different building that’s not even far. And I haven’t talked seriously about this to Molly and Roy or even Pascal yet, it’s just...what I’m thinking. I’d like to live with Pascal, of course, for obvious reasons. It has nothing to do with...feeling like I have no choice, or whatever. This is just about what I want, what I’m comfortable with.”

Wallace nods.

“Seriously, Wallace, I’m not mad at you or anything. You didn’t do anything. I did. And I...I’m not blaming myself, either, because I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, I just...I didn’t know, and if I had I’m sure a lot of things could’ve gone a little differently, but...well, that doesn’t matter. That’s not how it happened. And the thing is—the thing is that I can’t just switch off how I feel and I can’t draw a clear line between the part of me that has a crush on you and...the ways I like you without that element of it. Just because I won’t do anything or push anything doesn’t mean—it doesn’t mean that it doesn’t—that I don’t feel bad about things. And I’m uncomfortable and it stresses me out to try to just...handle this. I...it’s fine, it’s not like I can’t think of all this without having to lie down, it’s just that sometimes—sometimes it does just upset me out of nowhere to think of everything and I don’t know if it’s all just ridiculous jealousy or what, but...well, it doesn’t feel good to feel that way. It’s not fun. I don’t know what all of it is, but I...”

He puts a hand to the side of his face and sighs.

“It’s funny I can sit here and deal with this whole conversation and everything we’ve been talking about,” Kip says quietly. “While I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be able to just talk casually with you. As though THAT would be too awkward, but all this is just fine.”

Wallace laughs softly, with only a little nervousness, and Kip allows himself a brief smile in response.

“I mean, I guess this is at least just...honest,” Wallace says. “If we were trying to talk only about the weather and not bring up anything weird, it would be... It might feel like we were having to skirt around things.”

Kip tries not to blush at the implication that Wallace considers his confession to be something weird.

“Yeah,” he says. “But I always have to worry I’ll say the wrong thing or come off wrong or whatever, and then where will I be?”

“You’ll still be here, probably?” Wallace responds. “After everything I’ve done with you, I don’t expect I’ll be throwing you out over any little conversational misstep.”

It’s almost teasing, but it doesn’t sound patronizing or out of bounds, the way it could when Kip was fielding the occasional clumsy jokes of a human from A who didn’t know him at all. This is more like the way Kate does it—the kind that invites you to tease right back.

If only this was weeks ago and he was in the mood for some playful banter with his crush.

Instead he allows another quick smile and sighs through his nose.

“Well, that’s another thing...” he says. “Even before I...realized my feelings, I...I’ve felt kind of confused about how we just...relate to each other now. Because, yes, I absolutely consider you a friend, I have for ages now. A real one, a really good one. But I—“

“You do?” Wallace cuts in. 

Kip looks at him, meeting his wide-eyed gaze.

“Y-yeah, I do,” Kip says. “...You have to have known that, right?”

Wallace nods, blushing slightly.

“Yeah, it’s just that it’s—it’s, um, hearing you say it like that...”

“Like what?” Kip asks, somewhat bemused. “I’ve told you you’re my friend before...”

“I-I know, it’s... Well, somehow hearing it just, like, casually put into the middle of a conversation...is really cool,” Wallace finishes, glancing aside and rubbing the back of his neck.

Kip blushes too and looks back towards the wall.

“Um...well,” he starts up again. “Like I’ve been saying, you’re... Well, you’re important to me, too. I know that. And I want to keep being your friend which is why I’ve been thinking so hard on—on how I can manage to be a good one. I...but I’ve always been confused about how we never got that—how most of our time spent together and getting to know and trust each other was all...involved in something so much bigger than us, and...so horrible. I know that—that us getting to know each other and care about each other wasn’t JUST because we—that a lot of times, we HAD to become closer just in the process of trying to keep our heads above water. I know it’s separate from that, because we’re here now, still alive, months later, and I still care about you. But...at the same time...”

He sees Wallace looking at him in his peripheral vision and drops his head a little. 

“It’s basically the same thing,” he explains. “Like how I know I care about you besides having a crush on you, but I can’t untangle it all? I know our relationship is more than the situation we were forced into, and I know that it was real enough to survive even when that situation...stopped being our reality, and that we—we still have everything we shared, the normal parts and the parts that happened because of shit nobody should ever have to go through.”

He sees Wallace’s posture sink slightly as he nods.

“It’s just all tangled up, Wallace,” Kip sighs. “I don’t know what’s our normal relationship and what’s—what’s the leftover feeling of depending on each other so much, and...what’s all the complications I’ve introduced into it. And...I just want to figure it out. We never got a natural start, I want to know what’ll feel natural for us, what—what could kind of be our second starting point, I guess. Or third, or who knows. I want things to be in a place where we just—just know the way it is. That doesn’t make sense. But I...I want us to have that start to really being regular friends, the way we should’ve right from the very beginning. And I’m not saying we ignore what we’ve been through together. But the way it is now, with me feeling all tensed up and weird and bad and...wanting so much space, I have to worry I’ll ruin it.”

“How can you ruin it?” Wallace asks. “I can give you space, as long as you let me know you want it. And I won’t rush you to feel a certain way about anything, it can all be set around your pace, I know you like to have some time...”

Kip breathes a laugh and swings his feet a few inches along the carpet. It’s genuinely flattering to hear Wallace say such thoughtful and generous things, but that’s not a helpful feeling in this situation. 

“I think it would be better if I...if I was at least in a different building,” he says. “Even running into you can feel like a mess. I want to be able to figure out...things. Everything.”

“I’m not trying to stop you from moving to a different apartment,” Wallace says. “But why couldn’t you figure things out here just as well? I know it must feel weird sometimes to see me now, but...it can’t be THAT bad.”

“It’s hard even to see you sometimes,” Kip murmurs, flushing. “That’s part of the problem—I don’t know when being near you will be fine and when it’ll feel...bad.”

It’s quiet a moment before Wallace breaks it.

“...You were saying things earlier,” he begins slowly. “About...feeling guilty or selfish or...how you didn’t want to hurt Ben? And I—I don’t think that any of those feelings should be a part of your wanting to move. Or a part of anything.”

Kip tenses. 

“Um,” he says quietly.

“You’re...you’re not making things worse for him,” Wallace says slowly, almost emphatically. “Or for anyone else.”

Kip shrugs half-heartedly. 

“I’m not DOING anything to him, and I won’t,” Kip concedes. “But I don’t have to be here. There’s no reason for me to keep being so, you know, lurking around the perimeters of his everyday life.”

Wallace laughs.

“You’re not lurking, either. What are you—what’s the problem you’re seeing here?”

“...It’s less a problem and more that it’s...just not ideal,” Kip says. “I don’t think it’s ever really been comfortable for Ben to have me so nearby. It’s not a big deal, I know, but if I want to go somewhere else anyways, and if I’m... Well, with the position I’ve put myself in, I think it’s reasonable to think we’d benefit from some more space.”

“I don’t think anybody’s uncomfortable with you being here, Kip,” Wallace says quietly. 

“I know he’s fine with it, but that doesn’t mean it’s all ideal for everybody.”

“I—“ Wallace cuts himself off and Kip glances over to see him blushing, looking over at the corner, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. “W-well, it’s...”

He lapses into silence again, seeming almost nervous.

Something occurs to Kip, and when Wallace doesn’t try to continue, he gives it a shot.

“Wallace?” he prompts. “Are you still...worried about living here?”

Wallace sighs quietly, slumping forward a bit.

“I’m not...I’m not afraid or anything anymore,” he murmurs. “It’s just still that—that I was still just brought here to bring trouble with me, and it’s never been fair to all the monsters who already lived here, and...even if everyone knows now that I’m not going to cause problems, I suppose I still feel a little...awkward about it.”

He ends with a nervous attempt at a laugh.

“It’s fine,” Kip says. “People here are used to you by now. It’s different than when you first turned up because everyone KNOWS you now, you’re not just some random human who moved in out of nowhere. It’s been enough time, you belong here as much as anyone.”

“...You think?” Wallace looks up at him.

“Yeah,” Kip answers. “Everybody’s used to having you around now. We’re all cool with it.”

“I dunno, I still don’t think people are always exactly happy I’m around... I don’t want to be in the way.”

“Everyone’s fine with you,” Kip assures him. “Don’t you notice how people just like...don’t pay you any attention?”

“Y-yeah,” Wallace says tentatively. “Is...that a good thing?”

“Of course,” Kip huffs. “It means nobody’s afraid of you anymore. Not everyone’s like Roy, you know. This is mostly a building of people who keep to themselves—like, everybody knows me but that doesn’t mean they talk to me whenever they see me, right? If everyone just goes on their way around you, that means you’re in.”

Wallace seems to gain confidence as he listens, shoulders raising, head lifting, expression hesitantly clearing.

“I guess I wasn’t quite thinking of it from that angle,” he says slowly. 

Kip gives him a fleeting smile.

“Nobody minds you anymore,” Kip says. “And that’s a good thing. They all trust you too.”

“Heh...” Wallace grins and ducks his face; it’s clear to Kip he’s flattered to hear it.

Kip can’t help a quick, genuine smile in response.

“...You think it might make anyone...nervous about me again if we’re not living in the same building anymore?” Wallace ventures.

Kip shrugs offhandedly.

“No, I really doubt it. You don’t need me vouching for you anymore. Besides, you’d probably still have Molly and Roy. And there’s always Ben. And the fact that everybody around here knows you’re alright for themselves.”

“I hope so...”

“They do,” Kip says firmly, leaning back. “You’re fine.”

Wallace laughs softly and crosses his arm in front of his chest to rub his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just trying not to take these kind of things for granted, you know? Make any assumptions, or anything.”

“Mm.” Kip looks at him in time to accidentally meet Wallace’s eyes. He automatically glances away again.

“So...” Wallace begins quietly. “I feel like we’ve kind of gone...all over the place in this conversation, and I’m trying to get my head around it all. Just—okay, as a sort of summary—why do you want to be in a different building?”

Kip sighs, but has to admit to himself that the request is warranted.

“The main thing is so that I’ll know I can be with Pascal without us having to coordinate it and compare schedules,” he says. “And so I can help him out more. And because I miss living with him.”

“Right, okay,” Wallace says.

“Roy and Molly live with me because they wanted to stay with me ever since I lost my old home,” Kip continues. “But now that I don’t have to be afraid of that one specific threat, and now that living with Pascal means being in a place I’m really familiar with, I think they’re already okay with me being somewhere separate from them. And I know they don’t dislike living with me any more than I want to move because I dislike living with them, but I think it’d be good for them to finally have their own space.”

“Okay,” Wallace responds.

“Like, it’d be fine if I stayed with them however long. But I think they still...just automatically feel like they have to worry about me every day. They know Pascal’ll look out for me—they’d finally be able to do their own thing and not have to factor me into everything.”

Wallace’s answer is a quiet hum.

“And, okay—not because you’re doing anything wrong, not because I’m mad at you, but I...think it would be good to get some space in between us. I want to figure out who we are separate from how it was when we were basically forced together. I don’t want to feel like I have to consciously keep away from you to avoid anything awkward. Because, I don’t like it, but it’s—it’s hard for me to see you sometimes now.”

“Okay, I have to cut in with this one thing,” Wallace says. “I really don’t want you to feel like you’re wrong for—for not being comfortable with me right now. Because I think pretty much everybody has difficulty seeing someone they...”

Wallace pauses momentarily and his arms seem to tense slightly, his light blush deepening.

“...They have feelings for,” Wallace continues. “No matter what they think about the situation or what they want to feel, it just...it feels like crap, at least for a while. I think everyone dealing with anything similar experiences is like that. And people who don’t are just...lucky. Anyway, I know I’ve felt it, so...at least I’M not judging you for it. And I don’t think anybody else should. And definitely you shouldn’t.”

He concludes his speech with a bit of firmness. Kip’s face is warm; he and Wallace look at each other silently for a moment and Kip gives a slight nod.

“Okay,” he says softly. “I just...I’m not mad at you and I don’t dislike you but I still... It, like, actually upsets me, and I...”

“I get it,” Wallace says sympathetically. “I really do. I’ve had a...similar situation at least a couple of times back in the day, and I...remember how frustrating and contradictory it all felt, even though I’m sure it was all simpler than what you’re having to go through right now.”

Kip smiles flatly.

“I really wish I could just turn it off and NOT be bothered at all, obviously, but... Well, it’s not exactly life-and-death or even anything that important but...I can’t pretend I wouldn’t like to not have to worry about it so much for a bit. I know that’s no reason to move on its own, which is why it’s not the reason. It’s not like I’m hoping to not see you if I move somewhere else—it’s just that I’d rather...I’d rather we be more able to DECIDE when we see each other. I...it’s like the pressure of wondering if I’ll accidentally see you here outside your apartment makes me more nervous about seeing you at all. I know there’s no good reason to avoid you, but...”

He rubs the side of his face. 

“I feel like...being in a new place, stepping back a little, changing the way I meet you...” He sighs. “It might give me a second chance to just...get acquainted with you. I know that sounds ridiculous, and I know how much we already know each other, but still...we were always forced together. We never got the chance to...to properly meet on regular, casual terms and decide we wanted to keep meeting just because we were friends, I...”

He sighs heavily again and closes his eyes for a moment with a slight grimace.

“It’s not a big concern,” he says quietly, looking towards the ceiling and leaning back against the couch. “I know it’s not even a real problem. But it’s always bothered me that we didn’t get a genuine start because people didn’t let us, and...now it seems more relevant than ever to want that. A new start, or whatever. A new way to be reintroduced, or get to know each other again. I don’t know.”

He moves his gaze down; it passes over Wallace as a vaguely orange blur.

“And I’m not talking about putting on some act like we’re strangers and ignoring everything that already came before, pretending we don’t know each other and never did anything together,” he says. “That would be ridiculous, I’m not interested in that. I’m just thinking of...how, well, we sort of are in a new stage of things. And it’s different, and that’s great. And just...even if we know each other, we’re still in this new situation, and maybe we can...just have this decent, genuine start to make up for the one we didn’t get to have originally.”

“I...think I follow you,” Wallace says quietly. “...How do you think we do that? Like, meet for brunch and ask each other questions?”

Kip gives a short laugh.

“I guess if we wanted to,” he replies. “But I’m not really imagining us doing anything in particular. I’m not talking about me moving and then the next time we see each other we pretend we never met. I just mean a new...approach, I suppose. One where we get to choose to see each other and interact instead of it...always being about having to run into each other and being obligated to get along.”

He looks back over at Wallace.

“I’m not trying to make it so that we won’t see each other,” he says. “I WANT to choose to see you. I don’t want to have to be pushed together or in each other’s way, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to see you. I do.”

He blushes a little, and it doesn’t help to see Wallace’s face grow a bit pinker as he looks back at Kip.

“You keep—“ Wallace interrupts himself with a soft laugh, shaking his head slightly. “You keep saying you’re in the way.”

Kip blushes a bit more and casts his eyes down again.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You shouldn’t have to feel that way.”

Kip lifts his shoulders in a slow shrug.

“There’s a lot of ways I wish I didn’t feel,” he says quietly. “But I keep on doing it.”

They’re quiet for a moment.

“And I don’t want to hurt Ben,” Kip continues. “And I think it’s been long enough that he’s dealt with me being around so often. I know he can handle it just fine and so can I, but we don’t have to. I don’t have to live on this one specific block.”

“...Why do you think it’s so bad that you’re just...around him?” Wallace asks slowly.

Kip shakes his head vaguely.

“It’s not that bad,” he says. “But I...haven’t ever felt like he wants to see me if he can help it. Not alone, anyways. And it’s not like I can begrudge him that. I don’t think I’ve ever just...acted normally around him in practically as long as I’ve known him. I don’t know why it is that I’ve...both wanted him to like me but never been able to exactly...just be comfortable and act like myself around him. I don’t know what my deal is, but I can...definitely understand in more recent years why we can’t relax around each other. And now that I’ve gone and liked you, I think it’s a decent time to finally give him some more space too. Especially now that he...”

He pauses.

“...Especially what?” Wallace prompts.

Kip shrugs.

“That he’s with you, I suppose,” Kip shrugs, picking at his bracelet. “There’s no use in my staying around and there’s upsides to backing off... Molly’s always been great at keeping close to him, even before we moved here, you know—we used to ride the train together, she’d get off here to visit Ben while I went on to B to see Eno, and then I’d ride back to C after my appointment and meet up with her again. And I know there’s Roy and Kate, and I know he sees other people too, he’s started to be a...little more out there but still, it’s nice to know he—he has someone else so consistent. Even if I wouldn’t’ve helped one way or another...it’s still just nice to know.”

His laugh is quiet and flat.

“I say that, as if I’ve ever done anything for him on a personal level,” he mumbles. “Going somewhere else would probably be the first nice thing I do.”

There’s a pause and Kip pretends to be interested in the hem of his shorts to cover his slight bloom of embarrassment.

“Jeez, Kip...”

Kip sits up a little straighter to counteract his blush.

“It’s not that big a deal,” he sighs, but Wallace continues regardless.

“You really feel that way?” Wallace asks, sounding somewhat incredulous.

Kip sighs and looks over at the wall opposite the door.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeats, slightly exasperated. “I get it. Maybe I wish it was different, but it’s not. That’s just not how things happened for us.”

“I mean, I know I’ve only known all you guys for just about a year, and all of you have known each other for forever, but I... He’s never said anything about not even liking you,” Wallace says.

“Because it’s really not a big deal,” Kip sighs. “It’s not like I think he hates me. It’s not....it’s not even that much about us.”

“What IS it about?”

“Everything that happened to us—what else.”

Wallace is quiet, and Kip knows that he’ll have to be the one to speak first for the conversation to continue.

“I don’t know how much of this you already know,” he starts slowly. “But I’ve known Ben since ages ago—when all of us were still in school, even. I met him in person I guess about half a year or so after meeting Molly. I never much interacted with him or even saw him too regularly until...”

He sighs silently and rocks his foot against the floor.

“...Until Yumi started working with my brother,” he murmurs.

He stares at a spot on the rug, one specific detail of purple fibers weaving into blue.

“Okay,” Wallace prompts quietly.

Kip sighs and drags a hand along the side of his head, through his hair and to the nape of his neck.

“...You know how most people around here know who I am?” he asks.

“Yeah...?”

“I know it seems like most of them think I’m great or something,” he says. “And probably most of them do have some positive opinion of me, or at least a neutral one.”

“Okay...” Wallace sounds a bit bemused now.

“I don’t suppose you’ve ever noticed that not everyone feels that way, though?”

In his peripheral, Kip sees Wallace put an elbow on the arm of his chair and sit up a little straighter.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I just mean that not everybody’s always exactly glad to see me around.”

“Huh? Kip—“ 

Wallace’s tone has shifted to one of clear concern; Kip looks over at him.

“What do you mean?” Wallace repeats emphatically. “Are you telling me people out there actually want you to go somewhere else?”

Wallace’s interpretation of his words catches Kip off guard, making him laugh reflexively as he realizes what Wallace thinks he’s saying.

“I meant it more literal than that,” he says. “No, as far as I know, nobody wants to drive me out of town. I just mean that I don’t exactly brighten everyone’s day when they cross paths with me. You’ve seen it.”

“What, like...?” Wallace trails off, expression slightly tensed in confusion.

“It’s like...the same way some people still just get kind of excited to see me somewhere, other people are...the opposite, I guess. Not everybody sees me as somebody who’s so great to run into. It’s not as relevant anymore, but...well...”

He grips the edge of the cushion as he stretches his legs out in front of him.

“The only reason people knew me was because everyone knew my brother, right?” he says. “Even when they didn’t know my name, they knew I was his family, because I looked like him—Kent started to be a big enough deal that people who’d never met him knew what he looked like. The three of us were...it’s not all that common to be blue, for starters. Once my brother became the one person monsters could come to for the chance that his investigation might find someone missing...people just knew my face. I look too much like him for anyone to miss it.”

“Right,” Wallace says quietly.

“And then, after he died, people knew my name, too. It was in the news what had happened, even though hardly anybody mentioned why it was such a big deal that everyone was hearing about it. By pretty much the next morning I think everyone in the area knew that Kent’s little brother was now the only one still alive. I was still only important because I was related to Kent, but after that...everything about that whole part of our story was associated with me. Including the fact that...the one effort to figure out what was happening to everyone gone missing had failed.”

“It didn’t really ‘fail’...” Wallace murmurs.

“I guess not ultimately,” Kip acknowledges.

“Well, that, and because...it’s not like people can exactly say your brother failed to figure something out because he was killed.”

Kip shrugs.

“Either way, whenever people were reminded of my brother, it used to be this thing where he was basically this...one small ray of hope for people who were really desperate and hurting and...all of a sudden people lost that. It probably felt like everyone who was still missing had been lost all over again.”

He takes a long, steady inhale to help give himself a little break. 

“I know for some people I never really stopped...being kind of this other representation of us all at least having a chance to survive,” he says slowly. “Like, we all knew that probably whoever was taking us was the same reason my family died. But I think that even though Kent was gone, it was a relief to some people that I had made it somehow. Like, maybe other people they tried to kill could’ve escaped too.”

He shrugs again.

“But I left C, and I...I think people never stopped hoping I wouldn’t like...just pick up my brother’s work again. Plenty of people knew I had something of his still with me. But I didn’t do anything. And I know some people resent me for that, like I should’ve finished what he did instead of leaving for D. Or at least given his files to someone else. And I can’t really say for sure that they’re wrong, or that I wouldn’t have accomplished anything if I’d at least tried. And then there’s also some people who didn’t think it was comforting that I’d survived in the first place—they knew it was just a lucky break, or whatever. And they just thought of me of a reminder that my brother used to be alive, not as someone to expect anything particularly good from.”

“Kip...”

“It’s just that...everybody who knows me who isn’t like, personally friends with me, only knows me because they know about Kent and what he was trying to do, because that had been so, SO important to everyone here. I remind people of that, but for some people it’s just not a good reminder at all. They don’t necessarily want to see me in the canned goods aisle and have to think about their friends or family who went missing years ago.”

He glances over at Wallace, who lowers his head in a small nod.

“Because I really...can’t overemphasize how much of an impact that whole wave of disappearances had on people,” Kip says softly. “Nobody knew who was going to be taken next, or why, or how to protect themselves, or who was behind it. It was only monsters like my brother who started to collect and compare stories who even realized that this was a whole pattern that was happening, that there was this huge increase in monsters from C and D and sometimes even B who were just...going missing overnight. And we—we had nothing. Everyone at least knew someone who knew someone who had a relative or close friend suddenly gone. A lot of us lost more than one person in our lives, even if it was just acquaintances, local people whose faces were part of your routine. You felt the threat every day, you lived with the change in every part of life, and nobody knew what to do, and...I can’t describe how it felt to have absolutely everyone and everything affected by this. This shadow over everything. And all of us waiting for weeks and months for anyone to come back, or for someone to find out anything, and never knowing when it was the last time you might see someone, or it might be the last time anyone might see you. It changed everyone. And there was never any closure. The ones who never came back—nobody ever got to say goodbye or see anyone for the last time. There was just people left behind for years without any answers, without even knowing if everyone was dead or alive. It’s like this suspended state of grief. I bet the shit we came back with about E made plenty of people feel like they’d lost someone all over again, even the ones they were already assuming had died.”

“...Having closure has to be the better way, though,” Wallace says.

“I’m not sure anything we found out could be called a comfort,” Kip says. “Knowing the kinds of things that happened to people there, and now everyone having to imagine what the people they love went through... Knowing how horrible every death must’ve been, how scared everyone must have been...”

He exhales audibly.

“I always thought I had to feel somewhat lucky, because at least I KNEW my family was dead. I also know how it feels to...not have that knowledge and feel like this whole part of you is just trapped in the day you found out they were missing, like you couldn’t know whether to believe they were dead or not, or which assumption would be easier to live with, and knowing that even if you wanted to accept that they were dead, you’d never be able to, not without—without having at least an ounce of doubt. Or hope, whichever you want to call it.”

He sighs heavily and closes his eyes.

“It’s not like we had any bodies to bring back to people,” he murmurs. “Not even that many records of who definitely died. I’d be surprised if there isn’t a fair amount of monsters who are still wondering if their people might’ve escaped somehow, or if maybe they were just thrown somewhere in D and started a new life out of fear of being found again, or bringing it back to their families, or something. And maybe they’re right. Whether it’s easier to believe they’re alive or dead, we don’t have all the proof of any of it even now, after all this.”

He looks over at Wallace. He seems a little paled.

“...Sorry I got so much into all that,” Kip says, dropping his gaze. “I know it can’t be easy for you to be reminded of either. But I just...I can’t tell you how much damage E did to everyone. I suppose the one thing we finally gave people is the knowledge that this one specific threat is finally done with. But I think even I’d had some hope that maybe everyone who stayed gone was still just...being held somewhere. We couldn’t undo any of those losses.”

“No,” Wallace quietly agrees.

“The fact is, being reminded of any of that is just a big deal to everybody around here,” Kip continues. “And now there’s a reason to directly link me up with everything. For some people it’s always seemed like they think it’s a good thing to see me. But for some people it’s just a reminder of the worst part of their lives and everything they’ve been afraid of for years and years.”

“None of it’s ever been your fault,” Wallace says.

“Of course,” Kip says. “But I’ve still always been caught up in the middle of it. Only because I was related to my brother, but that’s reason enough. It’s why I was hunted all over again. It’s why you’re here.”

He sees Wallace drop his head slightly.

“It’s even less your fault, Wallace,” he comforts. “You just happened to work in the wrong place at the wrong time, and care too much about your job. Nobody can blame you for that.”

Wallace laughs quietly.

“It’s not like I think people who don’t like seeing me hate me personally,” Kip says. “Just like how I don’t think everyone who considers me something special loves me personally, either. I’ve always wished I didn’t get any kind of attention. It feels like people having expectations of me I know I can’t meet, or them wanting me to be just a copy of my brother. And like everything I do has to represent something, or be some formal declaration from some legacy foundation of my brother’s. It’s always been like everyone was always watching me, and it always made me think of how scared I was that someone out there might be looking for me, to finally kill me too.”

He laughs flatly.

“Now I could go back in time and tell myself not to worry, because they were just waiting for the right time to come after me,” he says bitterly. “And I could tell myself I’d technically moved us closer to all the danger by being in D.”

“I’m sorry,” Wallace mumbles.

Kip shakes his head. 

“I guess what I’m getting at is...well, I’ve just told you how I know what it’s like having something that gives you a bad feeling—how even if you know it shouldn’t because it doesn’t deserve it, you still feel it,” he says. “And I know what it feels like to love someone who disappeared. Multiple people. Hardly any of us lost just one person over the years. And I know what it feels like to be sure that people you love were killed, in a terrible way.”

His voice has softened, and he finds himself pausing for a moment, looking at the same spot of fiber on the rug. Wallace waits.

“I wish I wasn’t so associated with all of that in anybody’s mind,” he finally continues. “I wish none of it had ever happened. I wish I had never been put in the middle of everything. But it did happen, and my brother did try to help everyone. And I can’t help if I make people think of everything that happened. And they can’t help it if I remind them. I can’t take it personally. I mean, we did expose E, after all. I’m officially involved with all of it, even without considering Kent.”

Wallace nods.

“Okay...” he says quietly.

“The point is, I understand if my being around people reminds them of unpleasant things, and makes them feel bad,” Kip says. “I know it’s not my fault, or theirs. And I wish it didn’t happen, but...sometimes it does.”

“Okay,” Wallace repeats.

Kip looks at him.

“So...hang on,” Wallace says slowly, brow creasing. “Are you saying that’s why you think it’s bad for you to be around Ben?”

“I get what it’s like to have some negative association with something like...me,” Kip says. “And Ben has more reason than anyone to not like seeing me.”

“He likes to see Molly,” Wallace argues. “And she had to remind him of who he lost.”

Kip bites the inside of his lip.

“Yeah, but he’s been really close to Molly for her whole life. Nothing would be painful enough to keep him from wanting to see her. I’m just...some random person he was never that close to, even as long as I’ve known him.”

“But he knows you as more than Kent’s brother.”

Kip rolls his foot to one side as he shifts his gaze to the wall, wishing Wallace would go ahead and start understanding.

“And you know? It’s not like being around ME doesn’t make him think of Yumi,” Wallace continues, voice rising slightly. “You don’t think he hates seeing me because of that, do you? Do you think he wishes I would go away too?”

Seemingly out of nowhere, Wallace’s tone has this confrontational edge. Kip feels his face flush at once, the tension he’d been slowly shedding creeping slowly back over his limbs. He presses his lips together and continues staring at the wall as if it’s the one who’s just confused him, finding no response for Wallace that would be productive.

“...I just don’t get what you think makes Ben any different,” Wallace eventually continues. His tone is a little less aggressive, but still rougher than it had been before this turning point. “If you don’t think you have to leave the district because of other people and what they might think of you, why do you act like Ben is worse than them?”

His questions are still a bit too demanding to be purely rhetorical.

“...Ben and I have known each other and we lost people on the same day for the same reason,” Kip says towards the wall. His own voice is more impassive by contrast, and throatier. “And moving from a specific building is a different matter than trying to go somewhere without any monsters around at all, which you might remember is impossible for me.”

“I know,” Wallace snaps.

“Fuck off,” Kip hisses. He all at once folds his arms and turns his head to look out the window, further away from Wallace. He can feel that his own expression has tightened further, showing more of his frustration on his face. “...Sorry. I don’t mean that, but god—I’m trying to say stuff here that’s not easy for me to say. I don’t know where in the world you’re coming from right now.”

He makes himself at least turn back towards Wallace, though he looks at Wallace’s feet and keeps his arms across his stomach.

“...I started it,” Wallace admits, but his voice is still harshened. “Sorry for that.”

They sit in silence for a moment.

“You can’t blame yourself for anything that happened to anyone,” Wallace says in his clipped tone.

“I don’t,” Kip says. “But you know that—“

He cuts himself off, staring stubbornly at the bottom of Wallace’s shoe.

“...I know that what,” Wallace echoes flatly.

“Yumi knew Kent because Ben knew me,” Kip answers.

“...Okay,” Wallace says.

“Okay,” Kip echoes bitterly.

More silence.

“I just don’t get what you think about Ben that makes him so much of a problem for you,” Wallace finally says.

“What made you think that in the first place? Where did I say something bad about him?” Kip demands. 

“You’re just implying that this is some huge deal,” Wallace says. “Like I have to know that Ben can’t stand you because you make him think of Yumi.”

“Wallace,” Kip growls, looking him in the face, refusing to flinch away from the wounded frustration he finds there. “I’m not talking about you. I didn’t mean to say anything upsetting but you’d know better than me if Ben had any issue with you, alright? But I think we both know he hasn’t been putting on some complex charade here and that he doesn’t have any reason to. It’s fine.”

The sharpness of Wallace’s hurt seems to dissolve just a little, making more room for a sadness that’s not too subtle to escape Kip’s detection.

Kip feels a chill that’s noticeable even for him, one that makes him wish he was in a sweater and full-length jeans. He’s just pressed at an insecurity Wallace has in his relationship with Ben. Thanks to something Kip’s said. Specifically about Ben, no less. If this causes any real problems he won’t ever be able to look Ben in the face anymore. Or anyone else, probably.

“...I’m not trying to say anything about Ben,” he says finally. “Maybe I seem like a reminder of all the shit that’s happened to all of us, including Yumi. Maybe if I hadn’t hung around Molly so much it would’ve just been Kent and Eno who were involved. Maybe it’s how I went almost a decade of barely ever even talking to him when I knew exactly what he was going through, and the fact that even now I’ve never apologized for it. Maybe it doesn’t have any damn thing to do with our histories, maybe I’m just not every single person’s cup of tea. I’m not gonna pretend to know. And I don’t NEED to know, I don’t need him to justify it to me. We’ve never been able to be all that close and I doubt it’ll be that big a deal to him one way or another. I don’t care what the issue is but he’s done more than enough to help me and it fucking matters a hell of a lot that I don’t do anything to hurt him!”

“Like what?” Wallace’s voice rises again. “You keep saying that like you’re so sure that something’s going to happen.”

“Like the fact I’ve already lost my temper at him for no good reason and I have no guarantee I wouldn’t end up doing it again,” Kip says, his own tone hardened in response. “Like in all this time, I’ve done hardly anything that would show I even cared and done even less to actually help and I’d be kidding myself if I said I thought that a total absence of any kind of support from me doesn’t have any impact. And how I’ve right now gone and upset you, and what are you supposed to do about it if you wanted to talk to him, tell him that I was trying to talk to you about how I had the fucking arrogance to build up this ridiculous situation in my head where I believed it was even an option to go and have all these feelings about you, where I talked myself into thinking there was a chance you’d like me back, because I have the nerve to assume you’d have any reason to think I’m so much better than anyone else around you? And I’m talking to you about all this and how are you supposed to hold all of this stuff when I haven’t even left you the option of talking about it—I’ve already interfered and the LAST thing I want is to do that any more.”

He’s vented a little of the fire behind his frustration but he’s still cold with stress.

Wallace looks at him with some odd, almost pitying expression, and Kip feels his own glare intensify in defiance. He looks away after a moment, trying to decide what more he might need to say—if he should say anything else at all. It seems like he’d entered with the intent to say he doesn’t know what he thinks should happen between them going forward but he doesn’t want to have to be more distant, and now he’s managed to make it clear that he ought to stay away from Wallace for a while—that this situation he’s created isn’t something that’s going to merely sit dormant and slowly erode with time, passively untouched and harmlessly nonreactive all the while.

“I’ve already told him,” Wallace murmurs.

Kip looks over at him immediately, but Wallace has already shifted his gaze elsewhere.

“What?” Kip says.

Wallace doesn’t answer, the frustration in his expression now even more dimmed, replaced with something of a grimace. Kip’s heartbeat becomes insistent.

“Wallace, what?” he demands.

“I already told Ben what you told me.”

“Told him WHAT?” Kip repeats automatically.

But even before speaking, he’s already certain of what Wallace means. There’s a growing chill inside him to match the one he’s generated in the space around himself.

The way just glancing over seems to chasten Wallace suggests to Kip that his own expression must be severe, but he doesn’t feel any capacity for softening it at the moment. He sits completely upright, one hand gripping the arm of the couch, staring at Wallace even as the human’s gaze wanders along the wall behind him, avoiding him.

“...After you talked to me that day,” Wallace finally says. “And you asked me not to tell him about it. I did tell him.”

Kip huffs out a breath that’s something of a hollow laugh and sinks against the back of the couch, looking up at the junction of the ceiling and wall. The chill inside him surges into his chest and beats with his heart. The soft hit of horror is almost adrenal; his knees intermittently shudder.

“I’m sorry,” Wallace says, voice now devoid of anger. “It’s just that...”

He pauses.

“When,” Kip says flatly.

“Huh?”

“WHEN did you tell him.”

“...A couple days after you told me.”

Kip turns towards the arm of the couch to put his forehead in his hand, then closes his eyes. For the moment all that concerns him anymore is trying to process the mixture of emotions gripping him at this revelation.

He hears Wallace shift his weight in his chair.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you,” Wallace insists quietly. “I just wanted to talk with him about it. It wasn’t that I thought you’d done something wrong.”

Kip’s cheeks burn, contradicting the intense cold permeating his body. Kip puts his other hand to his forehead as well, shielding more of his face from Wallace’s view. 

“...He isn’t even mad at you about it,” Wallace says. “That’s what I’ve been wanting you to understand.”

Kip gives a jerky shake of the head and digs his fingers into his hair.

So Ben already knows. Has already known.

The pit in his stomach is icy, feeling simultaneously like a weight and a void.

“Kip—“

He shakes his head again. His whole body is stiff. This is exactly what he didn’t want to happen.

Kip takes a deep—if somewhat ragged—inhale and lifts his head to remove his glasses with his right hand and cover his eyes with his left, turning forwards again so he can lean further down and breathe a little easier.

“I’m sorry...” Wallace’s voice sounds weaker now. Maybe more hesitant.

Kip doesn’t respond, just keeps his eyes squeezed shut and his breathing regular. 

After a minute or two, the frigidity in his torso seems at least to have diffused through the rest of his body; it doesn’t feel like there’s a dull scrape to each drawn breath. He moves his hand from his eyes back to his forehead and stares down at the hair on his knees for a few moments, then slowly straightens his back and puts his glasses back on, putting both hands on either side of his lap and fixing his gaze on the same spot of purple on the carpet.

“Are you alright?” Wallace asks slowly. “You’re freezing...”

Kip knows he must really be especially cold if Wallace can feel it.

“I’m fine,” he sighs at the floor.

“Look...” Wallace sighs. “I’m just trying to tell you that there’s nothing you have to be so worried about here.”

Kip finds himself wholly unmotivated to respond to anything at this point. He’s not in any kind of conversationally-capable state anymore, not with this upheaval bringing him stress somehow even worse than what had prompted his last little anxiety attack. Frightening him, even. His dread manifesting with a chill to dampen every stirring of life in the room. He continues to look at the carpet, uninterested in trying to make any further point or accomplish anything more through this exchange.

“There’s not this huge problem, Kip,” Wallace entreats.

Kip wishes he would stop trying to talk for the moment. He doesn’t want to respond, he doesn’t want to humor Wallace that things are solved now and just agree that sure, there’s no problem, I’m upset for nothing, I should just feel completely comfortable with this whole situation from now on. Thanks for clearing all this up, it’s so simple, my own point of view based on the last decade and a half of my life is just all wrong.

He’d sort of hoped that by this point, Wallace might not be so inclined to assume that he can sort out a complicated issue just because he wants it to be solved, just because he means well. Like he knows better than Kip because Kip is too anxious and avoidant about things, whereas Wallace is optimistic, determined to dive in and help even if he isn’t all that prepared.

But if Kip can still be disappointed in how much he’s retained his usual weaknesses, there can’t be too much blame in Wallace likewise failing to change forever overnight.

“...Are you mad at me?” Wallace asks.

“No.”

“You...seem like you’re mad.”

“It’s fine. It was out of line to ask you to keep any of that to yourself anyways.”

“It—“

“It’s fine.”

“Okay, but you’re still upset,” Wallace points out.

“Of course I’m still upset,” Kip retorts. “That doesn’t mean it’s not fine or that I’m not fine.”

“I don’t want to leave you with some feeling that there’s something wrong,” Wallace says quietly.

“I think everything’s perfect,” Kip says sarcastically. 

“I know it isn’t,” Wallace returns. “But you don’t have to be so worried about Ben finding out about things.”

“I guess I can’t be if he already knows.”

“I’m just...” Wallace starts halfheartedly.

“I don’t really want to talk any more about how I feel or don’t feel,” Kip informs him flatly. 

Wallace doesn’t answer. 

“...Yeah, I think I’d like to go back upstairs,” Kip says, still addressing the carpet. 

“I...” Wallace seems to think better of it and quietly sighs instead. “Okay.”

“I won’t try to tell you this time that you should keep all this to yourself,” Kip says, standing up from the couch. “Do whatever you think is best.”

He finally meets Wallace’s eyes.

“Thanks for listening to everything,” he adds. “I hope I didn’t keep you too long from your work.”

And without waiting for a response, he calmly turns away and lets himself out into the hall.

—

Kip lies flat on his back in bed, grateful for the distance between himself and the apartments by the lobby.

He’d spent the walk from Wallace’s door to that of his own bedroom thinking of all the times he’d seen Ben since informing Wallace of his crush. The humiliation sets in and makes him curl up on the blankets.

He supposes it’s funny that he’d walked into Wallace’s apartment wondering how he and Wallace could have a decent relationship while Kip was forcing Wallace to carry around this secret for him, and he’d actually come away with an answer—they couldn’t.

Of course nothing good was going to come of all this. Of course it wasn’t all going to play out smoothly. Even less likely was the chance that this would all unfold in a way most favorable to him, leaving him unscathed by the minefield he’d planted himself within.

Right now he just hopes to god that Wallace’s concerns about taking Yumi’s place aren’t about to grow into something too damaging to sustain. And if they do, he has an even thinner hope that Ben will be just as ready to date someone else, that he won’t feel burnt by this cautious initial foray into trying to love someone new again. 

Because if Kip, even inadvertently, causes Ben as much pain as he thinks this could, he won’t just have to deal with his own guilt and self-loathing. There’s the fact that Wallace will be hurt too, and will probably not want very much to do with Kip—who should’ve just stepped aside in the first place as soon as he found out Wallace wasn’t single. And even worse is the fact that if he does something so awful to Ben, he doubts even Molly will find him blameless. And he wouldn’t want Roy to have to feel like he has to protect Kip—he wouldn’t want to be in any situation where he comes between the two of them.

But if this spark of tension becomes something bigger, it’s going to affect their whole group. 

He rests a hand on his thudding chest and closes his eyes. He tries to think of things completely unrelated.

—

He gains a little feeling of defiance in the hours leading up to work; he tells himself that he still ought to try to feel as okay about things as possible because really, even this problem is a mild one compared to the kinds of potential disasters he’d been spared from. And when he decides he shouldn’t preemptively punish himself for something that might just settle down on its own, he proves it by opening his laptop and spending the next half hour choosing the sleeve he wants to get in addition to the hands-free massager he’d been interested in. He places the order with a coupon code the site provides for a fifteen percent discount, and then lies back down to the mattress.

He’s not misguided for rewarding himself—he did do what he had meant to do after all, sit down and talk to Wallace, regardless of whether it had happened by chance or not. He does get to tell Eno that he’s accomplished something more since last week. And he’s not doing anything wrong by treating himself kindly in the first place. He always wants to be able to count on himself for that. And he ought to be able to live without feeling ashamed of himself, even if he has slipped up in all his self-absorption. 

It’s something of a relief when he gets changed into his work clothes. This way he can walk outside without having to worry about anyone trying to hold him up for a lengthy conversation. And work will give him at least a bit of a distraction, something to occupy himself with—and probably not that many people he’ll have the potential to hurt.

—

He gets a text from Pascal just after closing time, and texts back to say that he’s finishing up and if Pascal can talk over the phone, he should be able to sit down for one in just a matter of minutes. He hurries through the last of his work before finally sitting down in the back of the house and calling Pascal.

“Kip!” Pascal greets him brightly.

Just the sound of his voice is grounding.

“Hi, Pas...it’s good to hear you,” Kip says, smiling to himself as he cradles the phone against the side of his head.

“Yeah? Did work go alright?”

“There weren’t any problems, it went fine,” Kip says. “What about you? What’s been on your mind today?”

“Mm...just this and that. I had some nice chats with a few regulars, and I got a few newcomers too and got to help them figure out some teas that might be to their tastes, so that was fun. I’ve been thinking for a few days too about getting some plants in here? I’m not quite sure where to put them...I could rearrange things some, but I’d have to make sure to keep the place convenient for Maggie to get around without running into plant fronds or anything. But anyways...after being distracted by tea shop things all day, I went to pottery class. It went as usual—relaxing, nice, I talked to the person beside me and worked some more on this bowl I’m doing, you know how it goes.”

“Ah, I wish I did,” Kip sighs. “I’d love to see you in action when you sculpt, you’re so good at it...”

“Oh, you might be able to,” Pascal says. “It’s part instruction, of course, but most of the time is given to us each doing our individual work... It’s not very exciting to watch, but I’m sure I could ask if it would be okay for you to come with me sometime.”

Kip laughs quietly.

“I’d like to see how you do it,” he says. “But if not, that’s alright. I just like knowing how much you like it. And you’re so good at it!”

“Aw...” Pascal laughs too. “Thanks.”

“It’s true,” Kip says. “I meant what I said about your sculptures being nice enough to sell. Even if they aren’t tea-related. I dunno how doable it would be, between your apartment and—u-uh—“

He cuts himself off, reminded of the fact he essentially told Wallace he intends to ask to move in with Pascal.

“...Yeah?” Pascal prompts.

“Sorry, I was...just reminded of something earlier,” Kip says. “I’d been talking to Wallace for a bit this afternoon, so that’s something intimidating I actually managed to do.”

“Oh yeah? That’s great then!”

“Ha, I can’t even take much credit, we just ran into each other in the lobby again...”

“Hey, it still counts, you didn’t have to stay and talk. Did it go better than you’d been expecting?”

“Umm...” Kip taps his foot on the floor. “Well, the direction WAS a bit unexpected at times. But I think I managed to be honest about a few things I hadn’t been saying. It definitely wasn’t a COMPLETE disaster...”

“A partial one?” 

Kip hums a verbal shrug.

“Maybe a little,” he laughs. “But I’m feeling a bit more okay about it by now, really. It should be fine saving the details for tomorrow. You still think you’ll be able to stay the night?”

“Yep,” Pascal answers with satisfaction.

“Awesome,” Kip breathes, grinning. “It’ll be really good to have an evening where you don’t have to worry about getting back to your place. And then I can see you off in the morning and come over to your place after my appointment.”

“Oh man... I can’t wait to kick it all off and come over tomorrow.”

“I’m off a couple of hours before you are, so I’m gonna make us a cake,” Kip says. “So get excited for that, for sure.”

“No problem—I barely ever just like, make myself a cake.”

Kip’s smile fades slightly as he’s reminded of how long Pascal’s been living alone, before the two of them were even officially talking to each other again.

But at least he might be able to change that sometime soon. He just wants to have the first mention of the idea be delivered in person.

“...I’m about to head back to the apartment,” he says. “Talk to me while I walk? I’d love to hear your interior design ideas, seriously. I love the way you make a space look and feel.”

“You’re sweet.”

“Look who’s talking...”

The warmth of Pascal’s flattered laugh restores Kip’s smile with a bloom of affection.

—

Kip makes it home in time to catch Roy before he’s headed to bed; a wave of conversation is packed into several minutes. Then Molly comes out of the shower while Kip finishes the half sandwich he made himself, and he gets to quickly catch up with her a bit as well before she too heads back into her room to continue getting ready for bed. It’s a relief as always to get to see for himself that they’re both doing as solidly as ever. Even looking back at the rough edges of his earlier conversation with Wallace, he doesn’t feel too shaken up about it. Not as much as he would’ve expected when he was just walking away from it.

He supposes it helps that part of him’s been anticipating the most disastrous fallout ever since he admitted his own feelings for Wallace to himself—but going to work, talking to Pascal, getting to see Roy and Molly for even a moment all seem to have steadied him with the reminder that it was only one conversation. This is only one little conflict in the world. The worst case scenario is that already-existing problems boil over more messily and Kip ought to distance himself, as he already plans to. No matter what happens, Roy and Molly will be fine, and Ben and Wallace’s lives are both solidly established enough that they’ll each be able to carry on through complications and issues such as these. And Pascal will still be able to love Kip as much as ever even if he’s fucked things up with this. Eno, too. 

His family would as well.

He stays up a little late—he works early but not too early, he doesn’t have to open—and works a little on polishing up an old post idea, but mostly just fucks around. He and Pascal exchange occasional texts for the first couple of hours before Pascal goes to bed, and Kip isn’t sure if Pascal’s trying to make him laugh more than usual, but his messages are especially funny. 

Kip takes a shower just before bed so he doesn’t have to bother with it in the morning. When he retreats to his room, he spends a little while fussing with his plants, reorganizing his bookshelf for no reason. It surprises him how unalarming the encounter with Wallace feels to him by now, barely twelve hours later. He can tell he’s partially numbed himself to his concerns, but some of it actually does seem something like acceptance. Maybe it’s his self-hatred or self-destructive inclinations or both that are pushing him to want to believe there now exists a greater distance between him and Wallace, that his crush has led to bitterness and separation, and he should just go ahead and adjust to that reality.

But really, this was always a likely turnout. And he has happy friends and a basically stable existence and a boyfriend who’s doing well and who he’s utterly in love with. And everyone who’s still alive is still alive. It would’ve been nice if things went different with Wallace, but they didn’t. And that’s neither that big of a deal nor anything he can change.

He stands in front of his family’s picture for a few minutes, looking at them in silence. If they were here, on a day like today he would’ve been further comforted just by spending time around them, even without discussing anything that’s bothering him. He vaguely wonders what he’ll do on the anniversary of their deaths. It’ll be Kent’s birthday just a couple of weeks prior. He always does something on both occasions, privately, often small. But this time feels like it ought to have some sort of special significance, what with the closure on the problem that killed them, and the fact that he got awfully close himself to failing to reach the sixth year from their deaths. 

Maybe he’ll visit their grave for the first time since the funeral. Maybe he’ll walk to his old address for the first time since the fire. They’re intimidating, stressful ideas, but he’s capable of handling them now if he’ll ever be. 

He climbs into bed and reads for a bit to relax himself again, and as he lies back and drifts off he notices how strange it is that he actually feels better than he did when he woke up. 

—

“Kip!”

He can hear Molly’s insistent voice cutting clear into his dream; he knows he’s asleep and tries to tell himself to wake up. All he manages is to finally shift the environment—he finds himself in the bed of his family’s home, and for a disorienting moment he wonders if Molly and the whole life he thought he had was a dream. But her voice rings clear in his ears again and he’s jolting awake with her hand heavy on his shoulder.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles, even before he opens his eyes or fully processes where he is.

He rolls onto his back and pushes himself up and his vision swims momentarily. He’s short of breath, panting quietly. The early morning dimness makes it harder for his sight to come into focus—as much as it can without his glasses—but he finally takes in the familiar surroundings of his bedroom, and Molly standing beside his bed in her pajamas, the soft blue shirt with the print of a strawberry, hair slightly messy, looking back at him with a slight frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, voice still quieted and slowed by lingering, half-asleep confusion. Concerns are stirring about someone being hurt, someone being missing, needing to leave. “Do I need to get up? Is there something—“

“No,” Molly says softly, touching his arm. “You were dreaming. I was in the bathroom and heard you. ...It sounded kinda bad.”

Kip blinks as the cogs in his head turn over, processing what she’s saying.

“Oh,” he says simply. 

He’s all at once aware that he chose to sleep naked, and his cheeks flush with heat despite the fact the covers are up around his stomach. He turns his attention from it.

He tries to think back on his dream and, surprisingly, enough of it returns to make it clear what must’ve upset him.

“Oh,” he repeats darkly. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s alright.”

“Mm.” 

Molly steps back, and Kip gets the sense she’s looking him over.

“You should probably get up long enough to have some water and make a cup of tea, or fill up the hot water bottle, or something,” she says. “You’re really cold and sweating, too.”

“Ugh...” Kip sighs. “Alright. Thanks.”

She looks at him for a moment more before giving him a nod and slipping back out, touching his door to the jamb behind her.

Kip sits there for a bit catching his breath, making himself breathe through his nose. He puts his forehead on his knees, eyes closed, entwined fingers resting on the back of his neck, letting pieces of the dream return and brushing them away.

As usual, it’s nothing new. Just a nasty iteration of his dreams of being pursued, which always seem to have a tendency to make him cry out louder in his sleep than other upsetting dreams—short of his flashback-induced terrors. Tonight’s was apparently one influenced by his time in E, dropping him in some quasi-clinical labyrinth of darkened rooms and hallways with glaring fluorescent lights that provided little in the way of illumination. Kip had felt immediate unease as he entered a large room, deciding to lock the door as he heard faint voices. The lock hadn’t quite seemed to fit together somehow, but worse was the sudden sense of dread that had washed over him.

His chase nightmares either seem to provide him with something huge trying to get him, something with booming, rapid footsteps that send him into a panic, or else they take the approach that this dream had—one where he never sees nor hears any pursuer, just suddenly knows that someone is coming for him, right now, and if they catch him it’s going to be worse than death. That pure, deep horror, that cold certainty, that knowledge that if (when) he’s caught he’ll be completely helpless—it tortures him when his dreams imprison him in that state, even for mere minutes.

In this one he thinks he’d been trying to crawl through a vent, and found that it not only grew narrower as he went along its twists and turns, but started sloping downwards, towards louder and louder screaming, mechanical whirring, crashing and banging. All while his fear never loosened its grip for even an instant. 

He has the sense that something especially terrible must’ve been happening just before Molly woke him up.

He does get up, sliding on underpants and a tank top, then drinks some water, wets a paper towel and wipes off his face and neck and chest just for the cleansing feeling of the ritual.

He’s sitting at the counter when another piece falls back into place. It’s tiny but painful—he remembers that whatever awful increase in stress had gripped him at the end of the dream had somehow been about Pascal. And he’s immensely glad that he’ll actually get to see Pascal later today, actually kiss him and look at him and hear his voice, unfiltered by phones. 

He goes ahead and makes a cup of peppermint tea before going back into his room and climbing back into bed.

—

Luckily he’s feeling alright enough when his alarm goes off. He’s already excited enough about Pascal to be protected from any minor irritations at work. When Kate comes in he seems to be making her laugh more than usual. Sometime before lunch she pulls him aside in the back and murmurs about some guy who’s looking over at her too often, and on her signal could he help her out? And when she does cross her fingers against her thigh, he takes a playful approach and puts his hands on her waist and plants a kiss on her cheek, then a peck on the lips when she turns to give him a smirk. The genuine laugh he sparks from her seems only to make it all more convincing, as Kip notices a guy against the wall now glowering faintly at a book.

“Goodness,” Kate says as they cross paths in the kitchen. “That was pretty fiery, you’re sure we’re not REALLY dating after all that?”

“Ha,” Kip says. “I’ve done that for you before, and if we’ve been dating since then I’m afraid I’ve cheated on you quite a bit.”

“You’ve kissed Pascal longer than half a second?” Kate asks in mock disbelief. “How dare you.”

“Fucked him a little longer than that, even,” Kip replies, and Kate laughs again.

“What’s got you in such a good mood, then?” she teases.

“Molly didn’t tell you? Pascal’s coming over later.”

“Aha. That’s been doing you good, hasn’t it.”

“Huh?”

“Being with him.”

“Oh—“ He laughs. “Yeah. It has.”

She knuckles him gently on the shoulder as she picks up a stack of saucers.

“Hey—let me know if you want me to drive that guy off again,” he says seriously.

“Okay, thanks,” she says. “But if I do, at least keep everything above the waist and over the bra. You might be a creature of passion today but we’re at work, after all.”

“Oh, you’re hilarious,” Kip huffs sarcastically. She laughs at him and yanks his apron untied.

—

Despite his excitement to have Pascal over again, Kip holds himself back from doing anything too over the top, like buying some hyacinths as if this was a date. 

Which it isn’t NOT, but it’s a hangout with Molly and Roy as well, which means it’s as casual and relaxed as things had been all the years they lived together. It’s five times more ordinary for them to be with him at dinner than not. And though it’s true one of the four of them would occasionally buy flowers to decorate the apartment, Kip figures he can show his affection and enthusiasm in subtler ways.

He gets to work on the cake as soon as he gets home, playing quiet music as he whips eggs and folds flour and lets himself ignore all his spills until after he’s slipped the tin full of batter onto the oven rack. He goes ahead and does some prep for other dishes while he’s in the zone—not that it’s all work, since he usually enjoys cooking and baking and how it makes him seem competent and how it sometimes even relaxes him, distracts him from everything else for a bit. It helps too that in the end he has something to give to people he loves.

He kicks back on the couch for the last ten minutes or so before the cake is done, its subtly sweet aroma diffusing throughout the apartment. Kip closes his eyes and relaxes his body against the cushions and pictures Pascal’s lovely face. It’s so nice to be awaiting this that Kip is hardly bothered at the moment by matters such as his standing with Wallace and Ben, or the imminent large get-together, or the train ride tomorrow, or the anniversaries of next month, or hellish nightmares.

It’s just seeing Pascal this evening, seeing him in the morning, again the next, and the next. Thinking of it that way makes it all seem not only manageable, but good.

The timer goes off and he takes the cake out and flips it upside down to cool, putting a bottle through the hole in the center of the tin to hold it up. He always remembers the first time he saw his brother upend a ring pan like this, how shocking a moment it seemed, how unbelievable that the cake didn’t tumble out. Of course, the first few times he’d done it himself, he’d been tense, having to work himself up to it and tell himself to be more like his siblings for god’s sake and flip the damn cake. Nowadays, though it still makes him a little nervous, he doesn’t bother with hesitation. If he’s made it wrong and it’s going to fall out, then it’s going to fall and there’s nothing he can do to fix it or prevent it at that point.

Funny that in the ensuing years of life, after everything he’s done and suffered and learned, the only notable improvements to his confidence and courage is that he’s a touch bolder when it comes to cooking and baking.

He knows that’s not quite true, but it does still feel like now that life is ordinary again, he hasn’t really changed all that much, either for better or worse. Even after almost entirely giving up on himself in the wake of the fire, he’d never managed to completely drop the wish that he might someday turn out to be more like Kent. And he’d never been anything but disappointed in that regard. 

Still. He’s at least alive, which is something he never expected were he to go up against his family’s killers. He’s surprisingly alive and leaning against the counter as he stares at the angel food cake he’s successfully baked for his superlative boyfriend.

Pascal is a more appealing topic for his mind to wander around.

—

The afternoon shifts into a countdown and Kip occupies himself with some cleaning, sweeping and vacuuming floors, polishing down the table, getting into all the corners in the kitchen with a rag until he feels like he’s scrubbed off every surface. He washes the dishes he’d used to make the cake that now sits on a plate by the fridge, then washes the sink itself.

He’s vacuuming underneath the couch cushions when Molly comes in the door; he startles and switches off the vacuum automatically.

“Hey,” he says. “I thought you’d be here already when I got back from work. What’ve you been up to, then?”

“Oh, you know,” she says. “Went to the library and spent a while there, then came back for Kate when her shift ended just a little bit ago, and we went and got smoothies and hung out, and now here I am before I go and pick up Roy after work. Want to come?”

“Huh? Oh...well, I’ve been cleaning things for a bit, I feel like I should shower before I go out in public or anything...”

“That’s fine, I was gonna be a minute before I went back out anyways,” she says, sliding a bag of what must be her books from her shoulder to her elbow.

Half an hour later they’re heading off down the sidewalk together. Kip feels fresher from his shower—while scrubbing down his legs he’d been momentarily worried about the possibility that Ben might be out front, poised to be run into when they stepped out the door. Which would only be newly concerning because of the fact that Ben now probably knows that Kip knows that he knows that Kip likes Wallace.

Or liked. 

He got hung up on his own confusion for just a few seconds before deciding it didn’t matter at the moment, and then deciding that if Ben wasn’t going to say anything or even act differently before, he’d probably feel the same way now.

But his concerns are for nothing, and they make it to Roy without encountering anyone they know. And Roy is even more thrilled than expected that Kip has come too, and is of course thrilled that Molly is there as well.

Kip squats down onto one of the tiny chairs while Molly and Roy share their stories of the day. Kip’s mind jumps back and forth between listening to his friends and daydreaming about Pascal’s visit, which seems to impend. It doesn’t help when he gets a text from Pascal—only to assure nothing will keep him at work any longer than usual, but it’s subtly exciting all the same.

Kip focuses that energy on contributing more than usual to the conversation as they head back to the building, encouraging both Molly and Roy with prompting questions and more laughing and yeah’s and uh-huh’s than usual, even though he knows the flow of the chat would go just as smoothly if he was much more withdrawn. By the time they get back to the apartment in the middle of one of Molly’s stories about hanging out with Kate, Kip is downright fidgety. But he deliberately makes himself stay with the continuing conversation and dedicate his attention more fully to Molly and Roy for a while, just to appreciate the moment, getting to be with them and talk and laugh. Somehow he ends up getting about half a dozen hugs, including a combined one which makes him try to protect his glasses.

Soon enough the others bring the collective focus around to Pascal, and Kip does a lousy job of keeping the smile off his face when he talks about him—he can’t even begrudge Molly and Roy their teasing, knowing it’s all more warranted than usual. But they leave him alone when it gets to be about an hour before Pascal’s arrival and Kip grows a bit nervous, even if it’s in the best way. 

He keeps checking his phone in case of any texts from Pascal and tries to redirect his focus to a few largely unnecessary tasks, like setting out plates and flatware, checking about a half dozen times that the cake has cooled, wiping off the already spotless table. And then, of course, he has to spend a minute worrying over how he looks—even though he knows it doesn’t really matter, he’s still going for a cute version of a casual look. His sweater fits his torso well yet is light and soft and slightly loose, his version of summer wear, with a neckline that flirts with being off-shoulder and a lovely pattern to its weave and a color hovering between blue and grey that flatters his skin tone lovelily. As usual, he messes with his hair, gives himself a fresh layer of deodorant, checks his face up close to see if he’s missed some spot of flour on his jaw. By the time he’s done, the only thing left to do is wait just a little while longer for Pascal.

He heads down a bit sooner than he needs to and perches in a chair against the wall of the lobby with a book and his phone in his lap, all set for the text from Pascal and pleasantly eager for it.

Except Pascal doesn’t show up.

—

“H-hey,” Kip says, shutting the door behind himself. He’s a little out of breath from failing to restrain himself from rushing up the stairs. “Has, uh—Pascal texted you?”

Molly looks over from the far end of the couch, phone already out and stylus in hand. Kip knows Pascal hasn’t, but he doesn’t want to immediately come across as oppressively afraid as he always is if it turns out this has some laughably obvious explanation—one which everyone else is in on while he jumps to silly conclusions based on fear, as usual.

“Uh...no,” Molly says slowly.

“Okay, uh...” Kip rubs his forearm and glances at the window. “I know he’s only ten minutes late, but I thought he’d probably be early, and he hasn’t said anything to me yet, so...”

“Hmm. Well, his phone might’ve died,” she says.

“I guess so. He just...it’s not like he’s outside or anything—I’ve checked a few times.”

“I dunno, Kip, but it’s fine. It’s only ten minutes, like you said. Maybe he had to do something at the shop. Don’t worry, okay?”

Kip makes himself give her a quick smile.

“Yeah,” he says, trying to be casual about it. Pascal wouldn’t be back at the shop without letting him know, he wouldn’t allow for a delay like this without letting Kip know, even if he had to get a phone charger to manage it. Because he knows Kip will worry, and Molly knows that about Pascal as well. She’s just comforting him, and Kip knows it, and tries to appreciate it rather than become more stressed.

“You should just wait for him a little while longer,” Molly says. “He’ll turn up.”

Kip runs his hand through his hair and nods absently.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go back down,” he says. “I just wanted to ask, in case...I don’t know, there was a problem with my phone, or...something.”

“We’ll let you know if he says something, don’t worry.” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

He gives her a less fleeting smile and exits again.

—

Tens minutes more without a word from Pascal, much less a sign from him, and Kip can’t pretend he isn’t seriously worried anymore. He’d’ve expected Pascal to arrive a solid half hour ago, and this is now officially longer than an accidental delay that could go unacknowledged prior to showing up and just waving it off.

Pascal wouldn’t be casual about such a significant delay. He’d be worried about making Kip worry, and be giving him updates to help him feel more at ease. This doesn’t make any sense. Kip knows something has gone wrong.

Every now and then a monster passes by on their way through the front door, and he glances up each time, and some of them greet him quietly and his reciprocal half-smile is getting more strained.

He starts thinking about what he should do. How long he should sit here and wait before deciding it won’t do any more good. What else he could try—going to Pascal’s shop, to his building, leaving voicemails? Emails? Letters?

The thought of going days without knowing what, if anything, has happened to Pascal is horrible and alarming.

He figures that even if he’s lucky and he’s worrying over nothing, waiting solid twenty minutes after the agreed-upon expected arrival time before sending an inquiring text must be fair. So he types a quick “hey, are you still able to make it? is everything okay?” that doesn’t make any panicky demands but makes it clear he really needs some information at this point.

He can’t get away from the suspicion that Pascal might be hurt. And he can’t tell himself that the situation could be even worse than that. And the thought that maybe Pascal needs him and he’s just sitting here is making him downright antsy, leaned forward and rapidly kicking the leg of his chair while he grips his phone in one hand and picks at his lip with the other, staring into the corner of the room, the book closed beside him. 

He’s a little relieved when Roy comes down to sit with him. Kip suppresses some of his nervous habits and refrains from trying to commiserate but can’t summon any other expression but one of deep concern.

“He’ll be here as soon as he can,” Roy assures him.

“I texted him a few minutes ago,” Kip says, staring out the front door, voice taut. “He hasn’t texted me anything for ages.”

“He probably just got held up somewhere. He’ll be here.”

But what if he can’t? 

Kip keeps the thought to himself. Roy is a font of sympathy and Kip loves him for it, but if someone tried to convince him that Pascal couldn’t possibly be Hurt Or Worse, it might only make the idea loom even larger in his mind.

Roy touches Kip’s side and he flinches hard. 

“Sorry,” Roy apologizes quickly.

“It’s okay,” Kip murmurs, but even when trying to relax, his body and breathing are stubbornly tense.

Roy gently threads his arm through Kip’s and turns enough to rest their knees together. After a few moments the comfort gets through to Kip and he breathes just a bit more freely.

It’s to the point where Kip can’t distract himself. Time seems doubled and he’s checking his phone every couple of minutes. Roy is quiet; maybe he can tell Kip is too preoccupied to talk or even really listen.

Kip actually gives a rough sigh when a monster comes in who isn’t Pascal, why would they be—and Roy swings his other arm across his front to squeeze him in a hug.

“It’s okay,” Roy tells him.

“Where IS he?” Kip breathes, leaning into Roy.

“I don’t know...” Roy squeezes him again. “But he’ll be here.”

Kip knows there’s nothing else to go on but that kind of hopeful confidence that Pascal will arrive sooner or later.

Ben walks in with what looks like a few bags of groceries because of course he does, but Kip has no room for any feeling of self-conscious awkwardness right now—he’s only a little more agitated. Roy insists on opening Ben’s door for him, and when he comes back over Kip tries to tell him he doesn’t have to keep waiting here if he wants to go back upstairs.

“No, I’m alright, I wanna stay with you!” Roy insists.

Kip lets him. He’s growing more afraid by the minute. 

When Pascal is officially forty minutes late, Kip is officially feeling pangs of real dread. The kind he rarely feels even in all his constant worrying. Somehow Roy seems to have detected the shift, because he takes Kip’s hand and threads their fingers together tightly. 

After opening his phone’s inbox for the hundredth fruitless time, Kip feels helpless.

“I don’t know what to do,” he says suddenly. “If it gets so that he’s a whole hour late, I...maybe I ought to do something. But I have no idea what.”

Roy’s hand twitches around his.

“I think we’ll just have to keep waiting,” Roy says slowly. “We know he’ll get in touch with you as soon as he’s able to...”

“What if he’s NOT able?” 

Voicing the possibility feels like something crumpling inside him.

Roy is quiet. 

He leans over and enfolds Kip in a real, full hug.

—

Kip’s phone vibrates and it terrifies him. For a fraction of a second he refuses to even move to look at it, to see some unknown caller on the display, to see a text from someone else asking if he’s heard the news yet.

But he has to look, and it says it’s Pascal, and the message says “Kip i’m so sorry, i’m okay, i’m on my way.”

“Oh god—“ 

Kip slumps forward and buries his face in his hands with a harsh exhale.

“W-what is it?” Roy asks, sounding alarmed.

“It’s okay, it’s Pascal,” Kip answers. “He says he’s fine and he’s coming over.”

“Oh!” And once again Roy’s full wingspan is around him. “Yes! Kip, that’s great!”

Kip laughs weakly and returns the hug as best he can.

“Y-yeah. Thanks for sitting with me.”

“Aw, you’re welcome...”

Kip didn’t notice how strained his breaths had been and how hard his heart had been beating before now.

—

A minute after the first, a flurry of brief texts chime one after another. It almost sets Kip on edge trying to keep up, but the relief of getting word from Pascal is stronger by a mile.

“i’m really really sorry, this was my fault”

“i got stuck on the subway. for forever.”

“i should be there in about 15”

“i’m sorry, i love you”

“i’m gonna stop texting so i can walk faster, i’ll be there soon ok. i love you”

The chill of Kip’s tension melts a little with each message. Pascal will be here, and as agonizingly long as the last hour felt, it’s not like they lost that much of the evening. He hasn’t really lost anything. It’s such a relief.

“O-okay,” he says to Roy. “He says he’ll be here in about fifteen minutes.”

“Alright, hey, that’s not so bad.”

“Yeah...” Kip closes his eyes, still trying to dispel mental images of Hospitals Or Worse. “Sorry I got so stressed. You guys were right, of course.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for!” Roy assures him. “We’re just glad things turned out to be okay. Which reminds me—I should go let Molly know he’s on his way.”

“Oh...yeah, I should’ve texted her already...”

“I got it,” Roy says. “Want me to come back down or do you wanna wait alone?”

“Um.” Kip rubs his forearm. His head feels a little staticky. “I, uh...”

“Hey—“ Roy puts a hand on Kip’s shoulder. “How about I wait in the apartment, but you text us if you want us to come down here?”

“Okay—yeah,” Kip says. “Sure.”

He thanks Roy again and makes sure to give him a solid smile before Roy heads off into the stairwell.

He leans against the back of his chair and stares at the messages on his phone, wishing Pascal were here already so Kip could look at him and touch him. Even though the crush of his fear is lifted, its effect is still reverberating inside him. It was less than fun to feel as though Pascal might be endangered. Or worse.

And he doesn’t love being reminded that every day has a chance of being the last for any of them—he thinks about it enough. He tries not to impose it on others, because nobody can do anything about it, and because it would be so expected and embarrassing to be the one overreacting to a harmless situation. Of course Kip is worried anyone could die at any moment. Of course he needs everything to go smoothly or he’ll start to unravel. 

But Roy didn’t make him admit any fears. He just offered his company without needing to be asked, and Kip is as grateful as ever that he’s afforded such attention by people who are so focused on supporting their friends.

It occurs to him that if he was living somewhere else, it’s less likely Roy would’ve been able to just walk downstairs and sit with him. But he would still have worried either way—he did still worry. It’s more than nice to have him and Molly so immediately nearby, but this time around he can probably survive without it.

But for almost an hour he felt a bit of the horror he knows he’d feel if all of the most beautiful possibility he has went up in smoke.

—

Kip moves outside because he wants to see Pascal the moment he turns onto the street—and he does.

“Pascal!” 

Pascal sees him even before he says it; his face shows deep worry, too.

“Oh, Kip—god, I’m sorry—“

Kip is already striding towards him. He needs to be right in front of him, within arm’s reach, right there with him. Pascal slows his own pace as Kip approaches, and Kip is looking up into his face, and what happens as he stops right in front of Pascal is he puts his hands on Pascal’s shoulders and locks eyes with Pascal and then puts his forehead against his chest.

“Kip, I’m so sorry...” He slips an arm around the small of Kip’s back. “...How worried were you?”

Kip slides a hand to the back of Pascal’s neck.

“I started thinking about worst-case scenarios,” he murmurs. “But I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

He turns his head to rest the side of his face against Pascal, feeling his heartbeat, and pulls him in a little closer so it’s more of a hug. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry...” Pascal repeats quietly. “It was completely my fault, I’m so sorry...”

Kip feels Pascal softly kiss his hair.

“Want to—want to sit down over here?” Pascal murmurs. “On the bench over there... I can tell you what happened...”

“In just a minute,” Kip whispers, pulling himself just a little closer to Pascal. “I just need another second...”

Just a bit more of Pascal’s heartbeat, breath, and warmth. 

But he does eventually step back, sliding a hand up to cup Pascal’s jaw. Pascal manages a warm smile in spite of the pained look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

Kip nods, pressing his lips together. He definitely feels like the defensive chill that had come over him during the last hour is thawing out, because now the awareness of just how afraid he’d been that he’d lost Pascal too is close to making him shake. He suspects his voice would be unsteady if he said anything more than a word or two right now. He takes a few more seconds before finally slipping his hands down to Pascal’s arms, but still keeps his gaze locked with Pascal’s.

“I brought you some lotion,” Pascal says.

“Wh—“ Kip blinks. “What?”

Pascal lifts the arm not around Kip’s back to show he’s holding a light green paper bag. Kip steps back, feeling slightly incredulous.

“It’s why I was late... Here, let’s sit down, it’ll only take a minute but I can explain.”

And they walk a little further from the building to the bench, and Pascal does explain. And what he says is that, not long after moving to C he was on an errand only about a twenty minute train ride away, and he’d stopped in a shop and happened to discover that it carried this one specific kind of lotion Kip had liked back in D that they’d become unable to find in the area.

So with two hours between leaving work and coming over to Kip’s, Pascal had traveled over to the store on something of a whim to surprise him a couple bottles of the lotion. But the train he was riding on while heading back ran into delays just before reaching his station, and they’d sat there underground for about forty minutes in a spot so inconveniently positioned that none of the few people in the car with him said they could get a signal on their phone either.

“It was so frustrating,” Pascal says. “We were maybe three stops away. “And then we started moving, for maybe twenty seconds, and stopped AGAIN. For ages. It was only just a few minutes after we’d meant to meet, so for a second I thought I’d be able to get a text through to you before you had to worry too much, and then of course the second delay happened and I was about ready to climb out a window and walk along the lines myself.”

He half laughs, half sighs, dropping his head. He looks over at Kip with a weak smile.

“I got on the train in time to make it back here a whole half hour before I was supposed to be here,” he says. “But I shouldn’t have gone anyways, I shouldn’t have put myself miles and miles away just an hour before I was meant to come over. I just...I don’t take the train THAT much, so even though I knew there are delays sometimes, they hadn’t much happened to me yet. But of course the first big one happened to me today, and it lasted as long as it did.”

He sighs again, the ends of his arms twining and untwining in his lap, apparently unconsciously.

“It was mostly just terrible luck, and I—I hadn’t really been planning on going, I just thought of it during work, and I wanted to bring you something, and in my mind I had enough time to go over there. But I should’ve thought about running into delays, and just saved it for another day to be on the safe side. I’m really sorry. I kept thinking about all the things you must’ve been thinking, but I know that’s not as bad as it must’ve been for you. I’m really, really sorry I put you through that, Kip.”

Kip shakes his head, looking down at his hands.

“Molly and Roy were trying to tell me not to be so worried,” he murmurs. “They were saying you were probably held up somewhere and couldn’t use your phone or something, and they were right. I should’ve have been so...doom and gloom about it, it’s just that—it’s that I...”

He fades off with a half-hearted shrug.

“I know,” Pascal says softly. “I...had those few times where I was scared I wasn’t going to see you anymore, too.”

Kip looks over to meet his eyes and nods at him. He holds his hand out so Pascal can loop his arm around Kip’s wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Pascal says again. He leans over and brushes a kiss against the side of Kip’s forehead. “Anyone could’ve gotten just as worried if someone was that late and hadn’t gotten in touch yet. But I knew it was extra bad for you, having to wait there, not having any idea what was going on...”

He lightly kisses Kip’s forehead again, more lingering.

“I hated every minute I was stuck there, not able to let you know what had happened. I’m really sorry you had to think all those things and be so afraid for so long. It was...not my best idea to go off on a little trip right before a date, without even letting you know what I was doing.”

“...It WAS really bad luck, getting such a long delay, and then another... And it WAS sweet of you,” Kip says. He uncaps one of the bottles and inhales the scent of honey and apples. “I know what it feels like, wanting to surprise you with something, and this is really nice and thoughtful and...”

He laughs quietly as he turns the bottle over in his hand. 

“You didn’t have to bring me anything, though,” he says. “You don’t have to buy me things.”

“I know,” Pascal says. “I just like to.”

“You already have gotten me a lot of stuff,” Kip says. “And taken me to dinner, and everything, and...you didn’t have to do this.”

“I know,” Pascal says. “I’m sorry.”

“No—“ Kip flatly laughs again and puts the lotion down to lean in and put his arm across Pascal’s front. “You don’t have to apologize. I’m just...I’m still a little on edge. And I do really appreciate it, but you don’t need to buy things for me. You still have a new store and you have to pay your rent by yourself, and...I can stop getting too many things for you, cuz I know it’s really fun and nice but I don’t want to make you feel like there’s some imbalance...”

“Aw.” Pascal unwinds his arm from Kip’s and instead drapes it across Kip’s shoulders, pulling him in against his torso. “Don’t worry. I’ll admit I have to keep to a pretty strict budget, but I sort of...spend so little of any of the extra on myself that getting some stuff for you isn’t that big a deal. The lotion is basically the same as it used to cost, and I know you liked it, so...”

“Yeah. ...It would always make my skin so smooth,” Kip says. “And absorb really quick and smell fantastic for hours...”

He nuzzles his head briefly against Pascal’s shoulder and puts a hand on his thigh.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” he says softly.

Pascal pulls away from him, and Kip looks over, and Pascal kisses his cheek, and in the next moment they both turn themselves so that he can kiss Kip’s mouth.

Kip leans away, then realizes he needs a bit longer after all that, and reaches out to bring him in for one more long kiss.

“I guess we should go ahead inside now,” Kip says after a deep inhale and slow exhale. “They were worried too, and really wanting to see you.”

Pascal smiles.

“Okay.”

—

It takes a couple of hours for Kip to really start feeling more relaxed, but after dinner is over and they’re all just hanging out and talking, for once without the oppressive sense that Pascal has to leave soon. It’s far too pleasant to be hung up on his earlier stress, no matter how bad it had been.

He insists on washing the dishes, though he has to defend this choice against the other three, arguing that it’s a much easier task for him than it is for any of them. But he rejoins them in the other room soon enough, and in the course of a half an hour he finds himself not only incorporated fully into the conversation, but actually talking and laughing an especial lot.

He’s pleased when the focus shifts over to Pascal, who sets off a whole discussion about design ideas in general when he mentions some of his thoughts for what he might eventually want his store to be like. Kip is happy to simply let the conversation unfold before him; it feels like they’ve regained the ease and comfort from all their years spent living together. And even if it’s his fault they lost that in the first place, he’s still glad he’s managed to give it back to his friends.

As the evening dims, he inevitably has to weather occasional light teasing as Roy pretends to set him and Pascal up, with coy remarks about Kip’s new sweater and whether Pascal had noticed it. Kip dryly plays along by pointing out that it’s a new shade of grey, but Pascal’s assurance that he HAD noticed flusters him slightly all the same. 

Their last hour of conversation is one that seems to mostly be laughter and the swapping of compliments and swells of delight at familiar topics finally rearing their heads again. Kip loves it. Roy is perched on the carpet beside the recliner in which Molly has crossed her legs to set her plate of the angel food cake in the crook of her knee; Kip is leaning against the arm of the couch with his feet up on the cushions, and he has to stifle a giggle each time Pascal playfully squeezes his ankle when the other two aren’t paying attention. And Kip fully feels an appreciation for his presence, nothing at all like the miserable occasions where he worries his bad mood is going to be a stain on Roy and Molly’s day. Even as the quietest of their quartet, he’s part of the circle, his attention seems to be a positive contribution and the attention he receives feels naturally given. He’s happy just knowing he gets to be a member of this, that he gets to be important to these people and loved by them.

Surely his family would’ve been happy to see this for him. Surely they’d be so happy to be here in this room tonight. 

Pascal pats his knee and Kip glances up from where he’d been staring at his hands to see his boyfriend’s affectionate smile. He returns it with ease.

—

“Okay, goodnight!”

Pascal waves after Molly as she heads into her bedroom, then turns back to Kip. There’s a glow to his face after all the hours spent with her and Roy that is beautifully gratifying to see, and Kip can’t help but beam at him.

“Glad you managed to come over today,” he says.

“Yeah,” Pascal laughs. “Yeah, it’s great to be with all you guys. I missed this kind of thing.”

“We did too,” Kip says. “I know it sucked for them too when the three of us came over here. And then even when they knew you were here they couldn’t enjoy it because all of you were worried about me being upset...”

Pascal leans over and plants a kiss on Kip’s cheek, brushing his stubble against Kip’s skin and giving his shoulder a little squeeze.

“You have to blame me just as much as you want to blame yourself,” Pascal orders. “Seriously. And you deserved to be upset about it. They knew that too.”

He gets a smile out of Kip.

“And I’m really sorry again for making you worried earlier,” Pascal adds, voice softened. “I know how that must’ve felt.”

“Yeah,” Kip murmurs. “I’m just really happy all the worry was for nothing. ...You mean so, so much to me.”

Pascal blushes and sinks towards Kip until he’s resting atop him, head on Kip’s chest, arms around his torso. Kip lays a hand on Pascal’s back and scratches gently, the other hand resting on the side of Pascal’s head, slowly playing with and stroking his hair.

“I love you so much, Pascal Briggs,” he says softly, gazing at his ear, the top of his shoulder, the small of his back where his shirt’s fabric is gathering up. “Each day I see you or talk to you, I’m so glad for it...”

Pascal shifts and turns his head to kiss Kip’s chest.

“I’m so happy for it too,” Pascal says. “I’m so happy that you’re here, and that I get to be here with you. Like, all the everyday stuff I might wanna worry about just...doesn’t even matter in comparison anymore.”

“Yeah...” Kip breathes a laugh. “Yeah. Like, I think I’m scared of everything, but really the only thing that seriously scares me is something happening to people I love. If you’re okay, then really, I’m okay.”

Pascal kisses him again, right under the collarbones, and then nestles himself even tighter against Kip. Kip spreads his legs to let Pascal’s wide body rest more comfortably against his, and leans his head back into the soft corner of the cushions on the back and arm of the couch.

This is the kind of thing that gets him through rough moments and low points on other, lonelier days—spending a quarter of an hour just resting together, feeling Pascal’s arms snug around him, the weight of his body and motion of his breathing, petting his hair, rubbing his thumb along the nape of his neck. If he deserves this, he must be okay.

—

“Here we are,” Kip laughs, holding his bedroom door open for Pascal. “My bed’s small, but I’ve been dying to share it anyway.”

“It’s nice in here,” Pascal says, standing on the rug in the middle of the floor and looking around. “I can tell it’s your room, you know?” 

“Yeah—“ Kip laughs again. “I never have gotten much more stuff...”

“Not just cuz of that,” Pascal says. “It looks like your kind of decorations and design and everything. The colors and shapes you like, and the way you like to arrange everything, and it’s got a lot of personality.”

“Yeah, my famously big personality...”

“You DO have a lot of it,” Pascal returns, perching himself on the edge of Kip’s bed.

“Well, your apartment is like that too,” Kip says. “And a lot cozier than this. And your plants are better.”

“Oh, don’t be so hard on your plants,” Pascal says. “They’re nice. Those flowers are sweet.”

Kip blushes, glancing down at his hands.

“So,” Pascal says quietly, tilting his head a few degrees. “How’ve you been?”

“Mm...I’ve been alright. I had fun today looking forward to you.”

“Aw,” Pascal laughs. “It was the same for me.”

Kip gets up on the bed to sit beside him, hanging his feet over the side. After a moment he reaches out and puts his arm around Pascal’s waist; Pascal scoots slightly in.

“So what was up yesterday?” Pascal asks, gently petting Kip’s hand where it rests on his hip.

“Hm?”

“How’d it go with Wallace?”

“Oh—oh, right,” Kip realizes. “Yeah. Well, I think in...in the end it was alright. Relatively. It doesn’t feel like such a big problem now that I’ve had a bit to get over it, and stuff.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh...” Kip curls his arm a bit more snugly around Pascal. “There is, uh, something I wanted to mention with you first which came up when we talked...”

“Mm? What was it?”

Kip grows warm and hooks his ankles together, gazing at a spot at the floor.

“Um, well, it’s nothing I want to press on you, but...I was thinking...”

He pauses and Pascal waits patiently until he speaks again.

“Well, I thought we could talk about...the idea of me moving in with you,” Kip says, feeling a blush flare up as he does.

“Oh,” Pascal says.

Kip swings his legs a little.

“Oh,” Pascal repeats, voice a bit higher.

“We don’t have to,” Kip says quickly. “I’ve just been thinking about it more seriously lately.”

“You have?”

“Y-yeah, just...I mean I’d talk to Roy and Molly first of course but I wouldn’t be thinking about it if I didn’t think it’d be okay for them...but of course you’re who I’d want to talk about it with first.”

“I mean...you’d want to do that?”

“Want to move in with you?”

“Yeah, you’d want to?”

“I...” Kip’s hand twitches against Pascal’s side, and he tightens it. “Yeah. I want to.”

“Oh,” Pascal repeats.

Kip looks over at him, and Pascal breaks into a smile when he notices this.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I’ve just been—I’ve been really hoping you’d want to but I’ve been kind of nervous about bringing it up.”

“Really?”

“Yeah...I didn’t want to pressure you, I was worried it was too soon to mention it if you weren’t ready yet, but—gosh—“

He laughs and beams brighter, leaning in closer against Kip.

“I’d love to live together,” he continues. “If you want to, I’d absolutely love to.”

“O-oh,” Kip laughs too. “Oh man, yeah, I want to. Okay. Um. Well, okay, we don’t have to plan anything out right now, but—that’s good to know. That’s—that’s great, actually.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Kip says, his happiness shivering its way into his voice. 

Pascal turns to him and Kip’s smile cracks even brighter and Pascal ducks in and kisses it.

—

Maybe due to Pascal’s unexpectedly enthusiastic response to the first topic, Kip finds himself able to walk Pascal through his conversation with Wallace without getting that stressed or even embarrassed at all the details he’s recounting. Pascal listens quietly the whole time, resting a knee against Kip’s.

“I just left after that, but I—I wasn’t exactly all that mad at him or anything. I figured it’d happen eventually, I was just—a bit shocked when he did tell me. And we were both tense and we’d been talking a while already and I just...you know, I knew I wouldn’t do any more actual communicating if I stayed there. So I kind of just excused myself and told him I wasn’t angry and went back up to the apartment to...just sort of unwind after all that.”

He sighs and looks over at Pascal, putting a hand on his thigh.

“I dunno, I felt less stressed about it all pretty fast and wasn’t...all that worried like I thought I might be, y’know. And I’m not super upset or worried about it now. I guess we at least talked about some stuff we needed to, and even if we argued a couple of little, it wasn’t really that bad.”

He laughs a bit flatly.

“We’ve fought a lot worse,” he says. “I wasn’t anywhere near as upset with him as I have been like...four dozen times in the past, so. I guess I feel kinda awkward about it all, definitely, but at least it’s a different awkward than before. And now I know apparently Ben doesn’t completely hate me for what I said to Wallace.”

“What, that you like him?”

“Yeah,” Kip says. “I mean, I can see how it might not be that big a deal—I already know that basically all I did was embarrass myself, but I-I didn’t want to make any assumptions, you know?”

“Yeah,” Pascal murmurs. “I know.”

“I dunno,” Kip sighs, resting his head against Pascal’s shoulder. “I suppose it’s like you and Eno said and Wallace and everyone said—it’s good that we talked more, and I don’t regret it, and I feel like—I dunno, it just seems like maybe we can play it by ear from here. Maybe we’ll talk more or maybe we’ll both need space. I don’t know; I’ve never been able to figure out what I want to have with him, much less what I expect.”

He laughs again and rubs his hand in circles over Pascal’s back.

“It’s alright, I think,” he says quietly. “I’m alright.”

Pascal kisses his hair.

—

They keep touching while talking softly about this and that and it’s absurdly nice, nicer than anything ought to be. After a little while the touching overtakes the talking, and Kip is the one to initiate the overt shift into something heavier, gathering Pascal’s hair in his fist and kissing him, swinging himself over to straddle Pascal’s lap. 

A minute more and he’s pushed Pascal back against the mattress, lying atop him, making out with him as Pascal’s arms travel all over him, his back and sides and chest and thighs and ass. Kip moans softly into Pascal’s mouth and his hips unconsciously drop down to brush their crotches together; he clutches at Pascal’s shoulders and presses their tongues together and grinds roughly against him. That Pascal whimpers in his throat and grabs Kip’s ass to thrust back makes Kip take hold of Pascal’s face and drop kisses all across it, dragging his mouth from his cheek to his nose to his forehead, then softly tugging Pascal’s mouth up towards his neck until Pascal accepts the invitation.

The sparking friction of their grinding smooths out into a coordinated rolling of their hips, rubbing their erections together through the fronts of their pants. Pascal kisses and licks the hickey at the base of Kip’s throat and Kip pushes his hand up Pascal’s shirt, sliding his palm over his chest hair, brushing his fingertips over his nipple. He feels Pascal’s breath catch in the little hitch of his stomach against Kip’s.

The end of Pascal’s arm slips along the path of Kip’s spine down into his pants, and Kip rolls his ass towards the touch.

“Kip,” Pascal whispers.

“Mm—“ Kip brings their lips together again for a deep, long kiss before lifting himself up again. “Hey.”

“Y-yeah?” Pascal pauses from his struggle to work Kip’s belt undone.

“We don’t exactly have, uh, the same kind of privacy as we do at your place, but, um...” 

He meets Pascal’s eyes and hooks his thumb onto Pascal’s waistband.

“Well, I’ve still always wanted my bedroom to see SOME action,” he says. “And...I’d love to...”

He trails off and glances down at Pascal’s cock pressing into the fabric of his pants, biting his lip pointedly.

Pascal exhales with a slight shudder and Kip moves off the bed.

“...This room hasn’t ever seen ANY action?” Pascal asks.

“What, you mean like...?” Kip cocks his head.

That’s how, ten minutes later, he ends up on the floor with Pascal, kneeling a few feet in front of him and showing him how he fucks himself. Pascal seemed to have been caught off guard yet captivated when shown everything Kip’s using to masturbate, and Kip could tell he not only noticed the one dildo’s resemblance to his own erection, but responded to the fact—his inhale was deep and Kip saw the way he shifted his legs to make the front of his pants drag across his dick. So Kip kissed him and pulled him down to the floor and kissed him some more, then took out the dildo and got to work.

He only has a couple more inches to go but he’s hovering there, just barely squeezing around it, just barely leaning back with one hand on the floor to prop himself up, the other hand on his stomach where he can feel the pressure of the length that’s already inside him. He’s looking at Pascal looking right back at him, and it’s exactly the kind of thing he’d imagine when fucking himself like this. He’d think of Pascal being in the room with him, seeing him like this, his body and pleasure and desire, and being drawn into it. 

To have this before him—it’s better than anything his imagination could muster up. He has to take a moment just to hold everything in place here and absorb it all. Pascal’s expression, eyes wide and bright and lips parted and flushed from their kissing, his chest rising and falling in synch with the sound of his heavy breaths, his erection pushing its fullness against the front of his sweatpants.

“Kip...”

Kip sees him say it more than he hears it. He relaxes his muscles and lets himself sink down to his heels. He gasps quietly as the full length eases inside him, and Pascal actually twitches, his whole body, shoulder and knees flinching up and arms drawing closer to his sides.

“Kip,” he repeats, still a whisper, but audible now. 

Kip sits there for a few moments more before spreading his knees a bit and rising back up half the length.

“Kip—“ Pascal pushes his arm over the front of his pants and Kip slowly drops back down. “Fuck.”

“You know...I-I’d think of you a lot like this,” Kip murmurs, voice a little unsteady. “I’d be fucking myself with this and imagining it was you and...imagining you could actually be here, and see me do it...”

“I’d think of you all the time, too,” Pascal breathes. “God, I thought of you so much...”

His gaze flickers down Kip’s body, lingering at his erection; Kip raises and lowers himself on the dildo and Pascal looks lower to watch it slide out of him and reenter. Kip repeats the motion a few more times for him, a bit faster, curling one hand around his dick as he uses the other hand for support to lean a little further back, letting each stroke brush harder against his prostate.

It really encourages him to fuck himself in earnest when Pascal starts rubbing at his cock through his pants, arm contracting as he pushes hard against his length, curling in to stroke the underside of his shaft.

The mutual feedback builds rapidly between them and Kip finds himself sweating and his hands and abs and legs twitching and his breath shuddering, and Pascal is nearly curling up, his knees drawn up and the arm not stroking himself gathered up on his chest.

And with a particularly good thrust onto the dildo, Kip whimpers and Pascal bites his lip and rubs his cock and Kip wants more than anything to cut Pascal loose, let him bring all his arousal and desire over into Kip’s arms.

“Pasc,” he whispers. “Pas, come over here...”

Pascal gives a soft moan and then in a flow of movement is on Kip, arm around his shoulders, kissing him, taking hold of his cock.

Kip basks in it, how close Pascal holds him, touching him like every inch deserves all the attention in the world. And then he starts undressing Pascal, letting his nails scratch Pascal’s back as he drags his shirt up, sliding his hands over his ass before tugging his waistband down. 

He loves the idea of having Pascal laid out flat on his floor, struggling to keep quiet while Kip blows him, so he makes it happen.

He takes things slowly and precisely, straddling Pascal’s legs, reaching back with one hand to work the dildo smoothly in and out while petting the inside of Pascal’s thighs with the other, trailing his fingers under his balls. His makes his sucks at Pascal’s cock just loud enough for them both to hear, focusing more on sliding his mouth along the length, letting the end press further and further down the back of his throat.

“Kiiiiip,” Pascal groans, arm curling in to cover his face. 

Kip slides up and sucks just the head, teasing his slit with his tongue. Pascal chokes out a little whine and his hips jerk up beneath Kip.

“Shh...” Kip kisses the tip of Pascal’s dick and then drifts forward to kiss the hair on his stomach. He cups Pascal’s balls and leans further up until he can kiss Pascal’s chest and grind against his thigh.

“Fuck,” Pascal whimpers.

“Shh,” Kip breathes, and drags his lips over the soft hair on his chest till he puts his tongue to his nipple.

There’s a slight change of pace when Pascal sits up and leans across Kip’s back to take the base of the dildo and start working it for him—Kip props himself up on his elbows, holding Pascal’s hips, and tells him how to move it. But soon Pascal can tell from Kip’s reactions exactly how well he’s doing, and Kip’s the one having to hold in his moans as he finds himself getting caught up in his pleasure.

“Good?” Pascal murmurs.

“Nnh...”

Pascal’s answering exhale is heavy but tremulous.

Pascal reaches over with his other arm as well and jerks the dildo into Kip with sharper, faster tugs, making Kip’s head bump against his stomach; Kip bites his lip but cries out in his throat, clutching Pascal’s waist.

“Pasc!” he breathes.

Pascal sighs a low moan and keeps up the pace, tilting the strokes just barely so each one hits Kip even better.

“Fuck me—!” 

Kip grinds back into the dildo, into the thrusts of Pascal fucking him with his cock while his actual cock is right in front of Kip’s face. In appreciation of the situation, Kip takes hold of the base of Pascal’s erection and licks up the shaft and then sucks in half its length.

Pascal puts an arm across his back to help brace him and boost his movement, and Kip only pulls off of Pascal’s dick when Pascal tries to still his hips and weakly informs Kip he can’t hold out much longer.

But Kip does want him to cum, so he tells Pascal to get on the bed while he takes out the lube again and rubs some generously between his thighs, then holds the dildo in himself as he crawls up onto the bed as well. He puts his back against Pascal’s chest and pulls Pascal’s dick between his legs, then squeezes them together for him.

Pascal’s breath is hot against the back of his neck and his arm around Kip’s chest is strong and warm and each thrust as he fucks Kip’s thighs pushes against the base of the dildo, rubs his cock against Kip’s taint, grazing his sack. Kip keeps his own body loose as Pascal’s tenses, hugging the arm around him, resisting the urge to touch his own dick. 

“Y-yes,” he breathes at a stutter of particularly insistent thrusts. “Yeah, Pas...”

Pascal pushes a toothy kiss to his shoulder and Kip closes his eyes. He flexes the muscles in his thighs and rubs them together; Pascal whimpers and bucks harder again in a short burst.

“I’m—“ Pascal gasps, dragging his arm down to Kip’s erection. It spools automatically around Kip’s length in a tight wrap, and Kip grabs it and thrusts helplessly into it. “K-Kip, I’m gonna cum in a sec—“

“Fuck—do it,” Kip murmurs, face flushed hot. “Cum.”

He knows when it’s started, and reaches down in time to curl his hand around the head of Pascal’s cock just as Pascal shoves it forward and freezes up, curled in around Kip, groaning his name under his breath. Kip sucks in a breath as Pascal spills against his fingers in a few generous pulses, till there’s only a trickle against his palm and Pascal is relaxing against him. A few moments later, Kip coaxes Pascal to roll onto his back, then rises up onto his knees and slowly eases out the dildo. He stands it carefully on his bedside table, then sits back on his heels, getting used to its absence while gazing down at Pascal as he basks in his afterglow.

Pascal sighs, opening his eyes. He smiles and weakly lifts an arm.

“Kip,” he murmurs.

“...That’s an accomplishment, then,” Kip says, smiling back at him.

“Hm?”

“Getting you in my bed,” Kip explains. “And making you cum.”

“Making me cum while I was in your bed?” Pascal murmurs. “You’ve done that a lot already.”

“Yeah, but not in THIS bed. And this is the one where I’d go to sleep thinking about how I’d probably never be with you again. I feel like us fucking in it might help make up for that a little,” he laughs.

“Ha—maybe. But it’d probably be better if I make you cum, too.”

“Ah.” Kip bites his lip. “I... You could do that, yeah.”

He gazes at Pascal’s face and chest and, almost without thinking, lifts his hand and licks some of Pascal’s cum off his palm. He’s reminded of what he’s doing when he sees Pascal react, eyes locking onto Kip’s mouth, his own lips parting, his whole body stilling. So Kip works slowly, kissing his hand clean with little sucks, dragging his fingers across his lips, slipping them into his mouth. The taste of Pascal’s cum highlights the faintly lingering flavor of his own angel food cake in the back of his throat, and momentarily makes him imagine having a slice topped with an addition to the blackberry glaze.

He finally lowers the hand to put it to his own dick, and Pascal blushes harder and pushes himself upright. He coaxes Kip closer and kisses him, warm and slow, licking at Kip’s tongue, running his arms up and down Kip’s back while Kip palms himself. Until Pascal pulls away to get onto his knees and bends Kip over all the way down till he’s lying on his back, clutching at the edges of the mattress and trying to stay silent as Pascal leans in and takes his cock into his mouth.

Each suppressed moan emerges as a hitch in his heavy breathing. He’s close when Pascal starts teasing him a little, dragging his tongue up the head before giving firm licks to the tip that make Kip pull at the sheets and shove his hips up.

“Pas!” he breathes. “Fuck, yes, fuck—“

Pascal slowly slides Kip’s dick out of his mouth, then kisses his stomach.

“I love you, Kip,” he murmurs, next kissing the base of his cock while reaching forward to stroke Kip’s chest. “You’re beautiful.”

Kip hugs Pascal’s arm and pulls it closer and kisses it, takes the end in his hand and kisses the suckers, sighs a moan against them.

Pascal gives the very end of Kip’s dick a few more quick, electrifying sucks, then pushes his head down till his lips and nose are pressed to Kip’s pelvis. Kip buries a hand in Pascal’s hair and rocks up into his throat, body jolting as he feels himself unstoppably approaching his tipping point.

He gives a little whimper in an attempt at warning, and Pascal only pushes further down on Kip’s length and swallows around the head in hot, tight waves that seem to draw Kip’s orgasm from him. Kip arches, open-mouthed and immobilized with the effort of keeping silent, and it’s only when he finally sinks back against the bed that he lets out an audibly rough exhale.

Pascal makes Kip squirm with a few more slow, gentle sucks before smoothly pulling off and drawing a deep breath.

“Babe,” Kip mumbles, shivering into his afterglow. “I wanna kiss you.”

“Like, right now?”

Kip pushes himself upright and into Pascal’s arms. Pascal laughs with warmth and twists his head around to wipe his spit-covered chin with his shoulder. But Kip impatiently kisses Pascal’s jaw and cheek as he does, until finally Pascal turns back and Kip takes his face in his hands and kisses him.

But only for a few seconds, and then he pulls back a few inches and gazes at his boyfriend’s wonderful face, his gorgeous closeness, gently trailing his fingertips along the side of Pascal’s face, along his jaw, his throat. Pascal blushes at the attention and meets Kip’s eyes with something like a fraction of shyness, and Kip feels an affectionate smile bloom immediately at the sight.

“Pascal,” he murmurs slowly, pushing a bit of his earthy red hair behind his ear, stroking the lobe with his thumb. “I love you.”

Pascal wraps his arms securely around Kip’s back and, almost haltingly, tips his head forward until their foreheads rest together.

—

“Sweetest,” Kip breathes, warm and relaxed under the blankets. He’d taken ages to convince himself to leave Pascal’s embrace so they could take turns cleaning up in the bathroom, and now he wants to appreciate every moment of this for as long as he can.

Pascal is almost asleep, and Kip is fading fast too, but fighting it off a little longer to get to watch over Pascal as he drifts off. His forearm rests on Pascal’s shoulder, wrist loose, trailing the backs of his fingers along Pascal’s cheek.

“Mm,” Pascal hums. He nestles a little closer to Kip, eyes closed.

Kip smiles faintly, playing slowly with a piece of Pascal’s hair.

“I’ve been scared of losing you,” Kip murmurs. “Too many times. I wanna only think about having you.”

Pascal is warm everywhere they touch. 

“You’re the most beautiful thing,” Kip whispers, staring at his face, his closed eyes and relaxed brow and slightly parted lips. “Being with you...makes me happier than I know how to be. It’s the most beautiful thing. Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened.”

Pascal is already breathing more softly.

“I love you, Pascal.”

Kip slips his hand down to rest on the pillow against Pascal’s collarbones.

“I’m gonna make sure you’re okay.”

He looks at Pascal’s face until he’s asleep, too.

—

Kip is awakened by the movement of the mattress under Pascal’s shifted weight before he even registers the sound of the alarm on Pascal’s phone. The chiming stops before he can even bring himself to open his eyes, much less muster a reaction.

“Mm...Pascal,” he mumbles.

“Uh-huh.” Pascal’s voice is all gravelly and low from sleep.

Kip rolls over and finds Pascal’s waist with his hand, slipping his forearm around it as he cuddles a bit closer. Soon Pascal resettles down to the mattress and lays his arm across Kip’s side too, sliding the end up his back. Kip sighs softly and relaxes again.

Pascal kisses his hair lingeringly. 

“You’ll have to let go in a minute when the alarm goes off again,” he murmurs. “I’ll need to get up.”

Kip groans in weak protest, nuzzling his face into Pascal’s warm chest.

Pascal’s laugh is soft and low. 

Everything is peaceful, lovely, and warm until Pascal’s alarm interrupts again. Kip does reluctantly let go of his boyfriend, despite wishing they could spend a long morning together in bed. He waits in the bedroom as Pascal showers, sitting up on the edge of the mattress so he doesn’t fall back asleep.

“Are you gonna wear the same clothes to work as you did yesterday?” Kip teases when Pascal comes back in the room. “Think anyone’ll notice?”

“Eh—“ Pascal shrugs with a quirk of a smile. 

Kip wraps one arm around Pascal’s waist and lifts the other to stroke his barely-dry hair.

“I’ll come over to your place this evening, yeah?” he says, scratching gently at the back of Pascal’s neck.

“Yeah.” The way Pascal’s face lights up is subtle but wonderful to see. “I’d hate leaving even more if I didn’t know I get to be with you just after work.”

“It does make it a little easier,” Kip agrees, moving his hand lower to drag his nails in circles over Pascal’s shoulder. “Not to brag about having the day off, but I’ve gotten to wake up with you, and then all I have to do today is go see Eno, and come back and head over to spend the night with you.”

“That IS nice,” Pascal murmurs. “I wish I was you.”

Kip cuts a generous piece of angel food cake and puts plastic wrap around it and makes sure Pascal gets it as well as a slow, sweet kiss before heading out the door. They share a warm smile before Pascal closes the apartment door behind himself, and Kip is pleased to see that although Pascal is clearly still a bit tired, he does seem to be genuinely happy.

Kip heads back into his bedroom and sends Pascal a text after about fifteen minutes to again wish him a good day at work and reiterate his anticipation of seeing him again in the evening. He lies back on the mattress, gazing up at the ceiling, and his phone vibrates on his chest with Pascal’s answer—an assurance that he’s going to be thinking of Kip to enliven slow periods or persevere through any difficult moments.

Kip sinks back into sleep, missing Pascal’s presence but full of affection for him.

—

He gets up hours later and takes a shower of his own, rubbing on some of the lotion Pascal brought as he sits out on his towel, letting himself drip dry as he soaks in the warmth of the lingering steam. 

He eats a little and then follows an impulse to work on a little writing, and finds that he’s able to edit and finish a brief article well enough for his tastes to post it. It’s nothing incredible, but it feels nice to have put something new up, and he’s long decided that his blog doesn’t need to be anything incredible. He spends a little bit filling in the next week on his calendar, and waters his plants, and taps the frame of the picture with two fingertips, and reads for a little while.

While making a light meal, he’s a little surprised to run into Molly, who is generally more likely to be out of the apartment than not, even on her days off. But she’s actually on her way out anyways, to a meetup with friends for lunch. She asks about Pascal, he assures her he’s well, then asks if she wants him to help fix the twisted strap on her shoe. She berates herself for bothering with anything but slip-ons in the first place as he kneels down and smoothly reattaches it for her.

“Thanks, ugh...” She brushes her bangs aside. “You have therapy today, right?”

“Uh-huh. I’m going over to Pascal’s afterwards, too.”

“Ohhh—yeah, you told us that, okay...”

“Is that okay? I was just gonna go ahead and stay the night and all.”

“No, yeah, it’s fine,” Molly says. “Me and Roy were gonna go ahead and make some of the food for tomorrow, and it won’t be in your way or anything if you’re at Pascal’s all evening.”

“Oh, right...” Kip perches on the couch. “Um, okay, I said I was gonna make parfaits, so on my way back tomorrow I can pick up some stuff and...yeah, I’ll have time before work to like, make up all the ingredients, and then I can put it together pretty quick when I get back home.”

“Sounds good,” Molly says. “You know you could show us all up with about five minutes of effort, so it’ll be fine.”

Kip rolls his eyes and leans back against the couch.

“Anyways. I guess I’ll see you...” She trails off, frowning thoughtfully at the wall. “Well, I’ll see you for a second at work, and then back here with everybody.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

She pats him on the shoulder.

“See you tomorrow, then!” she says brightly, heading to the door.

“Have a good day,” he says after her.

“You too. Stay out of trouble!”

He sighs and she laughs as she shuts the door behind her. Kip drops his head back and stares up at the ceiling for a minute before returning to his food in the kitchen.

—

It’s a quiet train ride, Kip has plenty of space the whole time, and listens to music and looks out the window.

His luck holds out at his station and on the walk to Eno’s office—nowhere is very crowded, he doesn’t have to interact even distantly with anyone until he’s inside Eno’s foyer, drawing a breath like it’s his first chance at fresh air.

“Hey, Eno,” he calls. 

“Kip!” comes the bright response. In only a moment Eno walks into view in the adjacent room. “There he is. How was your trip?”

“Nice enough. Quiet.”

“Sounds lovely.”

Kip smiles coolly and swings his bag off his shoulder as he walks into the room.

“You look very summery today,” he says, nodding at Eno’s light button-up and rolled sleeves. “Are you actually seeing any of the weather instead of being holed up for however many days it takes you to remember to leave the house?”

“Hey, when you work and live in the same place, it’s easy to spend a while in here without needing to leave,” Eno defends. “At least I open a window sometimes.”

“Oh, god.”

“I’m kidding—well, partly. But I DO get out on nice days. And bad ones. I’m keeping up with that daily walk idea.”

“Yeah? Ever got a tan yet since spring? Or in your entire life?”

“I’m freckling a bit.” Eno grins and points to his face; Kip cocks his head and squints.

“Well. Good, I guess.”

“Why all this attention to my daily habits and radiant complexion? Are you trying to postpone our appointment?”

“Yeah. But you’re too clever for me,” Kip says, deadpan.

Eno chuckles quietly to himself as he saunters over to his desk, pulling a notepad and pen from a drawer and lifting Kip’s folder from a small pile beside the lamp. Kip accordingly sits on the chaise, setting his bag down at the foot as usually, slipping his phone and wallet and keys inside as well.

“Alright,” Eno says, dropping gracefully into his chair. He crosses his legs and pivots towards Kip, writing something on the paper. “How’s your week been?”

Kip folds his hands in his lap and smoothly settles back against the cushions.

“It’s been okay,” he says. “I, uh, had a few bad points, but I actually recovered pretty quickly from them, I think.”

“Oh?”

“I had Pascal come over last evening, and he had a bit of bad luck and...well, basically what happened is he got caught in some really bad delays on the train, and he couldn’t get reception, even when it was after the time he’s agreed to be over. And I didn’t know he had taken the train at all, because he’d gone off to a shop a town over to surprise me, and so...”

“Ah, you had no idea where he was?” Eno fills in.

“Yeah. I started worrying when he wasn’t, like, ten minutes early, because...it’s me. So you can guess what kind of feelings I had when he was almost an hour late, and hadn’t answered my texts, or anything.”

“Mm. How DID you feel?”

Kip laughs a little nervously and shrugs.

“You know. I was worrying about how much I might worry, and trying not to—not to get all worked up too early over nothing and make Molly and Roy deal with that when THEY were worried too, but—mostly, I was just. Thinking of the times I thought I might not see him anymore, and when I thought he was...gonna be taken and hurt or killed, and...and I was having a lot of trouble coming up with an explanation for why he wasn’t in touch, and why he’d be so late, and...”

He exhales. 

“I was really, really stressed,” he says. “Roy sat with me a while, and that helped, and I was trying to, you know, just wait. I didn’t have an anxiety attack and I think that was just because of how focused I was on everything around me—I was trying really hard not to be too scared of the thoughts I was having. Like, him dying, or something. I know that sounds ridiculously overprotective, but I guess I kind of am.”

“Well, you understand why you’re like that?”

“Yeah,” Kip says in a low voice. “I know why I have those kinds of thoughts so easily. But I couldn’t even dismiss it as being too paranoid about tiny chances or anything—it—it wasn’t like it used to be, where I’d freak out about it at random wanting to know where someone was or need some check-in from them. I really felt like I couldn’t shrug it off as being ‘just me’ or whatever.”

“No, it does sound like a situation most people would find at least a little concerning.”

Kip’s mouth twitches with a smile at the affirmation.

“Well, eventually he was able to text me and let me know what was going on, and he showed up really only a little over an hour late and explained things, and he felt really bad about it and all...and, well, it was a great evening after that, really relaxed actually. I was still thinking about how it felt to be afraid for what might’ve happened to him, and how it felt the time I thought for sure something horrible must be about to happen to him, and just...how I can’t ever be certain he’s going to be okay on any given day. But even though those thoughts were with me, I feel like I was...still able to be my regular self. Not even just act like it, but actually be it.”

“That’s great,” Eno says earnestly. “You’re doing fantastically at being less afraid of your own reactions.”

Kip smiles and shrugs.

“I was with Pascal—if he hadn’t come over, I feel like I might’ve ultimately been more shaken up. But I’m...it’s really comforting to have him with me, for whatever bad moods I’m dealing with.”

“Mm. You do have to keep some of the credit for yourself and your own progress, though.”

“I try to,” Kip says. “I’m...”

Eno waits patiently while Kip gathers his thoughts.

“I did talk to Wallace,” he continues. “Speaking of getting credit for things. But I can’t have too much credit, because the first time I went to his place, he said he could talk with me, but I backed out because I’d interrupted him hanging out with Ben, and that surprised me and made me all thrown off and nervous, and I DID have a bit of an anxiety attack then. Just for about...twenty minutes, I don’t know. Nothing compared to some I’ve had before.”

“What, in the hall?”

“No, I could get back up to my room. It was a little one, really. But it didn’t make me wanna try talking to Wallace again, and when we DID talk, it was only because he saw me by the front door and offered to talk with me then. So it was really only because of him that I get to tell you I did what I said I’d try to do.”

“You did try, though, so you succeeded perfectly well. And you didn’t have to accept when he offered to talk—which I imagine he did because you’d approached him about it first?”

“Er—yeah,” Kip acquiesces.

“So, full credit to you after all. How was the talk?”

“Well...” Kip sighs. “It got a little stressful at the time, but like I said, afterwards I ended up feeling okay about the whole thing overall. And it wasn’t ALL bad, and we did talk a lot about...well, about our situation. With how we feel about things between ourselves, and all.”

“Uh-huh?” Eno prompts.

“Yeah, I do feel like we said some things we hadn’t actually said outright, and that were important, and all...but, well, we sort of argued a little, too. And I can’t exactly say I came away with any resolved idea of what I want or expect from him. But you were right in that I think it was helpful to talk anyways.”

“That’s good to hear. Do you wanna say what you argued about?”

Kip grimaces at the ceiling.

“Well...I suppose it started with me telling him I was wanting to move in with Pascal—“

“You do? You’ve never told me that!” Eno says, flipping out the hand holding his pen. “Sorry for interrupting, just...”

Kip has to laugh at his indignation.

“It’s recent,” he says. “I wasn’t sure about it for ages. But, I dunno, it just clicked this week. And I was telling Wallace about it, sort of to explain how I...I really think we could benefit from living in different places, you know, not being forced together, even if we don’t mind it anymore. I mean—not like living in the same building is the same as someone trying to force him into being involved with me to hurt me...but Wallace even being in the same building was always something that only happened to push us together, right? And that’s always been the least of it; it’s not like that bothers me now. But I think it’d just be...beneficial all around if there was a little more space between us. And, uh, in the course of discussing the reasons I felt that way, we sort of ended up...frustrating each other. It wasn’t too bad, but it kind of brought progress to a halt, I guess. But afterwards I took some time to relax, and it...just didn’t seem like the biggest deal. Like, right now I have no idea what to do next, or if I should do anything. But it feels okay just playing it by ear, I think.”

“And does that position feel better than before, when you felt like whatever you did would have to have some effect or significance for the situation?”

“...I think so. Maybe it’s just that I don’t care as much at this point? Like, maybe...I got frustrated with Wallace and...want to give up on it all, just so I can go ahead and care less, so it doesn’t feel as bad anymore. I try to...I try to pay attention to what’s just me trying to be self-destructive and sabotage myself, but...it’s hard to tell with this one right now. Maybe I’m just...emotionally tired out with all of it right now.”

He huffs out a flat laugh.

“And I was so worried about the two of us having to grow more distant,” he says. “I always forget that when you start to care less, you...well, you care less, you know? But maybe I’m just trying to force some kind of denial. I guess I’ll see. He’ll be over tomorrow, for the group dinner and all, and I’m not too worried about that.”

“Did either of you say anything you expect to...make things uncomfortable between you?”

Kip waves a hand vaguely.

“Not really,” he says. “Things have already been more awkward and uncomfortable, ever since I...picked up that new interest in him. I think we kind of cleared the air at least a little bit. I made sure to say I wasn’t thinking of moving because I was angry with him, or because I considered it his fault. Looking back, that might’ve been the most important stuff I said to him in the whole of the conversation. I just wanted to get across the point that I’m not uncomfortable or, uh, unsure around him because I’m angry with him, or anything.”

“Did his reactions or anything he said help similarly with figuring out what seems important?”

“Um...” Kip entwines his fingers on his stomach and fidgets. “I’m...I don’t know. He said I was important to him, and that...affected me, hearing it. It was confusing, because I’m...well, it wasn’t very specific, obviously. But I definitely felt something when he said it. And I didn’t exactly like that I felt something. Because I want to be important to him in a certain way that I know now can’t happen. But it still...meant a lot to me that he wanted to tell me that. I told him something similar—that he matters to me, and all. And I...well, he listened to me a lot. And was really paying attention, and trying to understand. And he’s always like that, but it still means a lot. He—“

He laughs a bit louder.

“That’s a big reason why I think I started liking him in the first place. Back when I first met him, but also now, when I realized I...LIKE him like him. Ha...”

His exhale is helplessly rough.

“But he’s like that with everyone,” Kip says. “That’s why he’s so great, that’s why people like him, he’s—it’s not just me he’s like that with. But I’m over here acting like it’s reason to fall in love with him, or whatever.”

“You’ve never talked about it like that before,” Eno says pointedly. 

“Like...huh?”

“You’ve always seemed to be careful to avoid using ‘love’ when describing your feelings for him.”

Kip flushes as soon as he processes what Eno said. 

“O-oh,” is all he says.

“Has it been the same when you’ve spoken to him?”

“...What do you mean?” Kip asks, glancing over quickly.

“Have you kept from using the word ‘love’ when telling him about your feelings towards him?”

“Um...yeah,” Kip admits.

“Do you think you have any particular reasons for avoiding it?”

“Heh—I guess only pretty predictable ones,” Kip says. “I mean, when I went to talk to him, I didn’t just want to barge in and say ‘I love you.’ He did tell me he had no idea I felt the way I did about him, so I was right in feeling I might’ve just embarrassed myself. And what would be the point in saying it, really, when we aren’t together? I do love him, of course, but when we’re talking about it in that context...I feel like it’s more honest to say that I have a crush or I like him or have feelings or whatever.”

He sighs.

“And, well, I love Pascal. And I know I’ve already been talking about sorting out feeling like this for two people at once, and...it’s still confusing and new but it’s also still...surprisingly manageable? But I suppose it feels odd saying the same thing to a guy who doesn’t even know I feel that way about him as I do to the guy I know loves me back and who...well, I already know I want to stay with Pascal as long as we can be together, and...now, with us wanting to live together again too, it’s a lot different than it is between me and a neighbor I’ve only known a year who I’m not with and who’s with somebody else...”

He huffs a laugh and turns his head to the side, looking across the room to the opposite wall, cheek resting on the cushion.

“It’s not as though I think that saying ‘I love you’ is what defines a relationship or not,” Kip says. “I mean, I know it’s usually important, and I do like to say it and to hear it. But I guess I’ve just been avoiding it with Wallace because of wanting to avoid awkwardness more than anything, in case he didn’t feel the same, which he doesn’t. So that’s alright.”

“But you also avoid saying it to yourself? Or to me, whenever you’ve talked about it?”

Kip stares at the wall a moment before laughing with a quiet groan.

“Dammit, yeah, I do. You’re right,” he sighs.

Eno laughs too.

“Don’t worry, we don’t have to try to pick it apart right here, unless you want to.”

“Mm...yeah, I think I’d like to talk about other stuff more.”

“Alright.”

There’s a pause while Kip decides what he might want to talk about next.

“...This is a different sort of topic,” Eno says. Kip glances over to see Eno leisurely writing across his notepad. “And we don’t have to discuss it if you don’t feel comfortable.”

“Er...okay,” Kip says slowly, feeling a nervous flush rise in his face.

“Well,” Eno sits back in his chair, hands on either end of the pen, rotating it. “I haven’t brought this up for a while now, so I wanted to make a point of asking whether you felt up to discussing the things you encountered in District E?”

Kip chills over, shivering cold into the air around him.

“U-uh,” he stammers automatically. “I...”

“You don’t have to,” Eno says. “I know this is springing it on you. But I do want to remind you that, even though it’s been a little while, and even though we talked about it some outside of your appointments, you can discuss it here.”

Kip presses his lips together and nods, trying to get a handle on the tension that gripped his body as soon as Eno mentioned E.

“But without talking about the particulars of it—it’s still affecting you regularly? You don’t seem comfortable with the idea of talking about it.”

“It—yeah,” Kip murmurs. “I’m not having...flashbacks I can’t control, so that’s really lucky. I don’t actually think about it all too often, uh... I know I CAN handle it when I do think if it, or when something reminds me, but I guess I’m trying to focus on other things right now. That’s a bright side to all the time I was distracted by worrying about things with Pascal and Wallace, ha...”

He unclasps his hands, lying them at his sides for the moment.

“It’s, uh, well...it feels a lot like how I’ve been trying to live with that night for years now—like this is all more of the same. I know it’s different, and I’ve got some, um, different problems from it that I’m new to dealing with...but I’ve never felt like I’ve exactly recovered from the way I lost my family, either. So this has just sort of been added on to the pile.”

He laughs flatly.

“Right now I’m just...I’m trying to focus on feeling like I can settle back into a normal life,” he continues. “I don’t mean to say I’m...trying to pretend it didn’t happen, or that I refuse to think about it, or mention it, or anything. I’m...definitely not comfortable, but right now I’m trying to address it by trying to, you know, get comfortable in my life again. Like, I feel kinda guilty just wanting to feel normal, and not feel like I need to be worried about things, or like I have to be someone who’s always upset about things, like I owe it to people to be stressed or whatever, and, well...it’s just the ordinary stuff that I want. Like, having my friends around, and being with Pascal is making me really happy, and...I’m happy about everyone still alive and pretty okay.”

He laughs quietly.

“...It’s kind of weird that all that seems easier for me to handle than one day of my life from years ago,” he says. “Well, I know I didn’t exactly handle it smoothly at the time, but of course I couldn’t.”

“You handled it as well as anyone would,” Eno says. 

“Mm...I don’t know, I suppose it’s just that—that the way things ended up was ultimately so different than how it was after the fire. As awful—as fucking awful as everything was, it turned out as okay as it all could, I suppose. So much better than I’d ever have thought it could, anyway. And I’m—I guess in that way it feels different.”

“I understand that,” Eno says quietly. 

Kip looks over at him, and Eno offers a small smile.

“I, uh, still have nightmares,” Kip says. “The ones about the fire and my family and those kinds of things never stopped, but they’ve been about E now, too.”

“That’s not surprising.”

“Yeah... They’ve been acting up since...well, god, basically since we moved to C. I was stressed about the move, and the breakup, and being so close to everything I’d wanted to leave behind me...and then Wallace came and all hell broke loose. Sort of slowly at first, but I was so fucking scared of him as soon as he showed up, and I think I only had, like, a day to breathe and then it was...all downhill. Ugh.”

“You’ve been having nightmares consistently all year?”

Kip nods.

“I mean, I was having them consistently before that too, I guess. But it was getting gradually better in D, and when I was feeling most okay, it was maybe about a...once or twice a week thing. It could’ve been more often, but in the form of dreams I didn’t remember when I woke up, and didn’t make me wake everyone else up, or anything. But, well, anyhow...now it feels like I wake myself up about every other night. They’ve been more frequent, and worse. Like, now there’s ones I don’t remember much when I wake up, but I’ll still be completely freaked out when I’m awake. And I know how to handle it, but...god, it still feels terrible. Just telling myself and knowing that it’s okay doesn’t, you know, automatically make it feel okay.”

“Right.”

“It’s pretty miserable, even if it only takes a minute to feel calm again. And it sucks when I’m, like asleep. And when I can remember it when I wake up. The other night Molly actually came and woke me up; I guess I was crying in my sleep, or whatever. That sort of thing had all but stopped back in D.”

“Oh,” Eno says solemnly. “Does it continue to disrupt your day even once you’ve dealt with the immediate effects?”

“Ah...not too much,” Kip answers. “The kinds of days where I just feel off or bad when I wake up seem to be more of a random event. Usually I can fall back asleep if a nightmare wakes me up, and that’ll give me a chance to reset things. Bad dreams CAN make me a little uneasy the rest of the day, but I...at least I never put off going to bed because of the dreams, you know? No matter how bad they get, I’m used to the situation enough that I just...have accepted that I can only take each night as it comes. That’s ONE thing I’ve learned not to try avoiding.”

He laughs gently.

“Losing sleep can never help anything,” Eno says. “As long as you’re able to safely cope with the nightmares, the damage from any bad dream, however stressful, would ultimately be worth the extra hours of sleep.”

“Yeah,” Kip says. “I know. I remember how shitty I felt back when I was staying up most of every night after the fire. I mean, I wasn’t just staying up because of bad dreams, and I felt like shit for five hundred reasons, but I remember the parts of it that were just...the exhaustion. Not being able to hold on to anything in my head because I hadn’t slept well in half a month. All that mess. I think once I started sleeping sort of regularly again, I never exactly tried to stay up to avoid nightmares. I...Pascal made it a lot easier. I would be nervous every night, but falling asleep with him felt way better than staying up on my own. I felt awful each time I woke him up, of course, but he...there wasn’t exactly another place for me to sleep, and I would’ve worried Molly or Roy by sleeping on the couch or something, and Pascal always said he slept better with me, and knowing he’d know and could help if I was having bad dreams and all, and...I don’t think he was just saying that, so...”

He lifts his shoulders.

“I’m just always really grateful for how Pascal helps me. He’s just an...such an incredible presence in my life, and I love knowing he’s around, and getting to feel that love for him again is SO fantasic...”

“That’s good,” Eno laughs.

“Yeah...we’re hanging out a lot, and—god, I love being with him. And...we’re, uh...” He trails off for a moment and blushes, taking a slow breath to belie any nervousness. “Well, we’ve been having a lot of sex...and that’s been helpful, too.”

He takes a second to draw another steadying breath and tell himself not to be so nervous.

“Uh—that’s not to say that I’m trying to use sex to make myself feel better whenever I have a problem,” he adds suddenly. “And I’m not going around expecting my relationship with Pascal to, like—fix my whole life, or anything.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest you were,” Eno says good-humoredly. “After all, you feel dating Pascal would improve your life even if you’d been perfectly satisfied with all elements of your life beforehand?”

“...Yeah, it would,” Kip says slowly. 

“And you like seeing him even on days that go perfectly fine, right?”

“Yeah, I see where you’re going,” Kip laughs. “I know I’m not using him as some form of relief or anything, but he DOES make everything easier—being with him makes things easier. I just overall feel better knowing I’m with him, and it... Knowing how much he loves me just...makes me feel better about myself? I don’t want it to sound like it’s all about my problems, because it isn’t, I wouldn’t let it—“

“Don’t worry, Kip,” Eno reassures, lifting a hand. “You’re perfectly allowed to feel you gain and benefit from your relationship with him. That’s normal and healthy. The things you struggle with don’t have to be removed from any area of your life in order for it to be good. You’re not a poison.”

Kip smiles weakly.

“I do still feel like it sometimes, if I’m honest,” he says quietly. “I think it, too. That I’m spreading around my issues and making them hurt everyone close to me, too.”

“You know it’s not your fault. You know everyone who loves you understands that you have needs.”

“I know—“

“You’re not an inconvenience or a hindrance. You don’t diminish the lives of people around you—you make them better and richer. People love you because they want to.”

“I...”

“You deserve to share any thoughts and feelings you wish to with the people who are important to you. And you deserve to go after what you want, and be honest about what you need.”

It’s been a while since Eno has done this, just listed off these kinds of simple truths that Kip seems to have such difficulty grasping on his own. And it’s hitting him hard—it always does. 

“I-I—yeah,” he stammers, shifting against the chaise.

“You deserve to be yourself, and you deserve good things. You’re a good person, Kip.”

Kip twitches a smile at the ceiling.

“Thanks.”

“It’s more the truth than a compliment,” Eno says. “Though you also shouldn’t believe you have to earn your right to exist comfortably and well.”

Kip takes a few breaths.

“...Why am I so much softer now?” he murmurs.

“Hm?”

“I cry so often now, and I have no idea why, it’s so strange that I—that just things like a bit of stress or frustration make me tear up so much more easily now. I’m crying over smaller things or just...out of nowhere on a bad day.”

He blinks and dissipates the tears that had been pooling against his eyelashes. 

“I even think I’m quieter than I was when we moved here,” he continues. “I don’t feel as much like I’m trying to be tough, and even around my friends I feel...like I’m trying to be more off to the side. Like I’m keeping my head down, even though I have no reason to? And I...I just feel like I’ve been softer and quieter. Like I’m afraid of something again. Even though when I moved here and actually had something to be afraid of, I was a lot...I was colder, and trying to be all firm and serious and...I don’t know.”

He shrugs against the cushions.

“It’s just, times like this—hearing nice things wouldn’t’ve made me feel close to crying, then,” he says. “I feel like I’ve cried more in these appointments during the last few months than I did during the rest of the last few years.”

“I have noticed that happening more often,” Eno says. “Saying you feel like you’re off to the side... Does that mean you’re feeling more withdrawn?”

“I think so, a little bit,” Kip says slowly. “I know that’s not exactly great to say, but it’s not as much that I’m avoiding people—well, I don’t go out as much, but I’m not usually avoiding my friends—it’s more that I just...might not talk when I might’ve said something a year ago. Or I...maybe I overcompensate for how much I was trying to be in everyone’s business, and now I just keep my mouth shut...”

He laughs softly. 

“It’s just...unexpected, I guess, that I feel more easily upset, and I don’t feel any stronger or tougher at all, or—well, maybe I feel a little, tiny bit more confident, but I think that’s more because of everything involving Pascal than everything I had to go through involving E. Heh.”

“So you think that your experiences around District E ought to have made you...stronger?” 

“I...well, it’s all this shit that used to be exactly what scared me into wanting to hide forever, and thinking I’d have to leave Pascal because otherwise he’d be collateral damage if anyone tried to hurt me, if we lived together, which we would’ve... I just used to think—I thought it was impossible, of course, but I’d think that if I ever had to confront those fears, and if I somehow made it out alive, then surely I couldn’t ever be afraid of little, normal things anymore. I—I know that isn’t how it works, and I had some anxieties even before Kent got involved in the disappearances, but...I can’t help but be disappointed. It’s like all that I went through didn’t change me at all.”

“How different would you want to be?” Eno asks.

“Uh...not that different, I suppose. But it frustrates me that this everyday shit can upset me so much still, and I guess I blame myself for not being...just, numbed to that sort of problem.”

“Mm, I’d bet that the small issues feel more stressful in part because, overall, you’re still in something of a raw place.”

“I’m not doing that badly,” Kip counters. “It’s nothing like it was after the fire.”

“You were doing pretty badly at some points while all this was ongoing,” Eno returns. “The fire was over in a matter of hours. This was drawn out over almost a year’s time. What you suffered in the midst of it is part of your reaction to your experiences.”

Kip blushes slightly. He did, in fact, have plenty of breakdowns, lose his composure in various ways much more often than usual, have many nights of being kept up by stress, times he was in such pain and terror he blacked out portions of it—and Eno had seen some of it for himself, and heard of much of the rest.

“...It still wasn’t like...” he starts. “It was still different, because I...I didn’t collapse in the way that I had after the fire. I don’t know how I did it but even when I...got bad, I’d just keep going. I guess when I could finally look back on it all, part of me assumed that meant that maybe I’d gotten stronger.”

“Kip?”

“...Uh-huh?”

“Listen to me. There was no weakness involved in how the fire affected you.”

“Oh—yeah, sorry...”

“There’s no need to apologize. You just need to remember not to put it in that framework, about strength and weakness. It doesn’t particularly have any meaning, especially in the case of trauma and how it affects people. Not to mention that just because both situations were traumatic for you doesn’t mean they were all that similar. Most of the particulars were completely different.”

“Some stuff about E was worse, though,” Kip murmurs. “And completely new.”

“Sure. That only further emphasizes how these two parts of your life can’t be directly compared. The events are linked, but that doesn’t mean anything with regards to how they affected you.”

Kip puts his hands back together over his stomach, rubbing his fingers together.

“I really want you to make a point to stop yourself whenever you’re on that train of thought that something that hurt you ought to have forced you to improve what you see as your flaws,” Eno says. “You don’t owe it to anyone to have changed for what you or they see as the better, all because you spent a full year in a relentlessly terrible situation. You’ve been changing over all these years, even without being re-exposed to those levels of stress and trauma. E could do nothing to help you, only hurt you anew. I might go ahead and propose that the reason you’re feeling ‘softer and quieter’ is because you’re still dealing with fresh trauma, and have likely been grieving again for much of the time since you moved to C.”

“Grieving?” Kip repeats, surprised. “I—but it’s almost been six years.”

Eno laughs softly, then apologizes.

“I should’ve brought this up again sooner,” he says. “We talked about this some when you first started appointments, but I’m not surprised if it hasn’t been at the front of your mind more recently. It’s easiest to forget when it’s most likely to be relevant, but...remember what I told you about how grieving doesn’t stop?”

Kip turns it over in his head a moment, frowning slightly.

“I...think so,” he says slowly.

“It’s alright if it’s not easy to remember all the details. I ought to have already mentioned it again, since we’ve been talking about the subject the past couple of months. I expect you already know through experience even if I hadn’t told you, but there’s no such thing as ‘getting over’ a loss, and the grief is carried ongoing, whether it’s at the surface or not.”

“Oh,” Kip says quietly. “Yeah, I remember talking about this.”

“Big changes and times of intense emotion, whether positive or negative, can often bring that grief closer to the surface,” Eno explains. “You moved back to the area you used to live in with your family, and you left someone you were in love with, and felt endangered. Then when Wallace arrived you were essentially fighting for survival from there on out, and exposed to increasingly horrible things, and the threat of your own death, and that of those around you, and...there was what I contributed to your problems. And I know that hurt you in ways you couldn’t’ve prepared yourself for. And you were tortured in various ways, on multiple occasions. And even the happiness of coming through the other side and...in a way getting to bring some closure to your family’s stories, can cause you to grieve them again. And you’re focusing so much on getting to have a new, ordinary life that their absence has to be extra noticeable. And then there’s your happiness at regaining your relationship with Pascal, which you don’t get to share with them, and your uncertainty and worries about your relationship with Wallace, which you can’t share with them either.”

Kip stares up at the ceiling, trying to absorb everything Eno’s saying, which seems so accurate and makes so much sense to him that he’s rendered momentarily speechless by the unexpected feeling blooming in his chest.

“You’re still in the early aftermath of, well, a shitload of trauma, and even without those worst incidents, you had an intensely difficult year. And now your life is open to you in a way it’s never been before, and I can imagine it makes your family’s absence seem as prominent as ever. Plus, you don’t have to bear the constant weight of those fears you’d been carrying for years, and you’re focusing on trying to feel comfortable in your situation. You have reason to be less guarded, and more vulnerable to the people and events around you. This isn’t a bad thing, especially for you. But I’m not at all surprised that all of these factors have resulted in you feeling...somewhat smaller and more susceptible to upsetting incidents.” 

Kip glances at the wall, soaking in what he’s hearing, processing it silently. Eno seems to know that he’s listening, continuing after only a moment’s hesitation. 

“It makes all kinds of sense that you’d cry more easily nowadays,” he says. “Or that you’d be quieter, and less sure of putting yourself into even the most harmless interactions. And I think it’s likely relevant that your efforts to assemble and understand your life is parallel to you trying to similarly sort out your own identity. I doubt you’re as sure of who you even are right now, and might be holding back more in an attempt to give yourself space to figure yourself out, or avoid putting forth any particular persona. Just a year ago, the cumulation of your entire life thus far had you trying harder than ever to be unshakeable and certain of yourself and bolder in voicing what you thought was best. You wanted to take up room, and stand your ground, and give the impression to yourself and others that you were...who they wanted you to be, and to a degree, who you wished you could be as well. And I’m not saying that was a mistake. But, to speak from my years of experience with you, I think it was probably the version of you that was least...like you. And it failed to protect you, and now you’re figuring yourself out all over again, trying to work out who you are, and who you think you’re going to be now.”

Kip gives a quick, strained smile.

“I thought I had to be so brave to move here,” he murmurs. “I knew it was going to beat me up. It broke my heart all over again to leave Pascal but I...I saw myself years ago, knowing I’d just barely escaped the fire, that someone wanted me dead even though I wasn’t even the one doing what they wanted us dead for. I knew that if I moved in with Pascal, I’d...he’d...I don’t know. I was afraid he’d make me overconfident, I was afraid he’d make me too afraid…”

He laughs flatly.

“I can come up with half a dozen different excuses to justify anything I’ve done,” Kip says to the wall.

“You only think that about everything you beat yourself up over,” Eno says.

“That’s why I need all the excuses,” Kip laughs. “I feel guilty. I know I messed up.”

“You do your best,” Eno says. “And here you’ve put a lot of effort into mending your situation with Pascal. And I daresay you’ve managed to perfectly. You were in a bit of an impossible position, and I’m not trying to convince you that you did everything perfectly, for the most innocent and earnest reasons, or whatever. That’s not what you’re here for. But...you were here, pouring your heart out about how much you were struggling with the idea, beating yourself up, and I can tell you that you weren’t merely being selfish or acting with any interest to hurt Pascal. You had to think of both him and yourself. To be so selfless that it borders on self-destructive isn’t healthy for a relationship; considering your own individual interests wasn’t anything to blame yourself for. I still can’t tell you what would’ve been best to have done, but it took a lot out of you, and you spent so much time and energy making the decision.”

“Yeah,” Kip murmurs. “I...talked about the whole thing with Pascal, because I wanted to apologize for being too… For the fact that I was trying to protect my own uncertainty by not really letting us discuss it fully. And for leaving him in the first place and then coming back now and telling him that I’ve always wanted to be with him and I want us to stay together, and all. And he, you know, it was a good talk, I think. I cried, of course.”

“See?” Eno laughs. “You don’t have to condemn yourself to analyze your own motivations and actions. You’re overly-critical of yourself already, but it’s so good for you to talk about things rather than keep it all in your own head. And you clearly took what you felt was a mistake to heart—you thought you should have discussed things with Pascal, and now you’re saying you, y’know, discussed things with Pascal.”

“Ha—yeah, I guess that’s true,” Kip says, blushing a little. 

“You’ve been making the improvements you’ve been wanting to all this time,” Eno says. “It just might be happening in such little increments that it’s difficult for you to notice.”

“Mm. I hope so.”

“And there’s nothing to be ashamed of with who you are at present,” Eno says. “Again, speaking from my personal experience, you’ve always been wonderful, Kip.”

“Oh—” Kip laughs, flattered. “Eno…”

“You have so much to be proud of. You’re better than you know.”

“Eno,” Kip repeats with a groan, putting his hands over his face to hide his smile. “Jeez!”

Eno laughs quietly.

“And by the way, there’s no reason to be ashamed of crying in any amount. It has absolutely nothing to do with how strong you are or aren’t. If you cry ten times a day, that’s fine. People are much more likely to cry too little than too much—the moods behind your outward reactions are way more indicative of your wellbeing, and if you’re not trying to suppress your own feelings or refuse to process them, it really doesn’t matter how much stuff makes you cry.”

Kip nods slowly. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I think I… Yeah, I feel that. I think it’s just that I...sort of think of how I was like, crying so much after my family died, just over the littlest reminders of them, and I’d be crying so hard for so long…”

He shrugs.

“I guess I feel like I used up my fair share of crying,” he laughs. “I know that’s not fair to think that way. But I’m also always remembering how...I felt bad being so fucking broken down all the time, making everyone I love have to worry about me—”

“Ah,” Eno interrupts. “You ‘made’ them worry about you?”

“Heh. No,” Kip concedes. “I didn’t.”

Eno gives a satisfied hum and rests his chin on his hands.

“I felt guilty seeing how much they worried about me,” he says. “How much harder it was for them having to deal with these random breakdowns I was having, which we all had to be on edge about—I guess I’m just really aware of how my crying will make people react. Like, they know what happened to me, and feel obligated to comfort me whenever any little thing upsets me.”

“Do you really think your friends feel obligated to care about you?”

“...No.”

“Do you feel obligated to care about them? Because they have similar issues in their pasts as well?”

“No,” Kip answers more confidently.

“Would you want them to take that same perspective and try to hide their feelings if they feel like crying, so that they don’t pressure you to comfort them?”

“No, of course not,” Kip sighs. “But I—I cry more than them, I think. In recent months, anyhow. I’m the one whose bad days have me acting all gloomy and on edge and I’m the one having nightmares and the one crying just to vent stress or because I got reminded about something unpleasant or...whatever reason.” 

“Crying more often isn’t a bad thing,” Eno repeats patiently. “You’re different people, with different personalities, and different needs in different times and situations.”

“Mm.”

“You aren’t identical to all your friends when all of you are happy,” Eno says. “Why should there be a problem with having different reactions to your pain?”

Kip shrugs.

“I dunno,” he laughs weakly. “I know I wouldn’t be upset if I felt like Roy or Kate or anyone was more delicate than me, or whatever. But because it’s me, I have to feel guilty.”

“You know you’re not putting on some act to, I dont know, try to make your friends more invested in you than they already are, or something.”  
“No, I’m not.”

“And you don’t think they resent you anytime they support you or comfort or care about you.”

“I—I don’t think so. But they love me too much, I—”

“They love you too much?” Eno echoes, cocking his head. “You think you deserve to be loved less than you are?”

“N-no,” Kip stammers. “But I—I’m just lucky that everyone who loves me does. I’m not as good a person as them, I’m—we just all happened to meet or be thrown together or go to school together or whatever, and I…”

“You don’t think you’re as good as the people you know.”

“I…” Kip exhales. “Not AS good. But that’s because they’re great. And it’s just sheer luck that they care about me.”

“Well, all of anyone’s connections to anyone else is just chance. Don’t you think it’s a testament to your being a good person that all these people who you think so much of have cared about you for so long? We don’t all hold on to everyone we encounter in life with equal time and effort; we can’t.”

“I…” Kip shrugs. “I haven’t actually...made any new friends in years. I lost a bunch of casual friends when I moved to D, and the whole time I was there, I didn’t....I just repeated the whole thing over again. I made some kind of tenuous friendships that couldn’t survive my moving back to C.”

“What about Wallace?”

“That hardly counts,” Kip laughs. “We were basically set up. I mean, yeah, we’re friends, but now I’m not sure what to make of where we’re at. I might’ve wrecked it.”

“I think you’ve both grown too close to sever ties over a rough patch,” Eno says. “But that’s an aside. The important part is that you shouldn’t think that all your relationships exist merely through routine, or obligation, or you’re completely undeserving of them altogether.”

“I don’t think I’m entirely undeserving,” Kip argues.

“Why do you think you’re undeserving at all?”

“I’m—just naturally more self-centered,” he starts. “I’m more inside my own head; I focus a lot on myself. I...it’ll feel like I’m just going through cycles of just thinking all day, needing all my time to deal with my own thoughts and problems, and then only interacting with people when I want to be comforted by just...hanging out or whatever, or…”

“...I’m guessing you hide yourself when you’re doing badly?” Eno asks.

“I sort of tend to,” Kip confirms. “I’ll, you know, cry in my room or whatever. Kind of stay in there if I’m having a bad day. And I think sometimes they know I’m trying to hide that from them. Which probably makes them feel bad.”

“You think they’d blame you if you told them something like, ‘Hey, I’m having a bad day, I’d like to sit around with you guys and just talk about whatever for a while?’”

“Er...no, I don’t think they would,” Kip murmurs. “They’d probably…”

There’s a pause.

“Probably…” Eno prompts.

“They’d probably like it,” Kip admits.

“Do you think they’d be...exasperated or something if you were crying in front of them, or giving some other sign of being upset? The way people care about you is too genuine for that.”

Kip shrugs halfheartedly.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I just want to...pretend I’m always going to be okay now.”

“No one expects that, Kip,” Eno says. “I can guarantee that. Especially after what you’ve all been through. I doubt any of us have fully recovered. It’ll take more time to feel resettled into things; nobody is expecting you to be unshaken. It doesn’t matter that it’s been a few months. And you’ve still got the upcoming anniversary to deal with—no one would expect you to be wholly unaffected by it just because it’s been six years. And it’s been less than six months since you got back from E.”

“...Yeah.”

“You need to know that you deserve to be as loved and cared about as you are, Kip,” Eno says seriously. “You shouldn’t feel as if you ought to punish yourself anytime someone helps you.”

Kip sighs heavily.

“You deserve to be loved. You deserve all the love you have.”

He huffs a laugh and rubs his shoulder.

“You believe that?” Eno asks. 

“Believe what?”

“Do you believe you deserve to be loved as much as you are?”

Kip hesitates.

“What if I said there’s no limit to how much love and attention you deserve to receive?”

“I don’t deserve ENDLESS attention,” Kip scoffs. “I don’t think I don’t deserve to be loved. I just feel like the people I’m lucky enough to have in my life are...kind of a lot better than me.”

“Hmm. Because you’re looking at them as a collective compared to you as an individual?”

“They’re individually too good for me, too,” Kip says. “Each of them is a lot better than me and I’m glad they care about me but I...I don’t want to lose them by always taking so much more than I give. I don’t want them to feel like they have to be as close to me as they ever were because I’ll fall apart otherwise.”

“Have you ever been given reason to believe that they feel that way? That they feel pressure to be a better friend than they’d otherwise want to, because they’re trying to satisfy some demand they perceive from you?”

“Um.” Kip wrings his fingers. “I guess not really.”

He feels a little childish, slightly humiliated.

“Yet you’ve said your friends love you too much.”

His face burns a little.

“Do you think Pascal loves you more than he should?”

Kip doesn’t answer.

“Do you?” Eno repeats levelly.

“...He’s a better person than me,” Kip says quietly.

“Do you...mean to say that you wish you were more like him?”

“...Kinda, yeah. He’s so patient, and steady, and always so kind to everyone around him. I’m not like that.”

He dares to glance over; Eno quirks a smile at him. He blushes again.

“Is this what you mean when you say that your friends are better than you? You wish you felt more similar to them?”

“I guess, kind of.” He shrugs. “They ask less of me than I do of them. They’re always humoring me. They’re the ones who’ve had to deal with all the choices I’ve been making the past few years.”

“Your home burned down,” Eno says. “Your entire family died. You had only your glasses and a set of pajamas and Kent’s folder and eventually the bit of savings we managed to transfer into your name.”

“I know,” Kip says quietly.

“And speaking for myself, I would have had a much more difficult time if I felt like I couldn’t do anything to help you. You know how it feels to give support to someone you love who needs it?”

“...I guess I do,” Kip says. “I’ve never been around to help people with anything as big as what you guys helped me with, though.”

“I think you know enough to understand it. I think you know it was fully okay for them to help you in all the ways they did. You didn’t make them. They were able to decide. You never trapped them, or tried to force anyone to choose to stay with you. You feel guiltier about NOT letting Pascal continue to help you than almost anything else, don’t you?”

Kip blinks.

“Yeah, I...I guess that’s all true.”

“You deserve all the love you get.”

“I…” Kip bites his lip. “Alright.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not guilty for showing your emotions or expressing any need for comfort through your social connections, or benefitting from your relationships. And you know they’d rather you talk to them about these kinds of concerns rather than avoiding them as a way of...trying not to ask anything from them at all.”

“Yeah,” Kip sighs. “They’re the ones always having to push to talk, while I’m the one avoiding it.”

“But you’re aware of that issue, and you want to change it.”

“Um...yeah, but I’m...not great at changing it,” he laughs lightly. “It’s been a problem for over half a decade and I’m still dealing with the same sort of nonsense.”

“That’s alright,” Eno says. “You don’t need to change yourself fundamentally, you’re trying to adapt yourself to the situations and tendencies your experiences have dealt you. Though it might be easier if you could just reach into your core and rewire yourself however you’d like, this is more about working with who you already are, and understanding yourself better. You’ll find more seemingly impossible problems if you’re up against yourself, refusing to accept your own needs and limits as legitimate and reasonable while also denying your abilities’ worth as well. And remember what I said about progress often being too incremental to easily notice?”

“Yeah,” Kip murmurs. “It’s just frustrating.”

“Understandable,” Eno says lightly. “But you keep coming back because you’re willing to keep working at it. You must feel like you’re not truly stagnant.”

“I don’t feel like I am,” Kip confirms. “But...it’s always been confusing. I feel like I’m way more changed by the world around me than I am by myself.”

“Well, everyone tends to be, I think,” Eno says. “It’s just that most people’s lives are a bit more...predictable to them. Or go more according to their own ideas and expectations, I mean. Yours has certainly been heavily interfered in and thrown off several times over. You have a lot to deal with there.”

“It’s like…” Kip huffs a sigh. “Everything with Kent seemed to have a chokehold on a whole lot of who I thought I was, and everything seemed so much more uncertain suddenly. And then, you know, the fire felt like it killed me too. It erased so much of my life and who I was and what I thought would always be that it feels like I died too, in a way. And then I started to get settled into D, but of course I had to start questioning that too, and turn right back around to—to things I thought weren’t ever going to be relevant in my life again. I ended up without Pascal when I’d been thinking about being with him forever, and going back to C, and trying to be...someone I wasn’t sure I was. And I was just pretending that moving here was fine and that I expected things to just...go smoothly, because what are the fucking odds? Why, five years later, would someone come back for me just because I’d moved back into the same area I used to live in, and I wrote a blog?”

He laughs bitterly.

“I hate that I was right about Wallace right away,” he says. “I know everyone thought I was just paranoid about everything, and I guess it doesn’t help that for a while I actually did...have some stuff I was getting a little paranoid about after the fire. And I thought I must be overreacting too, but I couldn’t shake it, but even with me actually suspecting that Wallace might be a huge threat—somehow it still managed to take me by surprise.”

He echoes his own laugh.

“Well, anyways. That shit threw me right the fuck off and I was never able to get my feet back underneath me till...just recently. I mean, none of that shit was about me. It wasn’t about me as a person, it was just something I had to go through, something I had to deal with because of who I was related to. It’s...a huge part of me now, and it changed me of course, but it doesn’t feel like a real part of my life. So much had to be put on hold. We couldn’t all just...exist in the world, we were all caught up in this, we couldn’t just be ourselves, or…”

He heaves a sharp sigh.

“I get what you’re saying,” Eno says.

“Like, who am I?” Kip says. “What’s the best version of myself that I should be shooting for? Because the last time I was able to feel like I didn’t have something ahead of me to be afraid of was like...when I was eleven, I don’t know. And of course I don’t feel like the eleven year old version of me is the realest version, and I’m just some fucked up edition of that. But I hate that so much of who I am has been shaped by everything I’ve been scared of. By people trying to kill me. It didn’t have to target us. I’m glad it all got taken care of, of course. But I can’t ever be glad of any part of the experience. And it so, so easily could’ve been worse. I’m lucky to have the friends I started out with when I moved over here. And I’m lucky I have Pascal back the way I used to. I just hate that I’ve had to be lucky. I don’t feel lucky.”

“It’s just a relative term,” Eno says. “You can be glad for what went well without calling anyone lucky for it.”

Kip smiles reflexively.

“...I guess I sort of am like who I was when I was eighteen,” he says quietly. “If I’m still grieving. I remember how it was for me right after the fire. I’m not completely different from that.”

“No,” Eno agrees. “You’ve been changing, but your changes have always grown from who you’ve always been. I suppose that’s not the clearest way to phrase it—”

“I think I know what you mean,” Kip says. “Like, I’m...as dramatically as I might change, I still come from the person I was, and I would be different now if I’d been someone different then.”

“There’s a balance,” Eno says. “Between recognizing your past self as part of you, and recognizing that you’re a different person now. Even a single day alters you.”

“Ha—that’s true,” Kip says. “I’ve been putting myself through some major changes in a single day lately.”

“Yes, you have,” Eno laughs. “You’re different than you were before you got back with Pascal. And I’m different from who I was before I burned my wrist yesterday.”

“What did you do?” Kip demands automatically.

Eno’s responding laugh is genuine, and Kip can’t help but feel uplifted by the sound.

“I just bumped it against a saucepan I forgot was still hot,” Eno says. “But I’m sure it had some effect or other on me.”

Kip smiles and turns back to face the ceiling. 

“Ah, we have about ten minutes left in your appointment today,” Eno says. He opens up Kip’s folder and moves some papers around. “I’ve written down some suggestions for fairly simple, unobtrusive exercises for coping with the kind of increased stress that you might be facing over this next month. If you’d like to go over them with the rest of our time?”

“Sounds good. Tell me all about it.”

—

“I miss you a lot,” Kip says quietly. “It’s been too long since I’ve come to visit outside of my appointments, but I think in part it’s also just that once a week is never really enough. Even when we get to hang out after my appointment like this.”

Eno rotates his mug against the tablecloth, gazing at Kip. 

“And it doesn’t help you’re always so busy,” Kip adds with a smirk. “I think you’re working more than ever, if that’s even humanly possible.”

Eno shrugs coyly.

“I might’ve said you worked too much before,” Kip continues, lifting his own cup to his lips. “Now I definitely would.”

“I’m doing alright. You know I like to put in a lot of research. And that I’m enthusiastic about good paperwork.”

Kip huffs.

“Yeah, I know.” He sips his tea. “But you’re working too much.”

“I don’t mind it.”

“You’re working too much.”

“You’re stubborn today,” Eno laughs.

“I’m stubborn when I know I’m right.” He puts his cup down and smiles at Eno. ”And you’re working too much.”

He thinks he sees a slight flicker in Eno’s expression, a momentary drop that seems to be some form of acknowledgment. 

“Why are you saying so now, do I worry you?” Eno asks.

“Not really. I believe you that you’re alright. But I’ve been thinking that maybe you’re trying to make up for things by being an even more dedicated therapist than usual.”

He does Eno the favor of looking down at his tea as he talks, raising it slowly again, but glances over just far enough to catch a bit of flush in Eno’s cheeks.

“...My work’s always been it’s own sort of therapy, I suppose,” Eno says slowly. “I do well when I concentrate on my clients. I’m good at this, and it holds my attention nicely, and at the end of the day I never regret the time I put into it.”

“Don’t worry—I’m not about to suggest anything condescending or clichéd like ‘oh, maybe you’re focused on other people’s lives and problems so you don’t have to think about your own’ or whatever. I know the reasons you’re a great therapist and I know you’re devoted to pretty much everything you do. But I still say you’re working too much. Just because you CAN work twenty hours a day without a break doesn’t mean you should.”

“I’m not that bad,” Eno protests.

“I knooow,” Kip sighs. “But I also know you’re working more than ever. I ought to be seeing you more regardless, and I want to be, I miss you. But you should be taking more breaks in your day like this, even when you’re on your own, and using your days off for things other than...errands and chores and extracurricular research, and everything. Not to mention that you took on a few new clients just in the past couple of months, right?”

“Where’s this coming from, huh? Are you getting revenge for being pushed during your appointment?” Eno teases.

“No, but I’d still be right about this even if I was,” Kip counters. “You’ve always worked so much but you’ve been working SO much, Eno. And you don’t need to, because you were already doing plenty before. And I wanna ask why you’re so busy. Busy even for you.”

“...I suppose I feel more of a desire for distraction,” Eno acknowledges. “I don’t feel overworked, and I’m not forcing myself to focus more on work, but I think...I do like having less time to myself than I used to.”

Kip leans sideways towards Eno with a soft smile.

“Eno,” he says. “I love you.”

“Heh, I know you do.”

“I don’t want you overworked even if you can handle it,” Kip murmurs. “Are you sure it’s just about distracting yourself?”

“You’re after my job, aren’t you.”

“Shut up. Are you feeling guilty?” 

He blushes to ask, but he only has so much time with Eno a week. He can’t dance around questions he wants to ask, points he wants to make in person.

“Am I...” Eno starts to repeat, fading off. 

Kip takes a tiny sip of his tea and then slides his hand around Eno’s wrist. He glances over at him to see Eno flushing surprisingly hard, looking slightly flustered. He glances over, catching Kip looking at him, and flashes him a smile. Kip returns it. 

“You’re still feeling guilty, then?” he says, squeezing Eno’s wrist gently.

Eno’s smile is strained.

Kip looks at him steadily. His thumb twitches; he rubs it softly back and forth against Eno’s skin.

Eno still doesn’t answer, and Kip suddenly feels almost abashed. It’s been a while since he’s thrown Eno off even this much. He slides his hand from Eno’s wrist, turning a bit more towards him.

“...Eno?”

Eno laughs breathlessly and offers Kip an easier smile, pushing some blonde hair aside.

“Sorry, I’m okay,” he says. “I—that’s just sort of an unexpected question.”

Kip continues looking at Eno, waiting until he looks back.

“I love you,” he says softly. “And I’m not mad at you.”

Eno nods slowly.

“...I hope you’re not blaming yourself,” Kip says quietly, finally shifting his gaze from Eno’s face to look at the tabletop. “You don’t have to, you know.”

Eno exhales heavily, and Kip isn’t sure if it was meant to be more of a laugh or a sigh.

“...I really messed up, Kip,” he says quietly. “I can’t forget that.”

Kip puts his hand back on Eno’s wrist, slides it further up his forearm to grip him near the elbow.

“We can’t change any of it now,” Kip murmurs. “It’s not like you can prevent anything by punishing yourself.”

Eno’s exhale is definitely a sigh this time. He leans forward a little, dropping his head.

“I love you,” Kip repeats quietly. “I don’t want you to be...trying to...”

Eno puts his hand overtop Kip’s where it holds his arm.

Kip sighs, closing his eyes, and rests his forehead against Eno’s shoulder. 

“Eno,” he mumbles. “Don’t take it out on yourself.”

Eno sighs and tilts his head to rest his cheek on Kip’s hair.

“I’m trying not to,” Eno says. “I’m trying to...”

Kip nudges his head upwards. 

“I’m sort of...trying to see if I can believe I’m who I always hoped I was,” Eno laughs. “It sounds silly to say it aloud. But...when I’m working, I know what I’m doing. I know I’m good at it, and that it helps my clients.”

“You’re a good person outside of your work, you know,” Kip says. “You’re not going to be spending your free time hurting people.”

“Heh.”

“I’m serious.” Kip sits back to look at Eno again. “You didn’t—“

He huffs a sigh.

“You weren’t trying to hurt us,” he murmurs.

“I know...” Eno’s laugh is rough. “But I should’ve known better. I’d just...hoped my mistakes wouldn’t come back to me. Or anyone else. It was...SO selfishly irresponsible.”

Kip leans forward, putting an elbow on the table.

“They were using you, Eno,” he says. “Nobody would’ve been hurt if it wasn’t for them.”

“They were still...using what I’d provided on my own.”

Kip sighs quietly.

“I know,” he says. “But just because you messed up doesn’t mean you get to blame yourself for everything that happened later.”

Eno looks over at him.

Kip looks back, blushing fiercely.

“...Eno?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think it’s your fault that they died,” Kip says. 

He curls his fingers into a fist and bites the end of his tongue.

Eno’s expression falls as he looks at Kip, pink blooming across his face.

Kip lifts his hand and puts it again on Eno’s wrist, then slides it down and gently threads their fingers together. 

They sit quiet and still for a few moments. One of Eno’s exhales is shaky enough for Kip to hear.

Kip turns in his seat and puts his head on Eno’s shoulder again, wrapping his arms around him.

—

It’s ten minutes before Kip sits upright out of the hug, drawing a deep breath.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Eno murmurs.

“I’m sorry for bringing up all that stuff,” he says. “It’s just that...”

He laughs quietly.

“You’re hard to pin down, you know,” he continues. “And I want you to be okay. And know you’re a good person, and that I love you a lot. I wish I could see you more than I do. I need to try to make extra visits more often. I don’t wanna take up all your days off—but I wouldn’t mind just hanging out with you while you work. I used to do that a lot when you were over at our place, remember?”

“Yeah,” Eno laughs. “It was always great having you keep me company. That’s true now, too.”

Kip smiles. 

“We also need to hang out when you’re not working,” he says. “And when I’m not working, either.”

“While YOU’RE working?” Eno repeats, laughing. “When have I ever done that?”

“You haven’t,” Kip shrugs, grinning. “But you could. Wallace comes by the café sometimes to do paperwork or meet with someone. I doubt it’d be worth it for you to go all the way over there just to work on something while I make people drinks on the other side of the room. But it DOES give you the excuse to get a change of scenery and not be cooped up in your office for a week at a time.”

“I’m not THAT bad,” Eno argues again.

“Mm. Well, I wanna hang out more. You should come to C a lot more and I should come here more. The point is that I miss you when I don’t see you a lot, because I love you, and everything. And I miss you. And I love you.”

“Heh—“

Eno leans over and plants a kiss in Kip’s hair; Kip giggles and retaliates by sneaking a kiss to Eno’s cheek, making him laugh loudly.

“I’ve been having this idea,” Kip says. “About bringing Pascal to the beach for a long weekend. It’d be fun if I could convince you to come along. Take a break for a bit. Spend more than a day with us.”

“Ha, really?”

“Sure. You know, I’ve been trying to pressure Molly and Roy to do the same and just take a break, even if they don’t think they’d fall apart without it. And now that Pascal’s with me again, I’ve been thinking about taking my own advice. And I figure we ALL had a rough year, you know?”

“That’s...one way to put it.”

“Think about it at least, alright? When’s the last time we spent a few days in a row in the same place? And I know you like the beach.”

“What happened to trying to convince me to move to C?”

“I can work on a bunch of things at once,” Kip says flippantly. “And you don’t have to move. It would be great to have you closer, of course, but I just want you to do whatever’s best for yourself, and if it’s staying put then...I’ve gotten used to the train rides by now.”

“Well, I’m not sure I wouldn’t be intruding on your and Pascal’s honeymoon,” Eno says.

Kip laughs.

“It’s just the beach,” he says. “If I was trying to be all that romantic about it, I’d wanna go on a getaway that’s a little more special. And it’d be awesome if you came along. It’s only supposed to be a break—if I wanted to just fuck him the whole time, we might as well just stay in his apartment. I’d love for us to get to hang out with you and know you were relaxing a bit too. And you and Pascal get along super easily. You know how hard it is to feel stressed around him. And I know YOU can be super chill when you want to be.”

Eno giggles. 

“Well...I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Why wouldn’t it be. You can think about it, since it’s all just an idea I have right now that’s so vague I haven’t even brought it up to Pascal yet. But you should agree, obviously.”

“Hm...I promise to think about it. You’re trying so hard to take care of me lately,” Eno laughs. “I hope you’re not worrying TOO much. I’m alright.”

“You’d say that to me even if you weren’t.”

Eno huffs a laugh and scrubs his fingers through the hair at the base of Kip’s head. Kip sticks out his tongue.

“But even though you won’t let me see when things aren’t okay, at least I know you well enough to know when you’re actually fine versus when you’re just trying to convince me you are,” Kip states, lifting his chin proudly. “And since I can’t get specifics and I know you’d never ask me to do anything to help you, I have to try to...be proactive for once, right?”

“Ha—“ Eno’s expression is caught between slightly incredulous surprise and a warm smile. “I’m not THAT bad. I’m just...used to trying to keep you safe. I suppose I can’t think of myself as having that role anymore, huh.”

“You’ve always been hard to pin down, even when you’re not trying to protect anybody,” Kip says, giving Eno a look. “So I might as well act like you always need comforting, since I can’t count on you to tell me or anyone else whether you do or don’t. I’d rather be nice to you and keep in touch even when you’re okay than always be assuming you don’t need anything even when you might. That just makes sense to me.”

“Aw—“ Eno laughs softly. “I can’t argue with that.”

Kip quirks a smile as he raises his mug for a drink. Eno does the same.

“I know you felt like you had to try to protect me from what you and Kent and Yumi were working on,” Kip says towards his tea. “But I hope you know that even back then, that wasn’t why I cared about you. I knew enough to realize things were dangerous, and I appreciated that you were trying to keep me from worrying too much, and all the help you gave me just by...listening and trying to cheer me up was really fantastic. But I never expected any of you to be able to keep me safe. I...”

He sighs quietly and tilts his head, gently thumbing the rim of the mug.

“I never blamed you that you couldn’t,” he continues. “And if I hadn’t been able to stay with you those first few nights, I...”

His smile is a little flat.

“You WERE keeping me safe then,” he says. “As much as anyone could. And...I’m lucky you’re a therapist. I couldn’t’ve talked to anyone else about all the specifics like I can with you. And I would’ve taken even longer to finally start therapy if I hadn’t known I could go to you. And even if that wasn’t true, I’m still really glad my appointments are with you. I can feel comfortable talking about anything I want to. And you know how to push me without pressuring me, and that’s...something I’m ridiculously grateful for. I know it took a while for me to really make any progress in the beginning, but...coming to you for therapy has helped me so much. It still does.”

His face is warm; he restlessly shifts his hold on the mug. He’s about to speak again when Eno’s arm goes around his back and Eno’s side presses against his in a gentle hug. Kip tilts his head towards him. 

“...It isn’t true that you didn’t make much progress at first,” Eno murmurs as he slides his arm from Kip’s shoulders a minute later. “But simply making the decision to start therapy was the most significant step of progress of all. And simply returning each week, especially when it was initially so difficult for you, was another example of the effort you were putting forth. Most everyone takes a while to get used to the experience, even if they aren’t nervous or uncomfortable. That’s an expected part of people’s initial appointments. And it’s always part of the job to figure out what works best for each individual.”

“Okay, okay...” Kip waves him off. “I get it.”

“Sorry,” Eno laughs. “I should save it for the appointments, huh—but I can’t help myself sometimes.”

Kip smiles. 

“You’re great, Eno,” he says, and looks over at him. “And a good person. Better than me, I’ve always thought—including now.”

“C’mon!” Eno complains loudly. “I just SAID I switch to therapist mode too easily. How am I supposed to let something like THAT slide?”

Kip laughs and rubs Eno’s arm.

“Sorry, I know I shouldn’t say it, but I DO think so. You’re like...a way better version of me.”

“Hardly!”

Kip shrugs and turns back to his tea.

“You know...” Eno leans back in his chair. “You can’t expect me to take so many compliments without retaliating at some point here.”

“Sure I can.”

“Are you calling my bluff, then?”

“Sure.”

Eno shakes his head.

“Mon doux...” he mutters, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a smile.

“I love you,” Kip retorts, and rubs it in with a kiss to Eno’s forehead.


	7. Chapter 7

As soon as he’s back in his bedroom, Kip peels off all his clothes and dumps them in his hamper and deposits himself onto his mattress. He spends an hour in bed, asleep for half of it, then gets up and wraps a towel around himself to walk across the little hallway into the bathroom to take a shower. He mentally composes a text to send Pascal as he washes himself off, then sends it while he sits on the edge of his bed to dry off.

Feeling a bit hungry, he takes some extra time to cook some leftovers into something a little fancier than just a straightforward reheat. He gets his phone and makes a note with a list of things he needs to buy tomorrow to make about two dozen small parfaits, and then looks at Kate’s recent posted photos, smiling softly at her eagerness to test her new camera. He leaves a couple of comments.

He pretends he thinks he can put it off for a bit, then goes into his room to decide what he’s going to wear when he changes out of his tee and boxers to go over to Pascal’s. And then he decides what he should wear when he comes home from work tomorrow night and inevitably into the middle of the get-together that should already be respectably underway by the time he closes the café. He almost chooses a fairly refined look for the latter outfit before deciding to go in the opposite direction with a simple fitted jeans and loose sweater combo that should hopefully sit somewhere between “casual” and “disarmingly flattering.”

Somehow it doesn’t occur to him until after he’s chosen this approach that Wallace is almost certain to be there, and in a flash he wonders if he’d find Kip’s planned outfit cute, then wonders if Wallace has ever actually considered him attractive—in practice, subjectively, not just in theory.

He blushes and pushes the question aside, but decides not to try to craft his look around making his sexual identity seem as irrelevant and inconsequential as possible.

He exhales slowly at the little swell of nerves that accompanies his thoughts of tomorrow night. He knows it’s about the last thing he needs to be worried about. After everything he’s been through, a small, relatively quiet social gathering of friends shouldn’t concern him in the least. And he knows it’ll be fine, he’ll be fine. Even if he’s nervous and feels somewhat out of place, nobody else will mind or bother him about it. 

Besides, Pascal will be there. And if for some reason he needs to, he can always slip away to his room.

He’s just a regular person with a regular life now. He can do things like this, and not feel like he’s only pretending at it somehow. 

But above all else, it’s not until tomorrow. Tonight he gets to stay at Pascal’s. And when tomorrow does arrive, he’s just going to take it in stride, one step at a time. 

—

Pascal lights up the moment Kip steps through the door of his shop. Kip goes to his now-usual spot at the end of the counter, leaning against it while Pascal finishes closing up, chatting with him as he does. 

He’s caught by surprise when Pascal steps in and nudges his chin up to press their lips together, holding the kiss for a few seconds. Kip beams as soon as Pascal pulls away, laughing and feeling his own blush. Pascal smiles affectionately at him and trails the end of his arm down the side of Kip’s face before moving back to the register.

The evening air is pleasant, low humidity and slightly breezy but warm enough for Kip. There are trails of clouds that catch the color of the late sunset, yet the blue of the sky is deepened enough for a scattering of stars. After making their way down the first few streets, Kip puts his hand to Pascal’s arm to be held.

This time when they get to Pascal’s door, Kip is imagining himself being so familiar with it that it’s literally an everyday experience to step into this apartment. He feels warmer and more at ease the moment he’s inside, and could blame it on the cozy aesthetics, but knows it’s just the fact that this space is purely Pascal’s. 

And maybe his own, too.

—

Kip lets Pascal make them two cups of tea, and sits with him at his small table to talk as they slowly drink them down. It’s refreshing to get to hear all the minute details of Pascal’s day.

“...Do you worry about anything?” Kip asks after a pause in the conversation.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, uh...” Kip shrugs. “Eno and I were talking a lot about stuff like...how all of us are still dealing with what happened around E, and he was sort of reminding me that I’m probably...upset about my family again, and I know that that whole time was...really difficult for you too, and...”

He tilts his cup to the side, watching the shift of the red liquid inside.

“I’m not saying you have to be stressed about any of that stuff,” he clarifies. “I’m also just... You’re the one running a whole store, and I know you can be bothered about smaller things too, like just a bad day or one thing going wrong or...anything at all.”

He shrugs again and smiles softly.

“I guess I’m just wanting to remind you that if you ever have anything you want to complain or vent about, I’d be really happy to listen and talk about it. I know you’re a lot less bothered by little things than I am, but still. I just want you to feel like you can talk to me about anything.”

“Oh, I do,” Pascal says immediately.

Kip looks up at him.

“It was true before, and it’s still true now,” Pascal says. “I’ve always felt like I could tell you anything.”

Kip smiles.

“Awesome,” he says. A laugh bubbles from him and he sits a bit further upright.

“I’ve honestly been doing alright about all of it, though,” Pascal says, tilting his head thoughtfully. “I guess...the whole time I was just focused on you more than anything. I was just so happy to see you okay in the end, and...well, ever since we started talking again after everything, I’ve still been pretty focused on you.”

He blushes and lifts his teacup.

“I don’t mean that to sound weird,” he laughs. 

“No, I get it—“ Kip laughs too. “I felt the same way. I was thinking about you all the time.”

“And, well, I don’t really have much to be worried about nowadays. Don’t get me wrong, I really, really want the shop to work out, but if I’m with you either way, it’s all okay anyways.”

“You are,” Kip says. “You’re gonna be with me either way, I mean.”

“Oh...” Pascal grins and pushes some hair back from his face. 

“I wanna stay with you,” Kip tells him. “I’m...well, I’m going to.”

Pascal’s smile flickers on beautifully, and Kip feels his own smile beam in response.

“I know I’ve said so before,” Kip says, “But I like to keep saying it.”

“Y-yeah, I have no problem with hearing it again,” Pascal laughs. “And I can tell you too. That I want to be with you for...”

He blushes and glances at the tabletop.

“Well, you know. As long as you wanna be with me.”

Kip cocks his head, smiling softly.

“...I think I want to be with you for as long as possible,” he says.

“Heh—alright. That sounds great.”

Kip smiles again and takes a sip of his tea, its warmth spreading into his chest.

—

Kip doesn’t wait all that long before backing Pascal up against the wall of his hallway and dropping to his knees in front of him, kissing and mouthing at his dick through his pants until the fabric’s being pressed out by his erection.

“Kip...” Pascal’s voice is low and a little breathless. 

Kip smiles up at him, then pulls his waistband down. 

He blows Pascal with a kind of insistence rather than any attempt to make it last all that long—and it’s mostly for his own benefit. He sucks Pascal enthusiastically and works him hard, taking him far enough down his throat to leave both hands free, cupping and massaging his sack with one while groping his ass for leverage with the other. 

He gets Pascal all shaky and incoherent; each groan goes straight to his own dick. He sucks and swallows as much as he can—which has to be almost as arousing for himself as it is for Pascal, he loves doing this so much, he loves to take all of Pascal’s full erection into his mouth, taste it on his tongue, feel its heat and pressure, suck him relentlessly while anticipating the reward of the way Pascal sounds when he orgasms, of his arms stroking his hair, trying to grasp it, of a few gratifying pulses of cum down his throat. He’d missed all of this so, so dearly.

And Pascal’s reactions give him the nicest blend of happiness and arousal. The helpless stutters of Pascal’s hips, every crack in his voice, his gorgeous moans and whines, his euphoric sighs of Kip’s name. Kip adores it, just like he adored the first time he blew Pascal, like he’s adored every time in between. And as it was so miserable to go a year without it, and since indulging in this is so fantastic for the both of them, Kip’s more than glad to go down on Pascal whenever the urge arises.

“Kip, I’m gonna cum in a sec,” Pascal gasps. “Kip—“

“Mmm,” Kip answers, sliding to the end of Pascal’s erection. 

He pulls all the way off; a thread of spit momentarily connects his bottom lip and the head of Pascal’s dick. Kip draws some deep breaths, putting both hands around Pascal’s shaft and pumping him to make up for his break. He pushes his tongue to the tip, pressing it hard against the leaking slit while panting around it.

There’s the telltale slip in Pascal’s control—he thrusts back into Kip’s mouth and Kip obligingly slides him in, sucking with each push down his length.

“Fuck!” Pascal whimpers. “Oh, god—Kip!”

Kip savors every beautiful instant they spend hovering so near his point of no return. Then Pascal cries out and Kip digs his fingertips into his hips and pushes his nose against his pelvis.

“Kip!”

Pascal’s whole body twitches and Kip shoves back against the thrust of his climax, pinning his hips to the wall. He holds his throat open as well as he can as Pascal cums with what feels like an especially generous load. He swallows slowly while the flow eases up, then slides off to suck the last of it right from the tip.

He drags a few long licks from the very base of Pascal’s cock up to the head, and earns a quivering whine from Pascal. He kisses the end and then lets go, putting his hands flat against Pascal’s thighs instead.

“Good?” he murmurs, and looks up at him. 

It looks like the grip Pascal’s suckers have on the wall are most of what’s holding him up. His torso heaves with each breath, his hair clings to his forehead, the expression on his gorgeous face would almost seem pained if Kip didn’t know so much better.

Kip smiles and puts his palm against his own erection, hips twitching immediately into the pressure.

“Pascal...” His voice wavers momentarily as he rubs at himself. “You taste so good, babe.”

A whimper slips into Pascal’s heavy exhale.

Kip caves and yanks his belt undone, opening his fly and shoving his hand inside. He lets himself moan openly as he strokes himself, his hand already wetted by his own spit on Pascal’s cock. 

“Pas,” he sighs, gazing up at him.

He’s suddenly aware of how overheated he feels, and clumsily strips his tee off one-handed, wiping some spit from his chin on the hem before tossing it aside. He leans back on one hand while he pulls his dick out with the other, pumping himself faster, tilting his head back, eyes closed.

“Holy shit...”

Kip blinks his eyes open again to see Pascal looking right at him, face flushed red practically down his throat.

“You’re—SO fucking hot,” Pascal breathes.

Kip smiles weakly, rocking into his own hand. Pascal leans forward from the shoulders, pulling his arms from the walls one row of suckers at a time. He slowly sinks down until he’s kneeling in front of Kip; Kip holds his gaze steadily, twisting his wrist a little with each stroke. 

Pascal leans in and their mouths slide messily against each other—Pascal’s weight tips them over until Kip’s on his back on the rug, letting Pascal feel him up all over his chest and pull his hand away, wrap his arm around his cock and take over jerking him off. They make out until Kip gets too short of breath, and Pascal drags his mouth to Kip’s neck, to his shoulders, his chest instead.

Kip lets his body’s movement and his low groans of pleasure flow freely, and in seemingly no time at all he’s thrusting sharply against Pascal as he’s drawn uncontrollably towards his peak.

Pascal hums in his throat, gently takes Kip’s nipple between his teeth, and pumps him so hard that Kip can scarcely push back. 

“Pas-cal—!” Kip whimpers, his spine arching up in a writhing burst of arousal. “Pas!”

Pascal tucks his head into the crook of Kip’s neck and wraps his arm around Kip’s side, pulling him close just in time for the heights of his orgasm.

The moment he has the strength for it, Kip wraps his arms around Pascal’s back with a deep breath. Pascal nuzzles his nose against Kip’s jaw, planting soft kisses there. Kip buries a hand in Pascal’s hair and gently pulls his head down until it’s resting on Kip’s chest. 

Kip closes his eyes and absorbs the feeling of Pascal’s heartbeat and breathing, both as rhythms pressing against him and warmth washing over his body.

—

“Here you go, babe. The rest’ll be done in about ten minutes or so.”

Pascal slips a bowl of salad over to Kip.

“Thanks.”

Pascal sits down across from him with a relaxed sigh.

“You know,” Kip says. “I’d ask you if you’d thought of anything I could do to help you out around here, but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore if I’m just gonna be living with you soon.”

Pascal laughs.

“Yeah, I guess not,” he says. 

“I mean, I haven’t talked to Roy and Molly about it yet,” Kip says, spearing some lettuce and carrots with his fork.

“It’s okay, we DID only just talk about it the other day.”

“Yeah, and they’ve been looking forward to having everyone over, and they’re busy with that right now—I figured I’d wait until afterwards.”

“Yeah, that’s this Friday, right?”

“Tomorrow, yeah,” Kip laughs. 

“Okay, I thought so—I just wanted to double-check.”

“You’re coming, right?”

“Yeah,” Pascal says. “It’ll be cool to see people. And I can stand in front of you to hide you anytime you want.”

“Ha—“ Kip swings his foot forward to tap Pascal’s ankle. “You probably won’t have to. But I appreciate it. It’ll be really great knowing you’re there too, getting to have a nice time.”

“Aw...” Pascal giggles. 

“It sounds like people are planning to arrive around six or seven,” Kip says. “But I’m closing, so I probably won’t be at the apartment until, like, eight thirty or so—you’ll be there a while before I am.”

“Oh—want me to wait for you?”

“Huh? Oh, no, you should go ahead over as soon as you’re done with work. I’m excited for you to get to hang out with everybody, seriously. I don’t want you to stay away just because I’m not there too yet.”

“Well, I could still come meet you and walk back with you,” Pascal says.

“Oh...” Kip bites the edge of his lip, considering it. “Well...but it’d probably take you away from the apartment for about half an hour or so.”

Pascal shrugs. 

“That’s alright, I’d love to get to be able to pick you up. It’d feel worth stepping out for a little bit.”

Kip smiles.

“Well, then...I can’t really argue,” he says. “I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t enjoy that.”

“Okay, cool. I’ll head over to get there at around eight?”

“You could probably aim more for about ten after, if you want.”

“Okay. I’ll show up sometime in that range.”

Kip drops his head and smiles.

“Oh!” Pascal sets his water down. “And here’s some great news—you can totally come with me to one of my sculpting classes.”

“Oh, shit,” Kip laughs. “That’s great! I really wanna watch. I mean, not in an annoying way hopefully, like you guys are in kindergarten or something, but...I dunno. I just think it’s cool, and I’ve never gotten to see you actually working on any of it even though you’re really good...”

“Aw, no worries. Everyone in the class is really chill. And I think it’s really sweet you’re so interested.”

“Heh—well, I promise it’s not just an act to impress you, or something. I do think it’s great how good you are at it. And I love even more how much you like it. Cuz I promise even harder that I’d be into whatever stuff you like to do, even if it was something I would think was super boring.”

“Aww, see? Even sweeter.” Pascal beams at him.

Kip has to laugh again.

“It’s probably pretty impossible for you to out-boring me, though,” he says. “For a little while in high school, one of my things was geology. Lucky for you that interest had pretty much faded out by the time we met.”

“Geology?” Pascal echoes, tilting his head. “Did you like, collect rocks? Was there a club?”

“Heh—I doubt there were enough people willing to join a club if there WAS one, but yes, I did use to have a rock collection. A pretty small one though. I sort of forgot about it until now that we’re talking about it. It was all kinds of even more boring shit than fossils and crystals, though. There was also, like...chemistry and soil-testing and sediment layers that I would read about, too. I can’t even explain why I got so into it. I never like, felt like I wanted to be a geologist. I just...thought rocks were cool, I guess. It doesn’t get much more boring and nerdy than that.”

Pascal’s expression is almost luminous as he gazes as Kip.

“What?” Kip laughs. 

Pascal shakes his head.

“I dunno, I just think that’s fantastic,” he says. “You’re full of such surprises...”

“Ha, yeah, well...I dunno, it’s neat how much shit people can tell from rocks. And how some develop, and all that kind of thing. I think I just sort of liked having my own thing to be interested in, too. Like, back then I was even less sure of who I was and what I even liked to do. So I guess I was testing out if ‘guy who likes reading about dirt’ was who I was. So that’s just part of me, I guess.”

Pascal smiles fondly. 

“I used to practice the flute in high school,” he says. “I wouldn’t exactly say it was a passion, and I never got all that great at it, probably for obvious reasons. But it could be fun. And I played a little baseball, too.”

“Oh my god,” Kip breathes. “You can’t just say that. You have to, like, tell me all about this.”

Pascal laughs and obliges.

—

Kip sits on the floor with Pascal while they watch a movie, and both of them have a bowl of ice cream and Kip sits in Pascal’s lap until he gets up to carry their dishes to the kitchen sink. When he comes back he starts giving Pascal a back massage that shifts into a backscratch that shifts into absentmindedly running his hands along the expanse of Pascal’s back and sides and shoulders—and repeating all of it in an ongoing cycle. By the time the movie’s over, Pascal’s shirt has been removed for convenience’s sake, and Kip has his arms around him, resting his chin on Pascal’s shoulder.

Then he entices Pascal to lie down on the couch so he can rub and scratch his back even more easily. 

But something occurs to him a few minutes in, and he stops.

“...You okay?” Pascal’s voice is slightly muffled by the pillow his head rests on.

“Yeah—uh, yeah, sorry...” 

Kip presses his lips together.

“I just thought of something kind of weird,” he says. 

“Uh-huh?” Pascal prompts.

“With kind of a weird question.”

“Okay.”

“Do you...know what they put in place of where my house used to be?” Kip asks slowly.

He blushes, but is surprised at how relatively easy it was to voice this to Pascal. He’s more worried about making Pascal feel uncomfortable somehow than he is that he’ll get upset.

For a couple of moments, Pascal is silent. Then he rolls slightly towards his side to push himself up until he’s sitting beside Kip, looking at him.

“Yeah, I do,” he says quietly. 

“I’ve never gone over there,” Kip explains. “I don’t think I’ve had it in me yet. But...I don’t know. I don’t think it makes a difference what’s there or not—I shouldn’t have just brought it up randomly, but for some reason I just...thought of...”

“It’s alright,” Pascal says. “What were you thinking of?”

Kip scratches his ear.

“I was just—the rock collection I used to have,” he says. “I used to keep it in the back of a drawer, but—they’re rocks. I doubt they were burned away, you know? But it doesn’t make sense to ask about what they built on top of all that, as if any answer would mean there was a chance any of it would still be there. I mean, I’m sure there was some other shit that wasn’t completely destroyed and that had to be cleared away. But unless somebody picked through that mess for each piece of it and then they put a museum about it on top of the house...”

He trails off with an exhale of a laugh, shaking his head.

“And it’s not even like I think I’d care that much about seeing the rocks again,” he says. “Like I said, that was a thing from about a decade ago, and it wasn’t even the interesting kind of rocks. It’s not like I’d want them now. I guess it’s just something I hadn’t thought about—where those things ended up. And then it got me thinking about how I have no idea what happened to anything that was over there. Like, for all I know, there’s still just a pile of debris sitting there.”

He blinks and glances down at the floor.

“That’s not what it is, is it?” he asks with a slight grimace.

“No, it isn’t,” Pascal confirms. “I could tell you what IS there, if you want. But if you’d rather wait until later to find out, that’s okay.”

Kip looks at the wall for a moment, turning it over. But he doesn’t find some sense of dread or panic that he might’ve expected from himself. He probably couldn’t have a gentler way of experiencing this moment than by Pascal telling him what’s replaced the smoldering remains of his old home.

“...You can tell me,” he says.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. It’s fine. I think I ought to finally know soon anyway, and having you tell me is probably the nicest way to do it.”

“Okay.”

Pascal just looks at him for a moment, maybe giving him another chance to back out. Kip squeezes the edge of the couch cushions and looks steadily back at him.

“It’s a garden now,” Pascal says.

“...Really?”

“Yeah. Just kind of a small one, of course, but it’s supposed to be pretty nice. There’s this little fountain there. And there’s a few benches and stuff. But I think it’s mostly a bunch of plants and flowers and stuff.”

Kip blushes slightly.

“I’ve never actually, like, walked up to the archway there and gone inside,” Pascal says. “I kinda felt like it wasn’t my place to do that without you. But I’ve seen pictures from inside it and it looks nice, and not like they tried to make it some huge deal or anything. Just more like a place to go to relax and sit in a garden for a while, I guess. I didn’t know about it either till I opened up shop here and learned most of what was up and down Berkley. And I looked it up and it says the garden was created a few months after the fire. I think it’s been kind of a community thing. Like, they didn’t want just some other building put up there.”

Kip nods slowly as he listens.

“...You okay?” Pascal asks again.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Pascal puts an arm loose around Kip’s shoulders.

“It’s just weird to think of ANYTHING being there,” Kip says. “I think maybe I’m glad it’s not, like, another house or something. But...I still don’t know if I’m ready to go over there, though.”

“Oh, totally,” Pascal says. “I don’t think you have to go see it if you don’t want to.”

He squeezes Kip in against his side; Kip smiles and tilts his head until it rests against Pascal’s shoulder.

—

Kip is kneeling by the lilac bush when Pascal comes in the bedroom, trailing his fingertip along the soft perimeter of a leaf.

“How long do these usually bloom?” he asks. “I feel like I’ve never paid attention to exactly how long this one’s lasted.”

“Uh...a couple months, I think,” Pascal answers. “I mean, for regular lilacs it’s more like a week or so, but these houseplant types last a while longer than that. I feel like this one usually flowers from sometime in May to...August or so.”

“Hmm... Yeah, that feels right,” Kip says. 

He leans in and breathes in the scent, then pivots around to face Pascal.

Without preamble, he asks: “D’you wanna fuck me?”

Pascal huffs a laugh and blushes.

“I think I want you to fuck me,” Kip says. “I mean, I pretty much always want that, right? But...now feels like a really great time for it.”

Pascal smiles at him which makes him laugh, and then he laughs harder when Pascal walks over and effortlessly lifts him up right from the ground into his arms. Being held up in the air against Pascal’s chest gives Kip his first beat of arousal before he’s even put on the bed.

Only a few minutes later, he’s shoving his face against the mattress, clutching at the end of the towel laid out underneath his folded legs. Pascal’s erection is hot and fully hard and slick with plenty of lube, and he’s teasing Kip by sliding its length up and down along the rut of his ass at a leisurely pace.

Kip gasps intermittently, grabs at the towel and blankets, and tilts his hips to follow the motion of Pascal’s dick, making the contact as intense as he can manage.

Pascal trails his arms down Kip’s back, the weight pressing Kip’s chest a little harder to his thighs, then leans in to drop a kiss on the back of his neck.

Kip is holding on to each sensation now and imagines himself holding on to it tomorrow too—nothing can be so stressful or uncomfortable that he can’t comfort himself with experiences like this: being naked on Pascal’s bed, the thrill of feeling Pascal’s erection pressing up against his ass, everything relaxation and arousal and this feeling of being satisfied being himself, being with Pascal, getting to have this and knowing they’ll do it again soon.

He’s almost-not-quite caught off guard by the tapered end of Pascal’s arm almost entering him, smoothly circling the dip. He stills himself with a tiny whine and Pascal laughs warmly before compliantly pushing into him. 

Kip goes as relaxed as he can when Pascal starts easing his cock inside; its fairly effortless for him at this point for him to bottom for Pascal, he’s done it for years and years already, but it’s still as good as ever to feel himself giving way and opening for Pascal, letting himself be filled with this penetrating heat and pressure, anticipating the smooth drag of Pascal’s rhythm and all the pleasure of being fucked by someone who knows how to work his body in the best ways.

“You want it hard, or do you want me to go easier?” Pascal murmurs. He’s rocking back and forth just a couple of inches in either direction, slow and steady.

“Mm...” Kip curves his back just slightly to angle Pascal’s thrusts just a bit more towards his prostate, and tenses momentarily at the result. “I dunno...”

“Me neither.” Pascal’s voice is already deep and rough. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

Kip’s moan crackles at the end.

“I-I...” It’s hard to concentrate on talking, it already feels so good. “I guess just...oh, god, that’s nice...”

“Mm.” Pascal repeats the little snap at the end of his thrusts, hips bumping gently against Kip’s ass. “I think I’m gonna start slow, and you can tell me to go faster anytime you want, or not, ‘kay?”

“Yeah,” Kip sighs, grasping at the blanket. “Go.”

Fifteen minutes later, Kip hasn’t told Pascal to speed up. He’s being fucked with beautiful steadiness, every single stroke meeting his body exactly right, giving him a hot pulse of pleasure with just long enough a pause in between to sharpen the next one’s sensation. His own dick is brushing against the towel underneath him, the end dragging back and forth against the fibers with every push and pull of their rhythm. He rests the side of his face against the mattress, eyes closed and mouth open, letting himself absorb every ounce of his own arousal.

Half an hour later and Pascal is fucking him a little harder, but only just. Both of them are hot and sweaty and breathing heavy; Pascal’s arm has gripped onto his back; a soft moan is drawn from Kip’s throat every few seconds; Pascal keeps encouraging him quietly, saying his name, asking him how much he likes it.

At a few points Pascal leans back—the first couple times Kip assumes he’s giving himself a slight break, but then when it happens again he opens his eyes to see Pascal’s gaze fixed down between them, watching his cock fucking Kip with such focus that Kip is sure that the view is his sole motivation for tilting away from Kip’s body. He sighs happily and curves his spine up to help make up for the change in angle.

It must have been nearing an hour and a half before Kip starts to really feel a fiery urge to reach orgasm—but his sense of time is never exactly at its most accurate during sex. 

“Pasc—“ he whines. “I want you to make me cum. God, I—I wanna make you cum inside me—“

“Nn—“ Pascal curls in over him and thrusts hard enough to shift them off-balance; Kip cries out hoarsely and reaches his arms out in front of himself.

“Pas!” he gasps. 

Pascal curls his free arm under the crook of Kip’s arm and back up around his shoulder and all at once that much more of his weight is pushed against Kip’s back, pinning him down, shoving the whole length of his cock against the soft friction of the towel. It would start to hurt if he held them like this too long, so Kip knows that means he’ll get to climax in no time at all, and it excites him wildly.

“YEAH, Pasc!” He laughs through a moan. “Fuck me!”

And he lets go as Pascal drives him right into a brilliant, ear-ringing orgasm.

He’s still shivering gently, gasping for air when the last post-climax rocks of Pascal’s hips slow to a halt. With a quiet whimper, Pascal puts his forehead between Kip’s shoulderblades, thick hair falling against Kip’s skin. They lie there for a few minutes, simply breathing together, until Pascal plants a soft kiss to Kip’s spine and leans back up, slowly pulling out.

“...Thanks for going so long,” Kip murmurs. “God, I loved it.”

“Mm...” Pascal bends in again and kisses Kip’s cheek. “It was pretty good for me, too.”

Kip blinks his eyes open and smiles. He holds his hand out, and Pascal reaches out and takes it with a gentle squeeze.

“You wanna take a shower?” Pascal asks him. “Hot as you want it.”

“Yeah,” Kip breathes. “Sure. I just need a minute before I can stand up...”

“Okay.” Pascal slumps against the bed next to him with a contented sigh. 

—

Kip stays in a little longer than Pascal does, scrubbing down every inch of himself for the second time. Then he sits in the steam for a minute before drying himself down and brushing his teeth. By the time he gets out, the bed has already been straightened back out and Pascal is laying out his clothes for the next morning.

“Hey, handsome.” He walks over and kisses Pascal’s shoulder. “Getting ready for bed?”

“Mmhm.” Pascal slings an arm around Kip’s waist and kisses the back of his ear. “You wear me out, babe.”

Kip laughs, leaning his weight against his boyfriend for a moment.

“I know you aren’t working till tomorrow afternoon,” Pascal says. “You don’t have to get up when I do. Or, anyways, you definitely don’t have to leave when I do. You can sleep later if you want, and go out whenever you feel like.”

“Oh,” Kip says simply. It surprises him a little somehow. “Thanks, yeah...”

A few minutes later they’re settling underneath the blankets together, Pascal in a loose tank and boxers, Kip naked. 

“Hey, are you tired?” Pascal asks, voice already quieted. “You can stay up longer if you want to, y’know. I don’t wanna make you lie here awake just because I’m ready for bed.”

“Aw, it’s fine,” Kip says. “Even if I wasn’t tired, I’d like to keep you company anyways, and then I could just get back up for a while. But I’m ready to go to sleep, too.”

“Mm...” Pascal rolls over to face him. “So if I wanna cuddle you and my arms get stuck when I fall asleep, that’d be okay?”

“Sounds great, yeah.”

Pascal hums happily and snuggles in until his head is on Kip’s chest and an arm is laid across his stomach and up his side. Kip slides his hand to the nape of Pascal’s neck and drapes his other arm around his back. He plays softly with the roots of Pascal’s hair, feeling the weight of Pascal’s arm pressing back against his breathing.

“I’m really glad you came over,” Pascal murmurs. “I’m glad every day I get to spend time with you.”

“Yeah. I love it too.”

“Mm...” Pascal rubs his face against Kip’s skin; his scruff gives a pleasantly gentle scratch.

They lie quietly for a minute.

“Pascal?”

“Yeah?”

“...I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Kip rubs his thumb along the column of Pascal’s neck.

“I’m so in love with you,” he says, gazing at the ceiling he can barely see.

There’s a moment, and then Pascal lifts his head. He drags himself up a little awkwardly to kiss Kip’s jaw, then resettles. Kip threads his fingers into Pascal’s hair.

“I can tell you I love you a million times, and I probably will,” he continues. “But I know that’s not enough. I’m...going to let you know I love you in everything else I say to you, too. And with everything I can do for you. And in every other way I know how, I’m gonna make sure you never have to doubt how much it means to me that I get to be with you.”

Pascal is still and quiet for a few moments, then his arm slides up to cup Kip’s face, and his weight is shifting closer until his lips touch the corner of Kip’s. He tilts his face and kisses Kip properly, with the sort of soft warmth that could melt Kip in the dead of January.

“I know how seriously you mean it when you say you love me,” he says quietly, an inch from Kip’s mouth. “And I know it means that you know how much I love you, too.”

He leans in for a peck of a kiss.

“It’s so wonderful of you to say all that,” he continues. “I love how important it is to you. But I also want to be sure you know that I don’t doubt how you feel about me.”

“Yeah,” Kip says, voice lowered to a matching whisper. “It’s not like I want to treat you the best I can just to prove anything to you, or to myself or anyone else. I wanna let you know how much I love you because that’s how I feel, and that’s what you deserve. You deserve to be loved as much as I’m in love with you.”

“Oh,” Pascal sighs, stroking the side of Kip’s face. “I’m so lucky I met you, Kip. I’m so lucky you love me...”

Kip exhales roughly—the idea that Pascal is lucky, despite all the ways his involvement with Kip made him suffer—

“Man, you’re just an...amazingly beautiful person, Pascal. And I don’t just mean how handsome you are. Anyone you ever met who’s worth any of your time would love you as much as I do. I mean, even before I knew you loved me back, I could tell how special you are. I knew that if I got closer to you, the only thing I could do was love you, and I was right.”

“Kip...” Pascal kisses his throat, twice. “If I can help you see how great a person you are...”

Kip smiles weakly.

“Being with you is everything I want most,” Pascal murmurs. “As long as I have that, I’m happy.”

Kip reaches for Pascal’s arm, spreading his hand to match its curve.

“Kip—“ Pascal whispers. “If I really had died back there, I wouldn’t have regretted it. I got to be with you and help you. If I hadn’t made it out, I wouldn’t have wanted to do things differently. I just always want to be with you. I want to be there for you.”

Kip stops breathing for a moment. A tear is trickling from the corner of his eye towards his ear before he even realizes he’s shed one. He exhales heavily, then wraps both arms around Pascal as though mirroring the hug he gave Pascal back then. The one that made him realize that sometimes his body could move on its own even when he wasn’t being overwhelmed by pain or heat or pleasure or cold, that he could sprint forward and crash into Pascal and embrace as much of him as could fit into his arms, hold him as close as quantum physics could allow, and clutch Pascal’s head against his own, all without being conscious of any voluntary command telling himself to move. Same as a knock to his knee got a kick, same as a needle to the arm  
got a flinch, same as a handclap behind him got a twitch of his ear, the sight of Pascal alive and whole got a crushing hug and hammering heart.

“I’m so happy you’re okay,” he mumbles. “If anything awful had happened to you, I think that I would’ve been the one to regret it.”

“...C’mere,” Pascal says, and pushes himself up, the dip of his weight on the mattress now reconcentrated to where he kneels beside Kip’s legs.

“What’re you doing?” Kip mumbles.

“C’mere,” Pascal repeats. “I wanna hold you. I want you to feel me.”

Kip slowly sits up, and reaches out towards Pascal’s silhouette. Once his fingertips brush the hair of Pascal’s chest, Pascal takes his wrist and gently guides his hand to his face. Kip follows, crawling forward until he’s close enough for Pascal to bring him in to straddle his lap.

Pascal’s nose grazes Kip’s temple as his arm wraps around Kip’s back, holding them stomach to stomach.

“Kipland,” he whispers.

Kip’s breath hitches. He blinks and another tear he didn’t know was there slips halfway down his cheek. Pascal’s lips press soft and warm against the corner of his jaw. 

“Pas,” he responds. He brings one hand to Pascal’s shoulder and one hand to the side of his neck. He slides it up and cups Pascal’s cheek, stroking the side of his nose with his thumb. “I...”

Pascal turns his head and kisses the heel of Kip’s palm.

“I didn’t die,” Pascal murmurs. “Neither did you.”

“I know.” Kip’s laugh is flat and quiet. “I just remember how it felt thinking I’d just seen you alive for the last time. And you were gonna be killed just because you loved me.”

“...I thought you might be killed before I had a chance to make it back to you, too,” Pascal whispers. “And...that night that I got the call about the fire, I...thought you were dead. For about half an hour, I thought they’d told me you were dead.”

Kip tenses.

“Half an hour?” he repeats weakly. 

“Yeah,” Pascal murmurs. “Someone just...called me and told me your house burned down. It—I was trying to call you and obviously that didn’t work, and it was too early even for the morning news, and I could barely manage to sit down and use the computer and it seemed to run a thousand times slower than ever but all the information there was was that...the house was totally destroyed and people had died. Nothing else had been confirmed yet. I thought it meant you were dead, until Eno called me. I almost didn’t answer the phone because I was—I almost couldn’t even manage to walk over to it. And I couldn’t talk. And I was nearly convinced that it was going to be someone actually saying it, saying that you’d died, but I guess some tiny part of me was still hoping you’d made it somehow, and that let me pick it up. And that’s how I learned that you really can faint from surprise, because I swear to god I almost did. Like, it literally knocked me over, my knees just gave way and my vision went and I think the only reason I held on to the phone was because I was stuck to it. I was never...I couldn’t believe it at first. But as soon as it got through to me, it pushed everything else out of my head. It all just became a matter of getting to you as soon as I possibly could.”

Kip stares sightlessly towards the wall as he listens.

“Half an hour,” he murmurs again. “You really thought I was dead.”

“Yeah,” Pascal whispers.

“I know how that must’ve felt,” Kip breathes. “I was feeling it too.”

“Yeah.”

“I thought it was enough to kill me then. It was so bad that I almost thought I was going to die there. It was like I was killed already.”

He moves his hand again, sliding it down to Pascal’s jaw.

“When we were deciding to move back to C, I couldn’t stop thinking about...how it would feel to know you would die because of me. Or how I...”

He fades off and draws a deep breath to force himself to continue.

“I’ve thought a lot about how when my family died, they must’ve thought I was dying, too. They couldn’t have known I was going to make it out safe. I don’t know how that must’ve felt. And I—I just know that Kent would’ve blamed himself, and if he thought that I was dying because of him, he—must’ve—“

Kip gasps as he’s falling back, and he’s flat against the mattress with Pascal on top of him before he’s realized it. 

“Kip.” Pascal whispers his name urgently. “KIP.”

“W-what?” Kip asks breathlessly, shaken.

“They’re not hurting anymore.”

Kip understands him instantly, but his “Huh?” is reflexive.

“They aren’t in pain anymore. You’re the only one who still had to hurt after that night.”

“I-I know,” he says. 

“I know it’s horrible, but they weren’t even going to give Kent a chance to survive. It could’ve only lasted a minute.”

“But...how long did that half hour feel to you?” Kip argues. “The ten minutes between waking up and knowing they’d died felt longer than my entire life had been. And t-to...burn alive, I can’t even imagine how long a minute of that kind of pain must last.”

“You don’t know that,” Pascal breathes. “For all anyone knows, they were killed before the fire was set in the first place. And—and even if they weren’t, that fire was meant to act so fast that there wouldn’t be a chance of putting it out before it’d destroyed everything.”

Kip is shuddering in pulses from the hands up his arms. He must be so cold, but Pascal is touching him all over.

“You can’t know what they felt or what they thought, Kip. They might’ve passed out from the smoke. They might not have ever even had the chance to understand what was going on. You don’t know.”

“But they might’ve,” Kip says—it comes out with a hitch of a dry sob. “I wish they didn’t feel any pain but they might’ve, and—it might’ve been the worst pain in the world—“

Pascal’s forehead pushes against his.

“It was over soon even if they did. It’s over now. They aren’t in pain now, even if you have to keep thinking about it.”

The tension reaches Kip’s chest and makes him arch his back. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus on the feeling of Pascal.

They’re quiet until Kip is no longer shaking.

“...When I thought I was going to lose you in E,” Kip mumbles, “The pain from when they burned me was like nothing.”

Pascal slides his nose beside Kip’s.

“I would’ve...I don’t know what I would’ve done if things had gone differently,” Kip whispers.

“I know. But they didn’t go differently. Here I am.” Pascal kisses his lips. “Here you are.”

“When I thought they were going to kill you...”

“I know. I thought they were going to kill you, too.”

Kip brings his hands to either side of Pascal’s head.

“...I would’ve killed whoever did it to you, if they had,” Kip murmurs. “I would’ve killed whoever even put their fucking hands on you.”

It’s making him shake again.

“I knew I would’ve,” he says firmly. “And I—if anybody ever tries to hurt you like that ever again, I’d make sure they pay. I’d make them sorry they ever even thought about it. They don’t get to hurt you.”

Pascal kisses him.

“I mean it,” Kip says through his teeth. “I’m serious.”

“I know.”

His fingers twitch in Pascal’s hair. He squeezes his eyes shut and slides his hands to Pascal’s shoulders, trying to pull him down.

Pascal sinks onto his side, rolling Kip onto his side as well so they face each other.

“Nobody’s killed us,” he tells Kip. “And your family isn’t in pain. And you’re alive, and they didn’t kill either of us.”

“...I know,” Kip sighs, slinging his arm around Pascal’s shoulder.

“I’m glad I was in E to be afraid for you,” Pascal murmurs. “I couldn’t have done anything else. I love you too much to want to be kept out from any part of your life, no matter how hard it is. It’s never going to be a mistake to be with you. It wasn’t a mistake for you to be part of your family. It’s just how it is.”

Kip slowly rubs Pascal’s arm.

“...I’m sorry,” he says slowly. “You were trying to go to sleep. And you’re the one with work in the morning. And I’m talking about all this.”

“It’s alright. Sometimes there’s things you can only really say when you’re lying in bed.”

Kip laughs under his breath.

“Well...I feel like bringing up the fire twice in one evening is kind of a lot.”

Pascal leans in and his lips find Kip’s nose.

“It isn’t,” he says. “It’s a big part of your life. You can’t exactly talk about it too much. And I’m really the one who brought it up again anyways—I mentioned E.”

“I...uh, just know that all that stuff—E and the fire and all, it was a really hard time for you, too. I don’t want to make you feel bad by talking about it at times you’d rather not.”

“Hey,” Pascal says, touching Kip’s chest. “I’m always comfortable talking about it with you. Seriously.”

“...Okay,” Kip murmurs. “Thank you.”

He lifts Pascal’s arm to his mouth and kisses the suckers.

“I love you,” Pascal whispers.

Kip leans in carefully until their lips meet. The kiss lasts longer than he expects, and he doesn’t mind.

“Wanna lie against my chest again?” he offers Pascal. “I like holding you like that.”

“Yeah. I like it, too.”

Kip rolls onto his back and Pascal follows his lead until his head is over Kip’s sternum, arm draped around his side again. Kip rests a hand in Pascal’s hair, petting it slowly.

“I love you,” Kip murmurs, closing his eyes.

“...Your voice sounds so close when I lie here,” Pascal mumbles. 

“Is it too loud?”

“No, it’s nice.”

“...Want me to talk to you until you fall asleep?” he asks.

“If you wanted to, I wouldn’t stop you.”

Kip raises Pascal slightly with a deep breath.

“I’ll talk about how good you are,” he murmurs, and lets his head sink back into the pillow and his arms relax against Pascal. 

“Okay.”

“There’s a lot of places I could start,” he says. “One thing I wanna tell you is that, when I’m with you, I feel like...I’m really here.”

“Mm?”

“Like...a lot of the time, I kind of feel like I’m not...exactly real? I mean, I know I am. But I feel less like a person than everyone around me. Or like I’m a step away from everything, or I’m just there watching, like there’s...sort of a glass box around me. I kind of feel like I’m held apart from life somehow. It’s subtle, and kind of hard to describe, but...”

He tangles his fingers in Pascal’s hair.

“I don’t feel that way around you. I feel like I’m real, and I’m... It’s like there’s nothing separating me from everything. I don’t feel like there’s some...invisible barrier holding me back. I feel like I’m really here.”

Pascal hums and rolls his head to kiss Kip’s chest. He reaches up and brushes the end of his arm along Kip’s cheek.

“You always seem so present,” he murmurs. “Especially when you’re happy. You’re...so alive. And you see everyone around you. I guess that...when I’m close to you, when you look at me, I feel like it shows that I’m here. I... When you look at me...”

He sighs softly.

“I remember when I first met you,” he says. “You were looking at me so... I mean, you looked right at me like you already knew me. Like it was so great that I was there, and I was so interesting that it was enough to just...bring everything else to a stop.”

Pascal’s arm squeezes him slightly.

“I mean, even back then, I didn’t love when random people paid too much attention to me. But I...didn’t feel that way when I got attention from you. It didn’t seem like you were looking at me because of who my brother was. And I liked you as soon as I saw you. I just got this good feeling from you, and the way you looked at me and how you talked to me...”

He lies quietly for a while, stroking the backs of his fingers down Pascal’s cheek.

“I don’t think there was an exact moment I knew I liked you,” he says. “It just sort of came on while we were having those calls...one day I saw your name light up my cellphone, and the way I felt, I was suddenly so sure of how much I wanted to be with you.”

“Aw,” Pascal breathes. “Those calls were so much fun...”

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “It was so easy to talk to you, and I’d be enjoying it so much that an hour would go by and I’d hardly even notice.”

He smiles faintly at the memory of lying comfortably back in his old bed, looking up at his ceiling while Pascal’s low voice spoke sweetly in his ear. 

“It seems like a matter of days later, all I wanted was to be with you. Things were such a mess back then that I’d almost stopped hoping that anything good would happen anytime soon. And then I met you, and before I knew it...”

He smooths his palm down Pascal’s shoulder.

“It made me happier than I’d been in ages just to know you were interested in me. Like I’d almost forgotten I could BE that excited for something. And...it scared me that you might not...like me like I liked you. You already seemed so wonderful that I wanted you to stay part of my life.”

Pascal gives a sleepy hum and nestles his torso a little closer to Kip’s.

“When you told me you felt the same way about me,” Kip sighs, “I almost couldn’t believe it. You were such an amazing person, and you were always so warm and kind, and you thought about everything and everyone around you, and the way you seemed to move through life, willing to take everything as it came, and knowing how to go after what you want without hurting anyone, and even though you were always sweet and soft, you have such a presence, like...well, because you’re so...okay with being afraid that it can’t stop you. I thought I was so different from you that it was incredible to even think you’d feel the way you do about me.”

He’s quiet for a bit.

“I’m just so glad I get to be alongside you, Pasc,” he says. “I’m so happy you want to be with me so badly, too. I wouldn’t be able to believe it if it wasn’t happening.”

Everything is soft and warm. The sound of Pascal’s breathing is even, and he feels it against his skin, gentle and slow. Every now and then Kip can catch the subtle scent of lilac.

“I got to meet you,” he says to Pascal. “And I got to be with you after the fire, and I got to find you in C, and then again in E when I thought I’d never see you alive again, and then...now, after everything, you still love me the way you always did. You said you want to be with me again. And here we are.”

He strokes the nape of Pascal’s neck and only gets the tiniest movement in response; he knows Pascal’s almost fully asleep.

“How amazing is it,” he whispers, “How many times I got to find you?”

—

“I’ll pick you up after you close later, okay?” 

“Okay.” Kip zips up Pascal’s lunchbag and passes it to him; Pascal thanks him with a kiss on the cheek.

“It’ll be fun to hang out with you guys tonight.”

“Heh—yeah. It’s cool to have you over again.”

“AND I get to see you twice in one day, for the second day in a row. I could get used to something that nice, you know?”

Kip giggles and puts a hand on Pascal’s shoulder and one on his cheek, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Mm...I hope your day at the shop goes well,” he says, feeling his affection bloom into a smile.

“I hope work is good for you too.” Pascal smiles back at him. “See you in a little bit.”

Kip stands by the door for a moment in his absence, then heads into the bedroom again and gets underneath the blankets. The bed seems even bigger without Pascal, but it’s like he can feel lingering traces of his warmth.

He lies there without feeling either particularly tired or awake, but after a while he dozes off. 

He wakes back up about an hour later in the middle of a dream—unlike the dreams he had while sleeping with Pascal, fuzzy memories of its details hover in the back of his mind.

For the first time in months and months, he’d had a dream about Wallace that had felt wrong. Because for the first time in too long for him to remember, he’d dreamt about Ben, too. He hadn’t even seemed angry—he’d simply been present, and that had made Wallace’s presence seem bad, even dangerous.

It’s all too recent that Kip felt afraid of Wallace’s mere existence and had bad dreams about about him.

He figures he has to blame his preoccupation with seeing them both tonight that made his dream shift over into guilt and anxiety. But, he considers as he stares up at the ceiling, it’s at least better than nightmares.

He lies there for a while longer, eyes closed, breathing evenly, then gets up and makes up a hot bath. He soaks in it, relaxing some more, then thoroughly washes himself over, head to toe. And after doing a few little chores for Pascal—remaking the bed as neatly as he can, watering the lilac bush, washing their dishes from breakfast—he slips back into his clothes and heads out from the apartment to buy the supplies for his parfaits.

—

The apartment is already slightly different—the back of the couch is no longer flush against the wall, but moved over and rotated so that it forms a triangle with the corner of the room. The armchair is likewise away from its usual spot, and there’s an old footrest of Molly’s that’s been put out, as well as a few collapsed folding chairs leaning against the wall, acquired from who knows where.

Kip just turns his attention to the kitchen, where there’s also signs of Roy’s and Molly’s work. Containers that he’s usually the only one to touch are grouped on the countertop, and when he puts his fruit in the fridge, there’s ingredients for punch, a bowl of salad, several plastic bowls of dips, and a cheese tray. 

Kip puts on his headphone and a playlist of music and sets to work. He peels and cuts up his mangos, then makes a whip with a bit of added orange and lime juice, and puts it in a bowl in the fridge. He takes care to slice up his strawberries and kiwis into small, equal pieces, then mixes them until he’s satisfied that the distribution is adequately even. He sprinkles in a few ounces of the lime and orange juice and then shakes a little sugar over it all, then stirs it all together again, and puts it in a bowl in the fridge for all the flavors and juices to sit and mix together.

Then he cleans up and sets to work making a nice lunch to help him get through a long afternoon of work. He puts on the kettle while he sits down with his soup and sandwich, and writes a short text to Pascal, reiterating his hopes that his day has gone okay so far, telling him about the dessert he’s making, and reminding him that he’s lovelier than the first rainfall of spring.

Kip spends the rest of his time before work doing a small load of laundry and trying to focus on drafting up a few ideas for blog posts. He gets a reply to his text—Pascal compliments the photos of his parfaits in progress, tells him he’s planning to bring a few bags of chips, and calls Kip an absolute knockout with an even more stunning personality.

Kip smiles warmly at the screen of his phone and responds to Pascal, telling him to enjoy the rest of his lunch break. He keeps glancing at Pascal’s message over the next few hours, and by the time he’s changing into his work clothes, he seems to have been able to tap into the part of himself that’s actually kind of excited about having a relatively small, casual gathering. And even if he’s not over the moon about the whole thing, he feels fairly confident that everything will be fine, uncomfortable dreams regardless.

—

“Pretty funny that YOU have to close while I go hang out in your apartment with your friends, huh?” 

“Yeah, hilarious.” Kip sticks his tongue out at Kate.

“It DOES suck you have to close,” she says, hefting a stack of mugs underneath the counter of the coffee station. “But I guess that’s sort of unavoidable when everybody who works here is in the same friend group, huh.”

Kip laughs as he wipes off the registers. 

“Yeah. It’s okay, though, seriously. I think Molly is the most excited, and then you, and then there’s me. I swear everything’s just made me more boring.”

“Don’t be so modest—you were always boring.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Well, at least you’ll be there later, right? So that’s probably better for you anyways. You can hang out but not have to spend as much time with it as everybody else. And I can use the first couple of hours you’re away to look through your room.”

“Ha-ha...”

There’s a half hour where the café grows slightly busier, and he and Kate don’t get to chat much until the last ten minutes of her shift. Kip mentions the photos she’s been taking, and she gives him an enthusiastic rundown of the kinds of settings and tools and new approaches she’s been testing.

“You can still hang out with me and Molly tomorrow, right?”

“Oh—yeah, I can. The weather should be nice for some time outside and all.”

“Yeah. And I’ve really only been taking pictures of shit around my apartment. You guys get the honor of being the first models for my camera that are actually people.”

“Nice.”

“Oh, hey, and you can invite Pascal, if you wanna hang out with him, too.”

Kip shrugs.

“I try to hold off on trying to hang out like, EVERY evening or afternoon we’re both off, y’know? I know we’d both be cool spending every day together if we could, but I like him to know that he can have time to exist without me right there beside him and all, right? And he’s busier than I am, running his place and all. He could probably use a Saturday afternoon for himself.”

He pauses.

“I mean, I know I just said all that, but if YOU want him to hang out with us, I’ll totally ask him.”

“Aw, it’s okay,” Kate laughs. “I’m gonna be seeing him in a couple of hours, anyway.”

“Oh, yeah...obviously. Sorry.”

“Besides, the three of us are a pretty fun little gang, I think.”

“Heh. Yeah, and seriously, how often do the three of us get an afternoon off all at the same time? And when we’re all free to hang out, too.”

“Yeah, for real...”

“Well...at least we get to hang out at night sometimes. Like today.”

“Yeah, it’s nice having chances to see each other when none of us are actually working. But speaking of tonight, I better get going. I’ve got a few errands I wanna do before getting ready to head over to your guys’ place.”

Kip sighs.

“Yeah, go and get outta here.”

“Alright, I’ll see you over there. Hang in there, kid.”

Kip sticks his tongue out again.

—

Kip starts feeling a little jittery during the last hour of his own shift, but it’s not wholly unpleasant. It distracts him, making him glad so many of the processes of the café are basically second nature to him. He starts to realize that, at least to a certain degree, he actually WANTS to enjoy tonight. And it’s too bad that the only form of excitement he’s been able to feel in recent years has been more like nervous apprehension.

A few small groups show up fairly last-minute, which on other days might’ve annoyed him, but in this case makes the time before closing pass more quickly than it would’ve if he’d only been dwelling on his anxiety. He’s only alone for about seven minutes at the very end, during which he’s too busy washing everything down and putting things away to be pensive. And then Pascal casually slides in exactly a minute before closing time, and Kip can only be happy.

After locking up the doors and turning off the front lights, Kip leaves a chair down to let Pascal sit on it while he sweeps and mops and wipes down all the counters and tables. Pascal talks about his day at the shop, telling Kip about a new blend he’s been thinking up, and how he’s been considering a different color scheme for the place, and how he got to explain all his favorite teas and ways of making them to an inquisitive customer.

“You had deliveries today, too, right? That must’ve sucked,” Kip says, trying to scrub a coffee stain out of the floor. 

“It’s usually okay. I mean, I think the stuff you guys get here is a lot heavier and messier to put away than my orders are. But it always helps if I’m having an extra good day.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kip looks over at him with a smile. “That’s great, babe. I’m glad work was good.”

“Heh—well, it wasn’t just work that was good, you know? Waking up with you and getting to have breakfast together and everything seems to make me feel great, or something.”

Kip giggles and shoots him a smile, leaning on the mop handle.

“It does the same thing for me, it turns out,” he says. “And I’m glad you wanted to come pick me up, too. It makes a difference, having something like that at the end of a shift to look forward to. I want you to know I really appreciate it.”

Pascal grins.

“No problem,” he laughs. “It’s no sacrifice on my part, believe me.”

“Aw.” Kip turns his attention back to mopping the floor, smiling to himself. “Sooo...how’s things over at the apartment?”

“Well,” Pascal says, leaning back in his chair. “Uh—it’s going well. It’s pretty laid back, you know? I mean, how wild can it get if there’s no alcohol and the dude who’s supposed to be shutting down loud parties is there in the room, right? There was some people who dropped by for only a little bit, but the space has gotten a little more cleared out since then. But it’s really just mostly people hanging out and eating and talking. I think there’s a nice chance you’ll feel okay. It’s, like, busy enough that you can stay off to the side if you want, but not so busy that you can’t find a quiet corner anywhere. And everyone seems cool. So...good, I’d say it’s going good.”

“Good,” Kip echoes with a soft laugh. “How about Molly and Roy? Are they enjoying it all?”

“Oh—yeah, definitely,” Pascal says earnestly.

Kip feels a little swell of relief and a twitch of a smile.

“Good,” he says.

—

“Is it okay if we take the scenic route back?” Kip asks as they step outside. “I’d like a little extra time just walking with you.”

“Oh, definitely,” Pascal answers. “Lead the way.”

Kip extends his hand for Pascal to take, and appreciates how Pascal has slightly slowed his strides.

Kip takes them a few blocks over so they can walk alongside the park and take advantage of its view of the twilight sky. He points out a few constellations to Pascal, ones he’s never forgotten how find since one summer evening stargazing in the park with his family and Eno. Pascal names a few of the species of trees around them simply by recognizing their leaves and shapes and branch structure, which Kip considers much more impressive.

“I never really asked how you know so many trees,” he says. “Where’d you learn THAT skill?”

“Hmm...I guess there was this field trip in fourth grade to an arboretum,” Pascal answers. “And I was weird enough to think it was fun. I checked out some books from the library that were pretty much field guides to trees, and sometimes I’d just...take myself to the park and wander around trying to identify some.”

He laughs. 

“That’s what happens when you don’t have a lot of friends, I guess.”

Kip squeezes his arm gently.

“Hey,” he says, pointing at the broad, lofty canopy coming up overhead. “What’s that one?”

“An elm?”

“Is it cool with you if we sit there a minute?” Kip asks, pointing to a bench about ten feet in front of them. 

“Yeah, sure...”

He lets Pascal sit first, then sits close enough beside him that their thighs touch.

“I’m not just putting off going back to the apartment,” he says, looking up at the purple and orange and blue of the sky. “Though that’s part of it, because I AM a little ridiculous about things still. But also—it’s really nice out, and the sky is pretty, and...I’d really like to just spend a moment with it and appreciating that I get to share it with you.”

Pascal puts his arm around Kip’s shoulders and kisses the side of his head.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” he softly agrees.

They sit quietly for a moment.

“You’re beautiful, too,” Kip says, looking over. “And your outfit is really cute.”

“Aw, you think?”

Kip does think so—it’s a simple, typical ensemble, but as always, Pascal makes it look good. A peach-colored v-neck with a subtle pink gradient and sweatpants of a blue-grey color that Kip could be proud of, with two thin white stripes running down the outside of each leg. It’s almost beachy, and it’s the balance of comfy and cute that Pascal seems to have mastered, and it brings out his eyes and his blush, and it brings out his torso, and his hair, and his butt.

How nobody else is in love with Pascal, Kip honestly can’t understand. It hardly even makes sense that everyone who’s ever met him isn’t completely head over heels.

Kip looks at Pascal until he looks over and notices, and smiles warmly when he does.

“I love being with you,” he murmurs.

Pascal blushes and his features brighten with a subtle magnificence.

Kip loops his arms around Pascal’s waist.

“You’re the best thing in the whole universe, Kip.”

Kip loves Pascal’s smile so much he catches it in a kiss.

—

Kip only fumbles with his keys a little when opening the front door for Pascal.

“How’re you feeling?” Pascal asks as he follows him inside the lobby.

“Heh—I’m a little nervous, yeah,” Kip admits. “It’s my own fault for just...worrying about something as harmless as this for like, weeks. I figure once I’ve actually been in there for a few minutes, I’ll feel totally okay. Or I’ll hide in the kitchen, or whatever.”

“Yeah, and I’m always happy to run cover for you,” Pascal says. “I got to practice earlier—Charlie actually came by for a little bit, and I made sure that things were cool for him.”

“No kidding?” Kip stops and turns around. “Charlie? How long was he here?”

Pascal shrugs.

“Probably only about a half hour or so. But he didn’t exactly act like he was leaving because of anything bad, so I think he just, you know, only wanted that smaller dose of it all.”

“And things were okay for him the whole time, right?”

“Yeah. I think he kind of enjoyed it—at least most of it. It all seemed okay.”

“Huh.” Kip looks at the floor. “...That’s really great, though, and it’s really great of you to have been looking out for him.”

“Yeah, I think he knows I’m cool to be around if there’s problems. But he seemed pretty good, really. I don’t know if he was more wanting to enjoy it, or just prove to himself he could go to something like this and nothing disastrous would happen, you know?”

“Yeah,” Kip says quietly. “I do.”

He still can’t ever think of himself as brave, even if he’s pushed himself as hard as he could to be, even if he’d managed to do some things that most observers would credit as courageous.

But if Charlie had been brave enough to stop by for a while, Kip can definitely follow his lead.

He breathes out slow, then turns and looks up at Pascal.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

—

Kip makes two decisions on their way up the staircase.

First, that he’s going to be the one to open the door.

Second, that he’s going to keep himself from immediately trying to scout out Wallace and Ben’s location in the apartment. Even if he spots them after all of fifteen seconds, he just doesn’t want to go in there treating it like a supremely urgent priority.

He’s disappointed to feel a bit of nervousness settling in his chest as they climb the last flight—but he supposes he can’t expect much different from himself. Besides, he’s still here, willingly heading up anyways. Even if it’s partly due to Pascal’s support.

And Pascal might realize he could use a little last-minute boost, because as Kip reaches for the doorknob of the stairwell’s exit, Pascal catches him around the waist and pushes a kiss to his jaw.

Kip takes hold of his arm and walks down the hall right up against Pascal’s side.

—

The first person Kip sees is Kate is standing just a few feet from the door, and she’s the first person to turn and see him.

“Hey,” she says, grinning at him. “Nice job—you made it. Hey, Briggs! Good to have you back.”

“Thanks,” Pascal laughs.

“Y-yeah,” Kip says nervously. 

He can already feel a blush creeping down his face. He sidesteps his way into the room towards Kate, and Pascal follows him in.

The apartment has more people than he’s ever seen in it, and is likely at its least peaceful too—but it’s still short of being too crowded to easily move around, and the noise level is still comparable to that in a mildly busy restaurant. Overall, he has to be relieved.

And he keeps his promise to himself and doesn’t try to find Ben or Wallace—he glances across the people gathered in the room without really seeing them or anyone else, but immediately identifies Roy by his standout height, off in the corner chatting with someone.

Kip looks back over at Pascal, who gives him a gently encouraging smile.

“I guess I’m gonna go get changed,” he says to him. “And then I’ll probably make up the parfaits for everybody.”

“Alright,” Pascal says. “There’s a lot of food in the kitchen, you should be sure to get in on that, too.”

“Okay.” Kip smiles briefly and squeezes Pascal’s arm. “Thanks for walking back with me.”

“Of course,” Pascal murmurs. “It was a nice trip. Go ahead and get out of your work clothes, love.”

Kip gives him an affectionate smile in parting, and smoothly walks along the wall to slip into the little hall with his bedroom door.

It’s a definite relief to be alone in his room. He locks the door and unties his apron, steps out of his pants, opens his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. He leans against his dresser for a minute, letting his skin get some air, then puts on a fresh layer of deodorant and dresses himself in the cute outfit he’d set aside earlier. He slides on a pair of soft, grey socks and checks his hair in the mirror, combing it a little.

“Okay,” he says to his reflection. “Parfaits. I can do THAT well. And everyone likes someone who gives them food, so it’ll be fine. Just a couple of hours. Maybe I can even enjoy this, right?”

He offers himself a weak smile, then sighs, looking over his face for something that could reassure him.

He looks over at the photograph, flanked by his fern and his forget-me-nots. 

“I can do this,” he says to it. “No problem.”

—

Kip draws as little notice slipping out of his room as when he went in, and makes his way into the kitchen.

“Oh!” As soon as he enters, he’s almost on top of someone standing right inside the doorway. “Sorry—I—“

He recognizes the man a half-second later.

“Oh, hey. Jerry, right?”

Jerry looks over from the carrot sticks he’s putting on his plate.

“Oh!” He lights up in recognition, too. “Hey, I didn’t know you were here!”

“Yeah, uh...I was at work, but I—I live here, actually.”

“Yeah, Wallace told me. He invited me to come by—I hope that’s okay. I’m sort of here for the weekend to visit him. Haven’t been out of A in too long, y’know?”

“God, I can only imagine...” Kip laughs. “But it’s cool you’re here. I don’t think I’ve actually seen you since, uh...”

“I went back to A a couple of weeks after you guys got back here, and I’ve been there the past few months. Well,” he shrugs, “I’ve been into B sometimes, but that doesn’t exactly help me run into any of you here in C.”

“Oh, actually I—I’m in B once a week, because—you met him actually, my therapist? He lives there and...oh god.” He drags a hand down his face. “Sorry, I’m just nervous.”

“Nervous?” Jerry repeats with a small smile.

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “It’s not your fault, it’s just...I haven’t been too good with stuff like big groups of people lately. I know this is pretty tame, but still.”

“Nah, I hear you,” Jerry says. “I was kind of worried about being here when probably only a couple of you even know who I am. But everyone’s seemed really nice, and I knew that I could at least hang out with Wallace, right?”

“Heh, yeah, I made sort of the same argument to myself,” Kip laughs. “I mean, you’ve got a better reason because I live here and probably know everybody, but I was still telling myself that I could just hang out with Pascal all night if nothing else worked out, you know.”

“Pascal? Huh, I think I MAYBE remember that name...”

“Oh, yeah, he’s been here. About twice my size, orange shirt, arms like an octopus—“

“Okay, right, yeah...I knew I remembered him, I just couldn’t remember his name,” Jerry says.

“Yeah, he’s great. You can pretty much go talk to him if you ever get stranded, he’s super nice and so easy to talk to.”

“Awesome, I might. Should I say you sent me?”

“Ha—you could, yeah. We’re pretty close.”

“Alright then, thanks for the tip. I’m gonna go back out there and let you get some of the food.”

“Okay. It’s good to have you here.”

“Aw, thanks—it’s good to see you too, Kip.”

And Jerry gives him a wave and a smile and goes through the doorway into the main room.

Kip stands still for a moment, absorbing the interaction. Maybe he’s just biased by the sense that Jerry actually was glad to see him, but he actually thinks that went fairly well, even with a few of his tense conversational reels and stumbles.

But Jerry is probably a pretty safe person to talk to—Kip’s always gotten the impression that he has it together a lot more than Wallace does. And, to be fair about it, more than Kip does as well.

The smell of food reminds Kip of what he’s actually here for, and as an added bonus, makes him realize he’s kind of hungry.

—

After eating a plate and a half of food, Kip opens the pack of clear plastic cups he’d bought and starts setting them out on the counter before he encounters a small issue.

He ventures through the doorway and tries to get a headcount on everyone present.

There’s himself, Kate talking to someone he doesn’t recognize, Jerry talking with Pascal, Molly and Roy talking with Wallace, Ben talking with Maggie.

Exactly ten. Only ten, really. It seems a lot more manageable than it had at first glance. He probably IS lucky he skipped the first hour or so where others might’ve been stopping by, making the space look even more filled.

He heads back into the kitchen and slides his bowls out of the fridge, takes two large spoons, and makes ten parfaits with a thin layer of kiwi and strawberry on a layer of the mango whip on a kiwi strawberry layer atop the base layer of mango. Then he makes ten more. And manages to get another five out of it. Luckily, someone brought large boxes of plastic cutlery, and Kip takes a mix of spoons and forks and sticks them in the cups at random.

He steps back to admire his work. The colors is pretty, the layers are easily seen through the sides of the cups, and it looks like he did a decent job of making them all fairly even. It’s far from his most ambitious dessert, but it seems to be something he can be pleased enough with anyhow.

He helps himself to the mango blend still clinging to the sides of the bowl, then slides the used dishes into the sink.

“Hm.”

He stares at his fleet of tiny parfaits. It seems like he’s arrived late enough that the circulation of people in and out of the kitchen has slowed significantly. But the thought of going around, telling everyone they have to get up if they want the dessert he’s only just now bothered to make, is as embarrassing as it is impractical. And yet, so is the thought of going back and forth carrying two little cups at a time, repeatedly intruding on conversations.

He casually wanders out of the kitchen and over to Pascal.

“Hey,” he says as he steps up to him. “Sorry, guys—Pasc, can I get your help for just a minute? I wanna bring the parfaits out here instead of making everyone get up for them, but there’s, like, a lot more than I can carry in one go.”

“Oh, carrying things? Sure—my talent,” Pascal laughs. 

“Sorry, Jerry,” Kip says as he steps away. “I promise I’ll bring him back.”

Jerry leans against the wall and shoots him a thumbs up; Kip beams at him with a laugh.

—

“Okay...” Kip holds the cup up against Pascal’s arm until the suckers curl snug up against it. “Does it feel like you’ve got all those?” 

“Seems so.”

“Alright—and I’ve got these two,” Kip says, picking up one in each hand. “Thanks for helping me carry these, babe.”

“No problem,” Pascal says with a smile. “I’m excited to try one—they look fantastic, Kip.”

“Aw, well...” Kip shrugs and blushes a little, then playfully turns on his heel to lead the way back to everyone else.

He goes ahead and gives himself the easy job of handing Kate and her friend their cups first.

“Hey,” he says, “Sorry to interrupt you guys, but I’ve got these if you wanna try them. It’s fruit—the orange is mostly mango and there’s strawberry and kiwi in it too. And some whipping cream, to make the mango layer all fluffy like that. And, uh, orange juice and lime juice for some extra flavor. Plus I put a little extra sugar in with the kiwi and strawberry pieces to make it a little syrupy.”

“Wow, the whole recipe too,” Kate says, taking a cup. “Maybe you ought to have a cooking program? Make me the director of photography.”

“Heh, well...I dunno if anybody’s allergic to any of this stuff,” Kip shrugs. “I guess I ought to lead with that, huh.”

“I’m all set on fruit allergies,” Kate says. “It sounds good, though. Thanks, Kaizer.”

“Oh,” says the other woman. “You’re Kip Kaizer—right, sorry.”

“Er...” Kip colors with blue and passes her the other parfait. “Yeah, I am. I’m not sure we’ve met? Sorry—“

“I don’t think so,” she says. “My name’s Asma, Roy looks after my kid while I’m at work, and he kept inviting me over to this until I decided to give it a shot.”

She laughs, Kip does too.

“Yeah, I know how THAT goes,” he says with a smile. “And Roy did mention he’d invited you—it’s really cool you came. I can vouch for everybody else here, they’re good people. Kate’s a little iffy, though.”

Kate elbows him lightly.

“I already vouched for everybody,” she says.

“Oh, well I’m glad to have a second opinion anyways,” Asma says. “I’m not exactly familiar with anybody except Roy—well, I’ve met Molly a few times. But people seem nice. It’s quieter than I thought it would be—knowing Roy, I figured he might try to go all-out.”

“Heh, well, you can see our apartment’s kind of small...” Kip shrugs. “Plus, that’s our landlord in the corner there. Not to mention Roy seems to know a surprisingly decent amount of quieter people. And, you know, it’s always important to him that everyone can feel comfortable.”

“Yeah, he’s great with the kids, and they love him, and you have to have an incredible amount of understanding and patience for all types of personalities for that—I doubt I could do it for one day, let alone as my job, let alone as my job that I ENJOY...”

She laughs again.

“He’s really something else,” Kip agrees. “I’ve never met anybody like him, and I’m really lucky I know him. He’s amazing.”

“Yeah, and believe it or not, Kip’s boyfriend is actually the other guy,” Kate teases. “Roy IS great, though.”

“Shut up,” Kip laughs. “Plus, Kate’s pretty cool, I guess. I just mess with her.”

“I mess with HIM, actually.”

“And still I give her desserts,” Kip says. “But okay—I should go see if Pascal needs help, but good to meet you, Asma.”

“You too,” she says with a nod and a smile.

Maybe—and what a surprise—every worry he’s had about tonight was for nothing.

He looks around himself to find Pascal and sees him back in the same spot, leaning against the wall and chatting with Jerry again, who’s apparently the only one he’s given a cup to.

“Are you stuck?” Kip asks, adjusting the shoulder of his sweater as he walks over.

“Oh, no,” Pascal says. “I was just waiting for you.”

Kip cocks his head questioningly.

“I didn’t wanna give these out without you there too so I could give credit to you,” Pascal explains. 

“Yeah, this is really good,” Jerry says, lifting his spoon. “You made these?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Kip’s really great at everything food-related,” Pascal says.

“Maybe better than average, but don’t build my legend up TOO much. Basically anybody could’ve made this.”

“Well, people should still know you’re the one who made it tonight,” Pascal says.

“I’m fine with it being anonymous,” Kip laughs. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal.”

“I think it could be a good excuse to see everybody for a second,” Pascal says softly. “You know?”

Kip understands the implication—that he might not be as nervous if he talks to everybody, and has a convenient justification for doing so. 

“...I guess it might be weird if I make them but somebody else gives them out,” Kip says. “Like I’m treating you like my personal staff or something.”

Pascal smiles and shifts his weight over to his other foot.

“C’mon,” he says to Kip. “Let’s show off how great you are to everybody.”

Kip’s laugh bubbles up and he blushes.

Moments later he and Pascal are by Ben and Maggie, and Kip’s blush has flared up fiercely, much to his frustration.

“Uh—hey,” he starts, nerves additionally frayed at having to wedge himself into yet another conversation. “You guys have any fruit allergies?”

A beat.

“Ah...no, I don’t,” Ben murmurs.

“I don’t either,” Maggie says. “Why? And hey, Kip.”

“Yeah, hey—what’s up?” he returns automatically.

“Not much.”

Another beat.

“Kip made parfaits,” Pascal explains from behind him, and Kip is grateful his boyfriend is there to keep him on track.

“Yeah, sorry—“ He turns and takes a couple from Pascal’s arm. “It’s a bunch of fruit and a little extra sugar and whipped cream. I think it came out pretty good. It’s all summery, and things. It’s mostly mango. I’m talking to much, so—here.”

He puts a cup to Maggie’s extended hand and passes the other to Ben.

“Oh yeah,” Ben says, voice a little lighter. “I remember talking about these. Is this mango?”

“Yeah—it is, yeah,” Kip stammers.

“They’re really good,” Pascal chimes in, and Kip smiles.

“I bet,” Ben says. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Maggie adds.

“No problem,” Kip says, stepping aside. “Enjoy.”

He turns to Pascal, touching their arms together.

“Thanks,” he laughs quietly. “I get all caught up when I’m nervous.”

“I’m here to back you up, sweetpea.”

Kip grins.

“There he is!” Molly is unmistakably talking to him; Kip looks over reflexively.

“Here I am,” he echoes with a laugh, lifting his hand in a wave. “And I brought parfaits.”

“Yes!” Roy raises his fist enthusiastically. “Me and Molly have been looking forward to this, Kip, thank you!”

“Yeah,” Molly seconds. “Your flavors are always fantastic—I’ve had to stop myself from sampling it before you got back.”

“Aw, it’s not that much,” Kip laughs. “Here...”

He takes two from Pascal’s arm and holds them out to his friends.

“The last one goes to you, Wallace, congratulations,” Pascal laughs. “Or—well, it will if I can get my arm off.”

Kip turns in time to see a subtle but jarring moment. Pascal has the parfait held out to Wallace, and Wallace is holding the bottom of the cup. But when Pascal reaches out with his other arm to pry the other one from the surface of the plastic, Kip catches a flicker in Wallace’s expression and the smallest twitch in his arm.

Kip feels his own expression harden immediately. He glares at Wallace, unnoticed, then casts his gaze down to the floor to shake off the sudden burst of resentment. He looks back up at Roy and Molly, who are already trying out the desserts.

“How is it?” he asks, making himself smile. 

“Kip...” Roy looks up at him with glowingly intense rapture. “This. Is AMAZING.”

Kip laughs.

“Thanks...”

“You are SO talented!” Roy gushes. “You and Molly should open a place together and just make desserts, I’d go EVERY day!”

“Aw,” Molly laughs. “This seriously is delicious, Kip. Great job.”

“Heh, I try...I’m just glad you guys like them. There’s more in the kitchen, if you want seconds.”

“Awesome,” Molly says. “Good to see you around, by the way.”

“Yeah...you guys have been enjoying it, right?”

“Definitely!” Roy chirps. “It’s been so good to have everybody here!”

Kip smiles faintly, then turns to Pascal.

“I’m gonna go get parfaits for us, ‘kay?” 

“Okay, thanks—“ Pascal reaches over and brushes his arm down Kip’s shoulder.

Kip navigates his way back to the kitchen and takes two more cups from the collection, then heads back the way he came. In the brief time he was away, apparently Pascal has sat down on the couch beside Wallace, and Jerry has joined the group in a folding chair next to the armchair that Molly and Roy share. And Kate and Asma seem to have joined their conversation up with Maggie and Ben’s, leaving Kip with only two groups to choose from.

Kip exhales and continues forward. Molly and Roy seem to be in the middle of explaining something about different kinds of cakes. He comes up beside Pascal, touching his arm and holding out the cup.

“Here you go.”

He and Pascal share a smile as Kip passes it over.

“Thank you.”

“I guess...can I sit on the end here beside you? Everybody’s moved over here, so...”

“Oh, yeah, of course.”

He scoots over enough for Kip to slide in between him and the arm of the couch. Kip glances around at everyone, and then lifts some of the parfait on his fork. He studies it for a moment, the slight bleed of the strawberry’s juice into the warm orange mango, the contrasting green kiwi, the shine of the glaze formed by the juices absorbing the sprinkle of sugar. 

He takes a breath and slowly brings it to his mouth. He holds it on his tongue for a few seconds; at first it’s an encompassing flavor of mango, then he’s hit with the sharper notes of strawberry, kiwi, and even a bit of the lime.

“Oh, wow,” he murmurs. “It’s good.”

“Isn’t it?,” Pascal says, head turned towards him, voice low. “You should use this recipe again, for sure.”

“There isn’t really a recipe,” Kip says. 

“You thought of this yourself?”

“I guess, yeah—it’s really simple, though, and a parfait can pretty much be anything you want, you can hardly mess it up—“

“You’re AMAZING, Kip.”

Kip laughs, and Pascal laughs in turn, then presses a kiss to Kip’s cheek just beside his nose.

Kip rubs his knee against Pascal’s, and focuses in on eating his parfait.

—

Kip mostly stays silent, occasionally chiming in with some brief input—but listening much more, often going ten minutes at a time without speaking. Somehow, not only does he feel present and comfortable, but nobody seems to forget his presence despite his quietness. He gets up a few times, for another plate of food, a drink for himself, one for Pascal, for another parfait. After about half an hour, the other group seems to have shifted towards theirs, so that it’s one messy circle of ten people with several conversations moving around at once, and Kip has found himself in the center of it.

But his listening, along with his occasional prompts of nods, small laughs, yeah’s, and uh-huh’s, seems to be well enough appreciated.

The fact that his subdued approach seems to be acceptable is a significant relief, but he’s even more glad to see how happily Pascal’s talking with everyone, and that people are as drawn to engaging with Pascal as ever. 

But there’s one thing truly surprising him—he actually IS enjoying himself. Being in so much company, feeling like he’s a part of it, even if his contribution isn’t the most impressive or attention-grabbing. He’s been believing for so long now that he’s incapable of being social. And maybe he’s still not exactly as outgoing as he was once able to be, but he still likes to be a part of something like this.

He didn’t realize how much he missed it.

—

He’s grateful having Pascal by his side. His presence is comforting, and he sometimes effortlessly makes a mention of Kip in some exchange that prompts Kip to give a casual response—and it doesn’t escape Kip’s notice that Pascal tends to do so when Kip hasn’t been directly spoken to for a while. He sneaks a hand around to the small of Pascal’s back and strokes it with his thumb, and is pleased to see him smile and blush handsomely.

Kip is also fine with having the worst possible position for talking to Wallace. Ben doesn’t seem to be all that put off by Kip’s presence, but it can only help that Kip is sitting on the other end of the couch from him, barely able to see Wallace behind Pascal’s frame. Kip doesn’t feel as awkward in Wallace’s presence as he thought he might, nor as pleasantly flustered as he did when his crush was acting up the most.

But he’s freshly bitter over Wallace’s momentary revulsion at the possibility of touching Pascal’s arm, and still a little raw from their brief argument. 

And yet despite his confusions and frustrations and inhibitions, the sound of Wallace’s laugh still stirs up something in his chest, and he can tell he still wishes everything was simple and good between them.

So he focuses on everyone else, and the closest he comes to talking to Wallace is when they’re both conversing with a third person. Kip decides not to be bothered by the fact that Wallace hasn’t directly interacted with him—he hasn’t directly interacted with Wallace, either, and feels he can safely assume they might have some similar motivations for it.

But no matter how conflicted he feels about Wallace and how to act around him, above all he’s glad that the human is here with the rest of them, alive and well. He’s glad that everyone in the apartment is still around—safe, alive, okay.

He owes so much to so many of them.

“Hey, Kip.” Pascal’s voice rouses him from a small reverie.

“Huh?—Yeah?” Kip scratches gently at Pascal’s back.

“Want me to make you a cup of tea? You’re feeling a little cool.”

“Oh, sure. You want to?”

“Of course. What kind would you like?”

“I still have some of the blend you made for me in the cabinet over the stove,” Kip answers. “That’s always nice. There’s a lot of other teas up there with it, if you want to make a cup for yourself, too—green, blackberry, jasmine, chamomile, ginseng, peppermint, black, raspberry, ginger...it goes on, y’know?”

“Heh—that’s why I love you, babe.”

Kip laughs. 

Pascal rubs Kip’s thigh and leans forward a little. 

“Hey, I’m gonna make some cups of tea, anyone want me to make one for them, too?” he asks everyone.

And then Kip is sitting on the end of the couch by himself while Pascal works on making tea for the two of them, as well as Molly, Jerry, Ben, Maggie, and Asma. And he’s suddenly very aware of Wallace’s proximity, now without any barrier between them but a couple feet of space. 

And then, of course—

“So, Kip, how’s Wallace been now that he’s got a real position out here?” Jerry asks. “He hasn’t been leaving a trail of wrecked office buildings around the city, has he?”

“Heh—“ Kip blushes at once, glancing away in case Wallace has looked over at him. He’s flattered that Jerry is making the effort to include him, but he figures that Wallace must not have mentioned Kip’s crush to his friend, because an invitation to tease Wallace is a bit more that he can field without feeling flustered. “Well—if he has, I haven’t seen it, at least.”

“I was never that bad!” Wallace exclaims, laughing. “God, Jer, don’t tell them all my secrets.”

Kip is reminded of Eno, and smiles at the thought of what on earth he’d have brought to the group’s dynamic if he’d come to the gathering as well.

“Oh, man,” Roy says, sitting up. “Do you have embarrassing stories about Wallace?”

“Only about a thousand,” Jerry laughs.

“No!” Wallace cries melodramatically.

Kip stifles a giggle and leans back against the couch. He sees Ben look over with a smile, and glances quickly away from the sight as though intruding, blushing slightly.

“I DO miss working with you, dude,” Wallace says. “Even if you’re betraying me now. And with you still all the way in A—I don’t know how people manage traveling in and out of that district with any sort of regularity. There’s so much trouble crossing in from B, and it’s so far...”

He sighs.

Kip bites his tongue.

“Move over here, Jerry,” Molly says.

“Just like that, huh?” he responds.

“Absolutely. Wallace had to drop everything and come over here, and now we’re all hanging out and having a great time. And how much worse could it be if you lived here, too, right?”

“And you guys could work together again!” Roy adds. “How perfect would THAT be?”

“Man...” Jerry laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I do have to admit, though, now that I’ve finally been to other districts...I can see how even humans wouldn’t want to live in A.”

“Yeah, we do sorta have to take your word for it,” Molly says. 

“Heh...”

Kip flinches as Kate pokes him in the arm.

“Hey, what’re you talking about over here?” she asks.

“Oh—they’re trying to convince Jerry here to move to this district,” he answers.

“Ah.” She laughs and turns back to the others.

“C’mon, I think living here is great,” Wallace is saying. “And these guys have lived in both C and D, and they like C a lot.”

“What about B?” Jerry asks. “Like, I can move there as an in-between step, see how I like it, and then move here.”

“Oh...well, none of us are from B,” Roy says. “We can’t tell you what it’s like to live there.”

Kip speaks up.

“I have a friend who’s from B,” he says. “But I’m trying to convince him to move over here, too, so...”

“Oh, that’s Eno, right?” Wallace says.

Kip ignores the fact that his heartbeat kicks up at being spoken to by Wallace—there’s about half a dozen different kinds of nervousness that could be contributing, and he’s not that interested in deciphering them right now.

“Yeah,” he answers, glancing over too fleetingly to even process the details of Wallace’s face. “I’ve been over to B a bunch of times over the years to see him, but I’ve only ever been in a small area around where he lives. And I’m sure it’d be different for you guys to travel around B.”

“Eno...” Jerry repeats thoughtfully. “He’s considering moving to C?”

Kip looks over with a shrug.

“He says he is, but he can be...a little elusive sometimes. As long as I can get to him, I don’t really mind, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be glad for him to move here.”

“All this having to move between districts is a mess,” Molly says. “It’s hard enough being distanced from people you love without all the extra regulations and barriers to deal with. You’d think that things would be changing a little faster than they are.”

“Yeah, but it’s only been a few months,” Wallace says. “I’ve been writing a few emails and letters to look into that kinda stuff—it’s definitely going slowly, but I also get the sense that the changes are irreversibly in motion. I wouldn’t be surprised if A was opened up within the year.”

Kip’s face is warm; he’s biting back an argument about how simply dropping the rules against monsters entering A isn’t by itself going to make a huge impact. There’s A’s longstanding exclusionary history and culture, there’s the difficulties that would keep monsters from A even without it being officially forbidden, there’s the population of humans deeply hostile to monsters, there’s the issue of A having been favored and given priority for decades and decades and the entrenched imbalance across districts.

But this isn’t the place or time to start getting angry at Wallace for his ignorance or naïveté. So he taps Kate on the shoulder.

“What are YOU guys talking about?” he murmurs. 

“We’re summarizing our favorite movies in ways that make them sound like a totally different genre,” she whispers back.

“Oh...cool?”

Maggie is apparently in the middle of explaining a plot, and is still at it when Pascal comes over and passes a mug to her, and another to Ben, and another to Asma. Kip smiles up at Pascal, the slight tension from before fading away simply at the sight of him.

A minute later and Pascal’s brought Jerry and Molly theirs as well, then finally returned to sit down with his own cup of tea and the one for Kip, steaming hot.

“Thanks, Pasc,” Kip says, curling his hands around it. The warmth starts flowing up his wrists and arms at once. “It smells great. And—it’s really nice of you to make so many teas for everybody.”

“It’s what I’m best at,” Pascal says. 

“Oh, hey!” Roy says excitedly. “Jerry, if you move here, Pascal can make you tea! Nobody in A has THAT.”

“Well, I can sell you tea that you can make on your own,” Pascal clarifies. “But I guess I could also just...come visit so I can steep your tea for you. I probably owe you that much, huh.”

“You sell tea?” Jerry asks.

“Yep. I make a lot of blends myself, and I’ve got a small shop a short walk from here.”

“Oh, awesome,” Jerry says. “That must be nice.”

“I’m still sort of settling into it, but I do enjoy it, yes.”

“Do you guys work together?” 

It takes Kip a moment to realize that Jerry’s referring to him and Pascal.

“Oh—no, it’s me and her who work in the same place,” he says, tilting his head at Kate. “And Molly, too. We’re the part-timers for a café that’s also a short walk from here.”

“Coffee and tea, then,” Jerry says.

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “I guess we do have that covered.”

He raises his tea, draws a deep breath of the steam, and takes a drink of warmth and symphonic flavor—courtesy of Pascal’s love for him. He puts a hand against Pascal’s back again, and is happy to hear the conversation turn to discussions of the best flavors and scents.

—

Forty minutes later, Molly and Kate have gone, both needing to get up early for work, and so has Maggie, heading out with Kate. Minutes later, Ben states he’s following their lead, and Kip automatically looks to Wallace to see him and Ben have a quick silent exchange via eye contact. But Wallace stays, resuming his discussion with Jerry, and Roy accompanies Ben downstairs, and Kip and Pascal chat with Asma until Roy returns and singlehandedly supplies her with five times more conversational power.

Kip feels slightly more able to relax, but that’s apparently what allows him to realize he’s starting to feel kind of socially burnt out. But, for Pascal’s sake, he stays with it, and they participate in Roy and Asma’s exchange, and Kip continues to manage to overall enjoy it.

Still, there’s a touch of relief to the bittersweetness when, half an hour later, the three remaining humans decide to head off for the night as well. Kip tells Jerry to move to C, and reminds Asma that it was great to meet her and talk with her, and even thanks Wallace for coming, and in turn receives additional compliments on his parfaits—and even on his company.

“Oh, that was fantastic,” Roy sighs happily. “Everybody was so much fun to hang out with...”

“You guys did great, getting so many people together like this,” Kip tells him. “I’m glad it went so well.”

“Me too!” Roy says. “We should do stuff like this, like, every month!”

“Ah—maybe,” Kip says, scratching his arm. 

Pascal puts his arm around Kip with a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, Roy,” Kip starts, “I know you’ve had a busy day, and you and Molly did a lot to put everything together...I’d be cool making sure the food gets put away, and getting things kind of in order again, and all.”

“Aw, Kip, that’s so sweet!” Roy says, beaming at him. “I don’t mind helping take care of a little mess, though—that’s pretty much what I do every day.”

“Alright, well...at least let me help,” Kip sighs.

“I’m here to help, too,” Pascal speaks up.

It really isn’t too much to deal with, and the three of them have things all but back to normal in about fifteen minutes, though Pascal and Roy have to convince Kip that things like washing the dishes or vacuuming can wait. They start chatting in the kitchen as they eat the last of the parfaits and drink the last of the punch, and the talking is easy and natural and flowing and Kip is having real fun. 

Roy eventually decides he’s going to head to bed, and Kip hugs him goodnight, which of course leads to Roy amplifying the embrace with a lift and a spin and a rib-compressing squeeze, leaving Kip flushed and failing miserably at hiding a smile.

“‘Night, Roy,” Pascal laughs.

And of course, Pascal gets a hug of his own.

—

“Oh...I didn’t even ask if I could stay the night,” Pascal murmurs, leaning back against the counter.

“Good,” Kip says. “Because the answer’s automatically yes, and you really don’t need to ask.”

“Heh, thanks... Hey, sorry I used so many cups making tea. I didn’t really think that many people would go for it.”

“Of course they would, if YOU’RE making it,” Kip laughs. “But don’t worry—they’re ridiculously easy to clean. And it’d be worth it anyways. It was really nice of you, y’know.”

He rubs Pascal’s arm; Pascal smiles at him.

“It’s great seeing everybody love you so much,” Kip says, looking up at him. “But that’s never a surprise. You’re impossible not to like.”

“Oh—“ Pascal laughs, blushing. “I dunno...”

“It’s true,” Kip murmurs, standing in front of him. “You’re so good that everybody can just tell right away that being around you is something special. Everybody who’s a half-decent person themselves, anyway.”

Pascal laughs again, blushes harder, and Kip puts his hands on Pascal’s shoulders. 

“You’re so kind and you give everybody around you your attention, like you know they’re automatically worth it, and I think everybody sense that and appreciates it. And you’re sweet and you’re funny and you’re so good at listening, and you always have something great to say in any conversation, and you’re just...”

Kip brushes some of Pascal’s hair back.

“Honestly, though, Pasc—even if you were terrible at dealing with people and hard to talk to, you know what?”

“...What?” Pascal murmurs, gazing back at him.

“You’d still be just as wonderful as you are,” Kip answers, and Pascal blushes deeper than ever and tilts his head slightly into Kip’s hand. “It’s true. I thought you must be a lovely person just from when I first saw you and the way you looked when you saw me. I don’t just love you because you’re so sweet to me and everybody else, you know. Don’t get me wrong because I have so much appreciation for the fact that you are. But you’re something really special regardless, and I’m...just grateful I get to be around you and be here for you, you know?”

Pascal nods, lifting his arm to take Kip’s wrist, turning his head to kiss the palm. Kip steps forward and puts his free arm around Pascal’s waist in a gentle hug, rising onto his toes to kiss Pascal’s cheek.

“You had fun tonight?” he asks softly, kissing his cheek again. 

“Yeah.” Pascal wraps his arms around Kip’s back. “I did.”

“Good.”

“And how was it for you, huh?”

“Hmm...” Kip rests his cheek on Pascal’s chest. “It went surprisingly okay. I kind of liked it.”

“Awesome—I was hoping you didn’t feel stuck with me there on the couch—“

“No, not at all, I liked being close to you like that. And you were really helpful the whole evening—thanks for that.”

“I tried to make sure things were okay for you,” Pascal says. “And you spent so much time around everybody; that was really brave of you.”

“Aw...” Kip closes his eyes. “I’m not brave. I’m sure I might’ve run off if it looked like anything was getting too bad.”

“I know you never think you’re brave,” Pascal says, “But you are, and the times you think you were forced to be brave still count. Plus—I saw times you felt uncomfortable, and you didn’t run then.”

“Because I could handle it,” Kip says. “And I’d hope I could, because it was barely anything. If any of THAT was enough to make me want to barricade myself in my room, I’d probably never talk to anyone or go outside or any of it.”

“Shh,” Pascal breathes, rubbing Kip’s back. “Try to take the compliments sometimes, babe.”

“Yeah,” Kip sighs. “Sorry. I don’t mean to like...stomp all over your opinions just because I look down on myself so much.”

“I know,” Pascal murmurs, dropping a kiss to Kip’s forehead. “But I think it can be good to pretend you believe nice things people say, and it’ll be easier to listen to them if you’re not letting yourself be as distracted by thinking up some argument against it.”

“Probably,” Kip says, then adds with a laugh: “That does sound like something Eno might tell me.”

“Heh—well, you’re really brave, okay?”

Kip stares at the neckline of Pascal’s shirt, frowning slightly.

“...Okay,” he says slowly. “Thanks.”

Pascal laughs and suddenly lifts him up for a kiss on the mouth. 

—

“You look great in that,” Pascal says as Kip pulls off his socks.

“Yeah?” Kip runs his fingers along the hem of his sweater. “I thought it was kinda, y’know, cute without trying too hard...”

“Well, you were right,” Pascal laughs. “It’s adorable and you look so good I’m surprised nobody tried to become your new date.”

“Ha—who was here who would’ve wanted that?” Kip asks. “Besides, I was gonna say the same thing to you. That outfit is fantastic and the colors look amazing on you.”

“Aw, you really think?” Pascal sits on the bed, looking down at his legs stretched out in front of him. “I thought it might all be too much, or something...”

“Hardly. It’s good. And you look as hot as ever in it.”

Pascal smiles and flips his hair to the side, pulling gently on his shirt to expose another inch or two of his shoulder.

“Though you could make a garbage bag look good, so it’s not the most significant compliment to your clothes to say you look extra fuckable in them,” Kip says, undoing his belt.

“Oh—“ Pascal laughs. “Well, you should tell me so anyways.”

“I should?” Kip shoots him a smile.

“Yeah,” Pascal says. “I like to hear you say that you wanna fuck me.”

“You’re even better, Pasc. You’re, like, OBJECTIVELY fuckable. But, yeah, you definitely do it for me, specifically. I do wanna fuck you.”

Pascal tilts his head with a playful smile, leaning slightly back.

“Hmm.” Kip looks over at him. “You know what, we should make out and get each other undressed, and then...if you wanna try it out, I think I have a way to make you cum that’ll probably be something new to you.”

“Oh?” Pascal blushes deep, and rotates his knees slightly inwards in that little way that means he’s getting turned on.

“Uh-huh. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

Kip walks slowly forward, trying to hold back his smile, and Pascal leans towards him and reaches out to gather him in.

—

Even without layers or a buttoned-up shirt, Pascal still has to linger on each stage of removing Kip’s clothes, and it’s rewarding as ever. Especially when Kip is growing nicely hard by the time he sits back to let Pascal work on undoing his fly, and each brush and nudge of Pascal’s arms makes him twitch, and it’s such a relief when Pascal manages to unzip him, and he lies there slowly rolling his hips against the air while Pascal drags his jeans down his legs.

He deals with Pascal’s clothes slowly as well, taking things inch by inch, grinding against Pascal’s clothed erection at indulgent length before coaxing his waistband lower, kissing the revealed lines of stomach and hip.

They make out as promised until breathless, grinding against each other’s cocks and legs and stomachs, then catch their breath and do it again.

Kip can feel himself longing to cut loose and go nonstop to climax, so he slips his tongue out of Pascal’s mouth and pulls away with a light suck. Pascal lies there for a moment with closed eyes—both his arms are cupping Kip’s ass, he squeezes softly and Kip grinds back into it just as softly.

“Pascal,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers down his chest.

Pascal looks up at him with a deep sigh that raises and lowers Kip. He’s gorgeous: hair messed, cheeks flushed, lips kissed, eyes focused right on Kip.

Kip smiles and leans forward, gently pressing a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

Pascal slides the tip of his arm neatly up the center of Kip’s ass, coming so close to dragging against him that Kip’s body jerks and he squeezes his eyes shut, gasps, and digs his fingers into Pascal’s chest and shoulder.

“Shit,” Pascal mumbles, grinding against him with a few rocks of his hips. “You ought to know how good it looks when you do that...”

“Mmn—“ Kip bites his lip and slowly relaxes, looking back down at Pascal again. “Lemme get up for a sec.”

Pascal slides one arm off, though Kip has to help him pull the suckers from the other arm off his hip. Kip slips off of Pascal and goes to his dresser, though he’s too impatient to refrain from slowly stroking himself to compensate for the absence of Pascal’s touch. He opens the top drawer and shifts through the box in the corner until he finds the small prostate massager nestled at the bottom.

“...So what’s up?” Pascal asks as Kip climbs on top of him again. 

Kip curls his fingers around the handle of the massager and holds it up.

“I’ve been figuring out how to use this,” he explains. “And if I can work it as good for you as I’ve been able to do it for myself...well, it’s pretty awesome.”

Pascal pushes himself up a little for a better look.

“What d’you...?” he starts. “Oh, is it like...”

“It’s like, I can finger you without actually using my fingers,” Kip says. “It’s easier, and a lot more comfortable for going longer, and it can reach further, and...”

He adjusts his grip slightly.

“Well, the grip is probably better for holding if you have hands,” he continues. “But it’d still probably be a bit easier for you to use on me than just your arms.”

Pascal slowly twirls the end of an arm as if contemplating it.

“Anyway,” Kip says, shifting his weight over Pascal’s lap. “The really neat part is that I’ve been able to use it for so long that I came without even touching my dick, and...it’s pretty intense. A little weird at first, and different, but...well, it’s pretty great all the same.”

“Whoa,” Pascal breathes. “Yeah, I’ve—I’ve never tried that.”

“You wanna?” Kip asks. “I mean, you don’t have to. If you did, you pretty much would just...be lying there and telling me what feels good. And I’d just be trying to make sure I’ve got the right angle and not overthink it, basically. But if you wanna do anything else instead, I’m more than willing.”

“Huh...” Pascal lays back against the pillow again. “I’m definitely curious. I think I’d like you to see what you can do.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, it sounds pretty awesome. And I really like it when you fuck me with your fingers, so hey. I’ll totally try it out.”

“I mean, even if I don’t make you cum with it, it should feel great. And I’ll just suck your dick instead if it doesn’t work out. The first couple times I tried it on myself I couldn’t quite get it totally right—but I think I’ve got a better idea of it now.”

“You’re always great,” Pascal says, drawing his knees up. “Go for it. I’m ready to see what it’s all about.”

Kip grins at him and leans across him to get the lube from the drawer next to their heads, lying across Pascal’s chest while he gives the massager an even coating. Pascal kisses at his neck and his jaw until Kip sits back again, pushing Pascal’s legs a little further apart, and looks over at him.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay.” Kip nudges the tip right up against Pascal, who tenses momentarily and then laughs. “Oh, sorry, are you okay?”

“It’s fine—it’s just a little cold.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m good. Keep going, babe.”

“Alright...” Kip shifts his own knees beneath himself and leans in a little, feeling out the angle in his wrist. “Relax a little, and I should be able to get it in all at once.”

Kip pushes the moment he feels Pascal give, and the end slides inside easily, the rest of the tapered length following even more effortlessly.

“Wow,” Pascal laughs. “That thing is really skinny.”

“Yeah, it’s not at all like taking a dick, is it.” Kip adjusts his grip again, feeling out what he has to work with. “Okay, I’m used to doing this with my fingers, so it might take me a second to find—“

“Right there.” Pascal’s voice quavers just a little as proof. “Right there.”

“Here?” Kip prods gently.

“Ah—“ Pascal sucks in a breath, arms curling in. “Yeah. There.”

“Okay. I’m gonna start moving it, and keep telling me how to get it right, okay?”

“No problem.”

“And once I get the hang of it, if it’s anything like it was for me—you might have to really try to stay quiet.”

Pascal smiles and puts the tip of his arm across his lips.

Kip giggles, then leans down and kisses his cock just to throw him off.

—

Kip’s a bit nervous at first, because although he can tell he’s making Pascal feel good, he worries that there won’t be that point that things really kick in—not the way it did for him. The first ten minutes or so are calm and consistent, and it’s nice enough but starts to feel as though it’ll go on like that forever. Kip takes advantage of their mutual relaxation to try getting the hang of a few different approaches—nudging directly against Pascal’s prostrate, holding the massager inside and rubbing it in circles or back and forth, and giving a firm brush on either the inward or outward stroke. Eventually he finds himself maintaining the rhythm and hitting the target even when his focus slips, caught up watching Pascal’s face or rubbing his own dick whenever he earns a hitched breath or the hint of a moan.

The point of transition seems to arrive when he’s forgotten to watch for it, and Pascal is breathing heavily, hips rolling subtly in tandem with the motion of Kip’s arm, sometimes biting his lip or pressing his head back against the pillow. Kip slows down but starts pressing just a little harder, and suddenly Pascal tosses his head to the side and whines in his throat.

Kip reflexively humps the mattress, grabbing at Pascal’s knee for support, his strokes automatically growing a bit more insistent.

“Fuck!” Pascal breathes urgently. “Kip!”

“Is it okay?” Kip whispers. “Is it good?”

Pascal nods vigorously.

Kip draws a shaky but deep breath and continues, forcing himself to keep it all steady and satisfying and do this right for Pascal.

The next ten minutes are all filled with rough breaths and shifting weight, sweat slicking them up, tighter muscles, twitching bodies. Pascal is struggling to keep quiet—mostly successfully, but occasionally failing to completely stifle a whimper or a weak moan. 

Kip is rhythmically pumping the massager and thoroughly enjoying the pleasure shining through in his boyfriend’s expression—then Pascal gives a small but sharp moan, back arching up.

“Shh...” Kip slows his strokes and leans in across Pascal’s body.

“S-sorry,” Pascal groans. “AH!”

“Shhhh...” 

Kip nuzzles Pascal’s face until he turns it enough for Kip to kiss him. 

“I know it’s hard,” he murmurs. Kisses Pascal again. 

Pascal moans into his mouth; Kip rocks against Pascal’s leg. He licks at Pascal’s tongue, putting all his weight against Pascal’s body so he can bring his free hand up to cup his jaw.

Pascal gives a muffled whine and Kip draws back to let him breathe. Pascal looks up at him pleadingly, every exhale a strained huff, and Kip might’ve decided to go easier on him if it wasn’t so unbearably hot seeing Pascal like this, all but too worked up by Kip to control himself. 

But he does help him in one way—stretching forward a little further until he presses his throat against Pascal’s face, arching it insistently towards him until Pascal brings his mouth to Kip’s skin, dragging his lips along his throat. Kip pushes it a little more and Pascal opens his mouth, gently latching on with his teeth. Kip grinds against him in a messy, rapid stutter and works the massager harder—Pascal moans helplessly and bites down harder to stifle it, which only encourages Kip to drop even more of his own restraint.

Soon Kip feels something more substantial than sweat between their bodies, and pulls away to look down at their stomachs. A clear, thick strand of liquid is dripping from Pascal’s cock down to pool in the crease of his abs.

Kip’s exhale shudders; he slides back to sit on his heels and bends down, touching his lips to the small puddle and licking slowly at it. Pascal gasps quietly—Kip pushes the massager in with long, firm prods and sits back upright. He brings his hand to his own stomach, dragging his fingertips through a shining patch where some of Pascal’s spill has gotten on him. He looks over to see Pascal watching with deeply reddened cheeks and parted lips. Kip smears it around his stomach a bit more for the sake of the show and then lifts his hand, sucking each finger one by one as he gazes at Pascal.

As soon as Kip’s cleaned his hand, Pascal weakly lifts his head to look down at his own cock, flushed and hard, leaking steadily.

“Is that supposed to happen?” he asks, voice faint and rough. 

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “It just kind of does that. Actually—hang on—“

He pauses the massage and stretches across to his nightstand again, digging around in the drawer until he grabs hold of a pack of tissues.

“It could get a little messy,” he tells Pascal, tossing the pack beside the pillow.

“It’s not gonna stop?”

“Probably not until you get your orgasm out of this,” Kip says. “It’s okay.”

“How do I cum if I—“ Pascal pauses to draw a few breaths. “I’ve never exactly...had anything come out of my dick—before I actually came, y’know.”

“Heh, yeah. It’ll work out, though.”

“It’s actually, like...it’s been like I’m feeling a little bit of an orgasm, like it’s...ongoing or something, but...” He blinks up at the ceiling. “It’s different from how it usually feels, too. I mean, you’re not even really touching my cock—it’s like it’s happening in a different place in my body, and it feels fucking amazing but it’s not...exactly the same as it usually feels...”

Kip laughs softly and slowly starts up the massage again, making Pascal’s back rise up slightly.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “I know what you mean.”

He presses harder into Pascal—Pascal’s inhale hisses through his teeth.

“I think you’re probably pretty close, babe,” Kip murmurs. “But I’ll keep going as long as it takes.”

“Fuck—” Pascal whimpers. “Kip—“

Kip covers Pascal’s mouth with his own, absorbing every pulse of his voice until he has to let Pascal breathe unimpeded, offering the crook of his neck again. Pascal bites down sharply, making Kip gasp, and Pascal lets go in response—Kip rubs his throat against Pascal’s jaw.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “Bite me.”

Pascal complies.

A short time later and Pascal is moaning softly against Kip’s skin, sucking and licking while rocking his hips, pushing back against what Kip’s giving him. 

“That’s it, Pasc,” Kip encourages, voice surprisingly husky to his own ears. “Enjoy it.”

Kip feels the vibration of Pascal’s groan in his chest.

“Good, huh?”

Pascal’s moans sharply; Kip brings their mouths together again.

Minutes later, Kip feels a shift in Pascal. He starts up a faster, harder rhythm; Pascal’s whole body jerks. Kip leans back to watch as he pushes Pascal towards his climax.

“Kip!” Pascal breathes. “Kip—oh god—!”

Kip smiles and softly presses his palm against Pascal’s mouth. Pascal is so caught up in his pleasure that he barely seems to notice, back held up in an arch, arms curled in on themselves, legs shoving weakly out and hooking around Kip. He whines desperately, eyes squeezed shut, hair stuck to his face with sweat, chest heaving. 

Suddenly Pascal tenses up and stills, and Kip looks down to see the leak from the tip of his cock become a flow, a long pulse of fluid pouring down. Kip’s erection twitches as he remembers the feeling—he thrusts against Pascal’s thigh. He softens the massage but doesn’t stop.

Then the flow is lighter again and Pascal sinks back against the mattress, drawing a ragged breath. Kip slows the strokes, gazing at Pascal’s face, reaching up and brushing some hair out of his eyes. Pascal blinks up at him; Kip smiles.

“Kip,” Pascal whispers. “I—“

His eyes widen in surprise and he pants breathlessly before throwing his head to the side and arching back up. His cock leaks again—more of a trickle compared to before, but Pascal’s reaction suggests that the pleasure he’s feeling is as intense as ever. Kip sees him pushing his mouth against the pillow to stifle a cry, the same way he himself had previously done.

Pascal cycles through the ebb and flow of the orgasm thrice more, until finally he’s lying back completely boneless, breathing hard, but otherwise still and quiet.

“Pasc?” Kip says softly, brushing his fingers down Pascal’s chest.

“I—I’m still—feeling it—“ Pascal gasps, eyes squeezed shut.

A thrill passes through Kip.

He keeps the massager still but doesn’t pull it out—Pascal is still intermittently clenching against it with the waves of his climax. Finally, Pascal seems to grow completely relaxed. Kip watches his face for a moment to confirm the absence of tension, then smoothly draws out the massager, wraps it up in one of the tissues, and sets it on the nightstand.

Pascal’s arms slowly unwind; Kip thinks of an unfurling flower. He takes in the sight of Pascal’s face, the flush of his cheeks, of his lips, the glimmer of sweat, the flicker of his lashes as he opens his eyes and looks right back at Kip.

Kip blushes and smiles softly.

“Pascal...”

“Kip,” he murmurs in reply. “Can I kiss you?”

Kip obliges at once, kissing him with a passionate warmth until Pascal’s exhales feel too shallow, and then he pulls away, taking a moment to open his eyes again.

“Lemme clean you off a little, yeah?” he murmurs, cupping Pascal’s jaw and stroking it with his thumb.

Pascal nods weakly, then looks down at the spill across his front.

“Oh,” he breathes. “That’s all me?”

“Yep.” Kip pulls a few tissues out of the pack. 

“...Wow.”

“Yeah. It’s really something, isn’t it?” Kip laughs.

“God, yeah...” Pascal sinks back and puts an arm across his eyes. “I mean...fuck, Kip. Like—holy SHIT.”

Kip smiles to himself, blushing harder with a little swell of pride. He starts wiping Pascal’s torso down, starting from the amorphous perimeter and working inward. A small pile of tissues later and he seems to have gotten things more manageable—Pascal should at least be able to sit up and move around without spilling down his legs or sides. 

He sits back and looks at Pascal.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks quietly.

“Good,” Pascal answers immediately. “Great, actually.”

He slides an arm up Kip’s thigh; Kip feels the urge to buck his hips.

“Can I...” Pascal fades off at once.

“What is it?” 

Kip pets the arm holding his leg.

“I wanna suck your dick, but I feel like I can barely move right now,” Pascal murmurs.

Kip blinks. He wraps his hand around his dick and gives a few slow strokes.

“Can you stand up?” Pascal asks. “On the floor, I mean.”

“Uh...sure, yeah.” 

Kip slides off the bed. He watches, bemused, as Pascal shifts weakly against the bed.

“Are you trying to get up?” he asks. 

Pascal shakes his head.

“I’m trying to turn so I’m lying sideways,” he says. “Can you help pull me a little over that way?”

With a little awkward effort between them, Pascal is finally rotated over so that he lies across the width of the bed, feet against the wall and legs bent to allow him to fit.

“Can I have the pillow under my shoulders?” 

“Your shoulders?” Kip repeats. 

“Yeah, see, I’ll tilt my head over the side of the bed, and you can just fuck my mouth,” Pascal explains casually.

A little whimper escapes Kip.

Pascal smiles.

“S-sure...”

Moments later, Pascal has his arms around the tops of Kip’s thighs, gently pulling him closer.

“Here you go,” Pascal murmurs. “Don’t worry about holding back. I’ll let you know if I need you to pull out.”

“Okay,” Kip says weakly.

Pascal drops his head back.

Kip is already unraveling at the hot exhales against his dick. He takes the base of his erection, holding it steady as he eases forward. But the moment the tip brushes Pascal’s lip, he thrusts. Pascal gives a soft hum; his arms spiral tightly down Kip’s thighs and tug at him encouragingly.

“Fuck,” Kip gasps. 

He sinks forwards, all but collapsing, bracing his forearms on the mattress on either side of Pascal’s waist, and digs his feet into the carpet.

“Pascal,” he breathes with a moan. “Shit, Pascal...”

Pascal’s lips close tight around his dick and he sucks. Kip whines and thrusts again, almost pushing in his full length. He slides his hands over to grab hold of Pascal’s ass, head so bowed that it nearly touches Pascal’s stomach.

Pascal drags his tongue along the top of Kip’s cock and gives another suck, hard and wet, and that’s enough to break Kip’s restraint. He gives a choked groan and shoves his dick in as far as it can go, and in a matter of seconds the roll of his hips becomes sharp, shallow bucking.

“Pas!” he whines, digging his fingers into the soft yield of Pascal’s ass, pressing the side of his face against Pascal’s thigh. “God, yes!”

He’s almost embarrassed by the wildly eager rhythm of his thrusts, but Pascal only seems to like his neediness. And it doesn’t take long at all before Kip’s swearing under his breath, back curled in, fucking Pascal’s throat.

Pascal’s arms tighten around Kip’s thighs and Kip is so tense and close to breaking—he glides his fangs across the surface of Pascal’s stomach and kisses it clumsily; Pascal seems to take that as a cue and before Kip knows it it’s like Pascal has reached inside him and has his arms curled around his dense, wheeling, shivering pleasure, squeezing it even hotter and tighter—

Kip gasps and shoves himself forward and his orgasm is pulled from him by the hot friction of Pascal’s tongue and rippling squeeze of his sucks and the gentle vibrations of moans almost too quiet to hear and it’s all so soft and Kip feels like his climax must be so blunt and rough—he shoves his pelvis against Pascal’s face and, with tiny jerks of the hips, spills into his throat. He tries to force himself to pull away, stop digging his nails into Pascal’s body, but for several long seconds he can’t do anything but remain frozen in overpowering pleasure, yielding a few more weakening pulses of cum.

Suddenly the grip of his orgasm relents and Kip wrenches himself upright and pulls away from Pascal, almost stumbling.

“S-sorry,” he pants. 

Pascal rolls his shoulders to the side, dragging his head back onto the mattress.

“What in the world are you sorry for?” Pascal laughs softly.

Kip looks at him—his face is redder than ever, still covered with sweat and now some spit and cum as well, but he’s smiling sweetly at him.

“I...should’ve given you a break,” Kip says breathlessly. 

Pascal pushes himself up slightly.

“Nah, I said I’d let you know if I needed one,” he says. “It was a bit of a challenge, sure, but I was up for it. And I liked it. Did you like it?”

Kip nods, smiling softly.

“Awesome,” Pascal breathes. “Wanna lie with me a second? I’m...still kind of worn out from before, I think.”

“Sure,” Kip murmurs. 

He climbs up onto the bed next to Pascal and curls up against his side, putting a hand over his collarbone. Pascal looks at him with this unflinchingly affectionate expression before closing his eyes and tucking his head against Kip’s with a contented sigh.

—

“Can you move okay now?” Kip asks. 

“Yeah,” Pascal murmurs. 

“Okay—well, you probably wanna wash off your stomach, and I was thinking about maybe making us a little more tea? With some honey. I don’t want you getting a sore throat or anything.”

“Man, I’ve caught THAT bug a hundred times—and each one was worth it,” Pascal laughs quietly. “But I’d always love some tea, for any reason. Especially from you.”

“Does green sound good?”

“It does sound good.”

“Okay.” Kip sits up and kisses Pascal’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a little bit with that, then.

“Mm...” Pascal sighs. “Love you.”

“I love you, too.”

—

They wash off the worst of their sweatiness and stickiness, they sit back and drink their tea, Kip gives Pascal a bit of a backrub, Pascal pulls Kip against his lap and plays absently with his hands, an arm wrapped around his stomach.

“Pasc,” Kip murmurs.

“Mmhm?”

It occurs to Kip that he’s not sure he has anything specific to say. He turns slightly to see Pascal already looking back at him. Kip smiles softly at him.

“What’s up?” Pascal laughs gently.

Kip shakes his head and shrugs.

“Just...you.”

Pascal laughs again, blushing softly.

“Me?”

Kip nods and brings a hand up to Pascal’s jaw.

“What about me?” Pascal murmurs.

“Mm. Everything.”

Kip leans in and kisses his throat, lips brushing against stubble.

“You’re so warm,” he whispers. “Am I cold?”

Pascal answers by pulling him in even closer.

—

Kip rests a hand against the side of Pascal’s head as they lie in bed together, caressing his skin gently as he drifts in and out of semiconsciousness.

Next thing he knows he’s on his back, and something is pushing down on his chest. He jolts into alertness and instinctively swings his arm against the intrusion in the same instant he registers a fear for Pascal’s safety—

“Sorry,” Pascal murmurs. The pressure is gone; Kip’s eyes adjust better to the dark and he realizes it had just been the weight of Pascal’s arm. 

“Pasc?” his voice is rough and weak.

“Uh-huh. Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah, what about you?”

“I’m fine. You were dreaming again, is all.”

“Oh...” Kip mumbles, and then a second later he processes what Pascal means. “Oh.”

He sighs. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I keep having nightmares lately, and they keep being all...y’know, loud.”

“Nothing you need to apologize for.” Pascal touches his shoulder. “You’re shaking a little. Is it the cold or do you remember the dream?”

Kip finally notices his own shivering.

“I...I have no idea what the dream was,” he murmurs.

“...Is it alright if I hold you till you get warm again?” Pascal asks.

“Uh—yeah, that’s fine,” Kip says. “That’d be nice. Thanks.”

“Mmhm.”

The mattress shifts underneath them as Pascal moves closer and lowers himself to lie half on top of Kip, leg between his, side pressing down on his torso. He reaches out, finds Kip’s other arm in the dark, and brings it to Kip’s chest, unflinchingly wrapping his suckers around his icy hand.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” Kip murmurs. 

“YOU didn’t wake me up,” Pascal whispers, putting his head on Kip’s shoulder. “It was the dream. And I don’t ever mind waking up for this.”

Kip flickers a smile. He turns his head so his chin rests in Pascal’s hair.

They lie together silently; Kip times his breathing to alternate with Pascal’s.

He’s tired again before the tension even fully leaves his body. Then half-asleep when he notices the shivering stop, and he doesn’t remember why it had been happening in the first place.

—

Kip is surprised to be the one to wake up first. Pascal’s arm is still on top of him, and it only takes a moment before Kip realizes that at some point the suckers affixed themselves to him while Pascal slept. So he enjoys the moment, lying in bed while his boyfriend sleeps cuddled up to him, a soft overcast light easing through his curtains, the sounds of the outside world blessedly gentle.

His bedside clock marks the passage of a full hour before Kip even considers rousing Pascal. But he gives himself another twenty of peaceful relaxation before he turns and nudges Pascal’s forehead with a kiss.

“Pascal,” he whispers, and pets his hair. “Sweetheart.”

He kisses his forehead again, soft and lingering.

“Pascal...”

A few seconds later, Pascal shifts slightly with a long, heavy sigh. Kip brushes some of his hair behind his ear. He runs the backs of his fingers down his cheek.

Pascal’s eyebrows lower, and he squeezes his eyes harder shut with a quiet, breathy whine before blinking them open.

“Babe,” Kip murmurs, brushing his thumb along the corner of his jaw just beneath his ear. “Hi.”

“Hey, Kip,” Pascal mumbles blearily. 

He pushes himself up slightly, and Kip feels the tug along his chest as Pascal tries to move his arm.

“Oh...” Pascal gazes down at the limb. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Kip tells him. “Here.”

He takes the end of his arm, gently rolling it until a few rows of suckers release his skin with soft pops. Pascal twists the arm to help, and Kip reaches underneath to push his hand between his body and Pascal’s like a wedge, and with a little bit of trouble they manage to detach themselves from each other.

There’s a wavy pattern of blue spots across Kip’s chest, which makes Pascal blush and Kip laugh and kiss him.

“I was wanting to make myself some breakfast,” Kip murmurs between the kiss and another. “Mm...want me to make you some, too? I’d love to give you breakfast in bed. When’s the last time you had that?”

“Uh...” Pascal pauses, clearly distracted by a desire to kiss Kip again.

So Kip satisfies him with a long, warm kiss, holding his face, licking slowly at his bottom lip and sucking gently before pulling away.

“You can go back to sleep if you want,” he says, stroking some of Pascal’s hair back from his forehead. “I’ll bring it here to you and wake you up again.”

Pascal gazes up at him; Kip smiles affectionately and brushes his thumb across his lips.

“I’ll be back in a little bit, okay?”

He slips out of bed and puts his hands on Pascal’s shoulders, gently pushing him down to the mattress. He straightens the blankets for him, leans in, and covers Pascal’s eyes with his hand as he presses their lips together. 

“Relax,” he breathes. 

He kisses his cheek, holding it for several seconds. Then slips his hand down Pascal’s nose and lifts it from his face. Kisses him between the eyebrows, once more on the lips, and puts his hand against his chest with a soft smile before stepping back to leave him undisturbed.

—

“Roy—!”

Kip stops mid-step. He’d basically forgotten that Roy had the morning and entire rest of the day off, unlike Molly—and he’s relieved he hadn’t decided to do anything like stroll out of the bedroom naked. But he’s fairly sure his tank top isn’t the best if he wanted to be discreet about the marks along his throat that have likely bloomed overnight to become even more conspicuous.

He blushes and reflexively rubs his neck, which makes him blush even more.

“Er—sorry, I forgot it’s a Saturday,” he laughs nervously. “You surprised me.”

“Oh, sorry!” Roy laughs too, as bright as he always manages to be, no matter how early it is. “Good morning anyway, I hope?”

“Uh-huh,” Kip murmurs. “I was gonna make some breakfast, do you want some? Or did you already—“

“Yep, I already made myself breakfast a little while ago,” Roy says. “It took me a while to decide if I wanted cereal and toast or some yogurt, or if I wanted something kind of hot, like oatmeal or something? I guess it’s kind of weird to want hot food in the summer, but—well—I mean, YOU know, it isn’t weird for you, is it, because you like hot things all year long. But anyway, I decided on a banana and some of the leftovers from last night, because I thought, ‘Hey, maybe looking at what we have in the fridge will help me decide!’ because honestly I was hoping maybe one of your parfaits was still in there, but it wasn’t, but that’s okay, but those were seriously SO good, Kip, you should make them again soon! I loved them so much! Everyone did! Thank you for making them!”

Kip nods throughout the monologue.

“Oh, you’re welcome, I was just glad to contribute a little,” he says. “You and Molly were the ones who did all the work—even though I know you wanted to. So, I should say thanks again for that.”

“Aw, you’re welcome,” Roy giggles, blushing lightly. “It was more than worth it to be with so many great people. And you were great for coming!”

“I mean, I live here, so...” Kip shrugs with a smile.

“I know, but still. You didn’t have to hang out with us.”

Kip shrugs again.

“I...actually did kinda like it,” he laughs softly. 

“Oh! Kip, that’s fantastic!” All of Roy’s seven-and-a-half-foot-tall height bursts up out of the chair, making Kip jump. “Oh my god, I’m so glad!”

Kip is speechless for the moment, watching the impending embrace sweeping inevitable towards him.

“O-oh—“ he gasps as Roy flings his arms around his shoulders. “Roy—“

He really should’ve expected the lift, but instead it draws a yelp that comes out mostly like a squeak.

“Sorry!” Roy squeezes him once and drops him back down to earth.

“It’s okay—“

“I’m just SO glad you liked it, Kip...”

“I know.” Kip smiles up at him, somehow feeling the slightest bit shy. “And I wouldn’t’ve ever found that out on my own without you guys. Thanks for that.”

“Aw...” Roy seems genuinely moved by the sentiment. 

“And thanks for, you know, everything else you guys have always been doing for me. And just for being around. You’re really great.”

“Aww!!” Roy beams, and scoops Kip in again.

Kip laughs helplessly and hugs back until Roy’s had his fill of it a minute or two later. He fidgets with the shoulder of his tank as he steps back, aware that his face is likely aglow from the contact.

“Gosh, I’m keeping you from making breakfast with all this,” Roy says. “I’m just really, really happy you’re doing okay, Kip.”

Kip blushes harder and laughs softly.

“Yeah,” he says. “I’m really glad you’re okay, too.”

“Aw, just one more hug...”

Kip huffs a sigh but has to smile as Roy gathers him in yet again.

—

Kip is flipping over an egg when Pascal steps into the doorway.

“Aw, Pas, I was gonna bring it to you!” Kip drops his head back in exaggerated frustration. 

“I know...” Pascal blushes and shrugs, offering a timid smile. “But I started to wake up a little and I got lonely waiting for you.”

“Clingy,” Kip teases, returning his attention to the stove.

“I can get back in bed when you’re done, if you want. Or were you gonna surprise me with some breakfast you’ve never made before?”

“Nah, it’s just eggs and toast. But I did secretly buy an extra mango I was gonna split for us.”

“Oh my god...” Pascal walks over and slides his arms across Kip’s chest, kissing his shoulder. “That sounds amazing, babe.”

“Heh—I’ll make us eggs benedict some other morning, I promise.”

“You’re so talented.” Pascal gives him a soft squeeze and kisses the back of his ear. “And generous. I appreciate everything you make, simple or fancy.”

“Aw—thanks. Now lemme get these eggs over to our plates.”

A couple minutes later Kip is carefully cutting the mango off of its core in slim wedges as consistent as he can manage, while Pascal sits at the table, starting in on the bread and eggs. Just as he’s finishing up, Roy returns from his room, now clad in jeans and a bright green tee with a band of orange, yellow, and blue stripes across the chest.

“Aw, hey, Pascal!” He swings into the kitchen doorway to greet him. “Having a good morning?”

“Hey, Roy,” Pascal returns with a soft laugh. “I’m good, you?”

“Yeah! I’m good, too, I mean. And it’s good to see you, as usual!”

“Ha—thanks, dude. Likewise.”

Kip picks up the seed and scrapes his teeth gently down the end.

“You heading out somewhere already?” he asks Roy.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go visit Molly at the café for a bit, then I’m gonna go and hang out with Louise and Charlie this afternoon. How awesome is that?”

“Oh man, tell them all I said hey,” Pascal says.

“Definitely!” Roy grins.

Kip occupies himself by biting down on the mango seed and sucking, but offers Roy a thumbs-up with his free hand.

“Alright, I’ll see you guys later!” Roy waves before he even steps towards the front door. “Have a good time until then!”

“Heh—thanks.”

“See ya!”

Kip pauses in the relative stillness of Roy’s absence.

“Lucky Molly wasn’t here too, or I’d probably have gotten teased to death before I even got to start cooking,” he observes. He passes Pascal his bowl of mango.

“Thanks. I think they probably would’ve let you live, though.”

“Well...I think you do give me an extra bit of immunity, actually, yeah.”

“Do I?” Pascal laughs.

“Uh-huh. I don’t think they ever kid me as much when you’re around, just for your sake, really.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, you’re way too nice to tease, and too nice for them to enjoy giving your boyfriend a hard time in front of you, y’know?”

“I’ll give YOU a hard time,” Pascal laughs.

“What?” Kip scoffs. “You mean, like... What?”

“Sorry...” Pascal laughs again. “I meant, like, fucking you or something. Like...a hard dick.”

“Got it.” Kip shakes his head and sucks hard at the seed.

“Hey, so—d’you give blowjobs like that, handsome?” Pascal continues, putting on even more of the act and doing a terrible job keeping a straight face, leaning forward on his arm.

In answer, Kip bares his fangs and scrapes them along the pit as he drags it out of his mouth.

“Oh,” Pascal breathes, blushing with a faint smile. “My goodness.”

—

Kip does blow him properly, savoring the blended flavors of cock and cum and mango, and a little while afterwards Pascal fucks Kip on his bedroom floor. Kip repeatedly begs to be fucked harder, reveling in their chance to be just a little louder than they could last night. The beat of their hips is enough for Kip to get lost in, but each of Pascal’s approving groans drive him a little wilder.

He’s taken aback when Pascal pulls completely out, but then Pascal is pushing him down, rolling him onto his back. Kip lets himself be moved around, making vague attempts to straighten out the blanket protecting them from the carpet till Pascal pushes inside him again and takes up all his attention.

“I wanna see your beautiful face,” Pascal explains, punctuating his words with sharp thrusts. “And your beautiful cock.”

He pulls Kip closer by the thighs and holds them tightly, bucking powerfully—Kip grabs fistfuls of the blanket and lets his head fall back with a rough whine.

“Am I doing good?” Pascal asks breathlessly.

“Soooo good,” Kip moans. “Nnhh—“

Pascal leans slightly back, holding Kip’s thighs even harder for counterbalance, and quickens his pace for a few seconds, making Kip claw at the floor before grabbing for his own dick. 

“Pascal! Yes!” he cries, back and neck arching, arms and legs twitching. “Fuck me!”

Pascal groans his name.

A minute later Pascal leans in to kiss Kip’s chest and tease both nipples hard and warm and wet with spit, and then he pulls Kip along with him when he sits back up, and then somehow Kip finds himself riding Pascal, all his weight pressing Pascal’s cock further into him, Pascal’s arms stuck to his hips and pulling him down even harder against each thrust.

Kip comes apart with one hand on his own dick and one braced against Pascal’s ribs, and twitches in the legs as he clenches tight around Pascal’s dick, throwing his head back with a rough cry through clenched teeth. Even before he’s finished spilling across Pascal’s torso, Pascal jerks and gasps and Kip feels the release of cum inside himself.

Kip doesn’t bother dismounting Pascal for a minute or two, during which Pascal seems even less inclined to move. And once Kip does stand up on slightly wobbly legs, he feels some of Pascal’s cum sliding down the insides of his thighs.

He kneels down and kisses Pascal beside the ear.

“I’m gonna go clean myself up,” he murmurs. “Don’t go anywhere.”

—

Kip takes Pascal out for lunch, sitting at an outdoor table with a decent view and chatting happily in the shade of the purple awning. And Kip gives him a long hug and a goodbye kiss, telling him he’s more than welcome to invoke an offer—or request—to spend the night together later, though repeatedly assuring him there’s no pressure at all if it wouldn’t work out.

“It’s getting harder to sleep without you around,” Pascal says. “Not like it ever really became easy.”

Kip smiles at him and brushes a hand down his arm.

“I’ll text you in a bit, okay?” he says. “So you know I’m thinking of you.”

Pascal takes his hand with a squeeze.

“See you soon, Kip.”

“Bye, Pas.”

—

Kip meets up with Molly by the east end of the park before Kate even arrives, and they crack a few jokes about that fact while Kip fields the incoming texts for Molly on her phone, all from Kate overupdating them about her journey to reach them.

But as soon as she spots them she waves and yells to them from a block and a half away, and is so clearly enthused about everything that neither of them teases her about being late to her own party. Kip listens while Kate and Molly discuss their morning at the café, then all three of them talk about the prior evening’s get-together, then Molly and Kip listen to Kate as she explains what makes her new camera better than her old one, pointing out a lot of tiny numbers and toggles and showing them a few attachments in the case hanging from her shoulder.

They wander a bit into the park, and Kate picks a spot that’s slightly secluded, set a little ways back from the field and the trail, near a few tall trees and some bushes growing around them, all splashed with honeysuckles.

“So, what do we do now?” Kip asks, dropping down to sit in the grass.

“Just hang out, and every now and then I’ll decide to try and get some shots of whatever,” Kate says as Molly walks over to look at the flowers on the bushes.

“Okay,” Kip says, and lies back to watch the clouds.

—

When Kate asks which of them would like to be her first living model except for a beetle that had gotten lost in her windowsill the other day, and plants and stuff, Kip is glad that Molly eagerly volunteers. After the fire, he’d mostly lost his taste for having his picture taken. Or maybe he’d decided not to be interested in having photos of himself again when all of them had been destroyed and just one shot of his siblings still existed, thanks to its preservation via Eno.

Plus the fact that he suspects he developed an aversion to seeing a camera pointed in his direction thanks to a few minutes when reporters started drawing close enough to the remains of his house to take some shots and he still couldn’t bring himself to move, clenching his grip on the pole of the street sign and shuddering violently and hit full force by shock and trauma. He had barely noticed the flashes then, and in his memory they were practically bright as the fire had been. 

The images of himself he’d glimpsed in articles and segments are likely now the earliest photos of him that exist—save for the possibility of grainy appearances in pictures stored on the now-surely-discarded cellphones of people he used to be friends with, or in high school yearbooks he’d never bought.

But he’s always let his closest friends pull him into group photos, and he’s even let Kate include the occasional picture of him on her photo blog—it’s usually just a shoulder or arm along the side of the frame, but sometimes she’s taken a full-body shot of him standing a ways away, scowling in her direction as she captures the scene, and posted it with his grudging permission and compliments to his outfit.

He doesn’t mind if Kate uses him as photography practice. He’s kind of glad she knows he cares enough to invite him to help her with this sort of thing. He may not be comfortable being caught in a camera lens, but there’s all sorts of things he’ll allow his friends to do that he’d blow up over if anyone else tried. And he’s been making efforts to push himself in these little ways, do things he’s maybe not exactly thrilled about, but knows will be fine.

And even if he was way more uneasy about this kind of thing, he’d still try to endure it for the sake of being part of something this important to Kate. She’s a lot of fun when she’s having fun, and Kip owes her more than a few favors even if he didn’t also love her for all the years of their friendship’s existence.

He watches her work with Molly, who’s singlehandedly offering all sorts of dramatic and varied poses, while Kate strikes equally creative positions in an effort to get a different angle or include some additional element in the frame. She’ll change lenses, use a tripod and then fold it up again and then set it back up, and sometimes Kip stares curiously as she puts something over the lens—plastic wrap, gauzy fabric, a piece of plastic. He barely has any idea what she’s doing, which just makes him appreciate her knowledge and skill even more.

There’s this moment when Molly is holding up a small, leafy branch to dapple the sunlight against her face, and Kate is pacing in circles, grinning as she adjusts something on the camera, then says something to Molly that makes them both laugh brightly, and Kip feels something bloom in his chest.

It’s familiar and quiet. More the absence of tension than the presence of anything particularly strong, but he’s struck anyhow.

He’s just spent the whole start of the day with the amazing person he’s wholly in love with, and who’s in love with him, and now is getting to hang out with two good friends who are enjoying themselves on a gorgeous day. Everyone he knows is actually doing okay.

HE’S doing okay.

Kate and Molly seem genuinely happy in this moment. He’s actually feeling the belief that they could continue to be happy indefinitely.

Maybe they could all be happy.

For the first time in years and years, for just a flicker of an instant, Kip experiences the sense that his life will be good and he can be happy.

He crashes back to his normal self at once, but it was like drawing a real breath for the first time since he can’t remember when, or finding a window and glimpsing the sunlit sky.

The echoes of it make him suddenly think of being half as old as he is now—sitting with a group of friends and laughing, running down the sidewalk, looking up at a sunset, sitting in a restaurant booth with his family. Days when he had the inherent sense that things were good and must always continue to be, because what could possibly happen? How could his life turn into anything horrible?

Kip sits there, a little short of breath, feeling like someone is gripping his chest.

He can’t tell if it was a lovely moment or a terrible one. As brief as it was, the feeling was almost beautiful, but by contrast it’s only further revealed how much he’s lost in the latest years of his life. Reminded him of the way he used to feel, every single day, how deeply he believed that his future was something exciting, how slight his fears seemed, how certain he was of his family’s place in his life.

He brings his knees towards his chest and winds his fingers through blades of grass. Then the sound of Mollys laugh draws his attention again, and he focuses on what’s real for him, now.

At least for today, things are beautiful.

At least for today, even Kip Kaizer might be happy.

—

After a while Kate calls Kip over to show him and Molly the shots she’d just taken. All three of them kneel in the shade of one of the trees, huddled around the display screen on the back of the camera. Kate scrolls through the shots, and Kip is truly impressed.

“Kate, these are SO good,” he says. “I swear to god you’re like, a professional at this already.”

Kate laughs and throws an arm around his shoulders.

“Thanks, bud. I’d definitely call myself at least an intermediate, but let’s be honest—I’m really only a nice website design away from being a professional.”

“You should totally get a website!” Molly says, looking over at her. “Your photography blog is great, but you should have, like, a Kate Porter dot com, you know?”

“Man, I might, if I had a solid idea of what kind of photographer I’m trying to be. Like, this right here might be useful in a portfolio if I’m trying to be hired as, like, a wedding photographer, or something.”

“You could just do what you do now,” Molly says. “People are like, freelance journalistic photographers. And you can take pictures of whatever else you want and sell prints. And if you change your mind about what you want to do, you can just update your site.”

“I’d need to have more money to get prints made,” Kate says. “And I don’t have the most competitive resumé for that freelance stuff...”

“But you do have a decent amount of experience,” Kip argues. “And you’ve had your pictures published in a bunch of places, and some of your articles, too. You don’t have to quit your day job or anything, but you could definitely, like, start your own tiny personal company. A lot of people do that. I bet Pascal could give you advice. Probably Eno, too.”

“Alright, alright,” Kate laughs. “I admit I’m considering it—now will you guys stop trying to support me and let me show you the rest of these pictures?”

They agree.

—

Molly ventures off with the goal to get them all some ice cream and returns with a carrier holding three bowls—chocolate chip for herself, coffee caramel swirl for Kate, and blackberry for Kip.

They stretch out in the sun for a while, talking and laughing about anything.

“Hey,” Kip says during a pause. “I think you guys are great.”

“I know,” Kate says.

“You too,” Molly says.

Kip is satisfied.

—

“Alright, I know you’re all meek and demure, so your pictures don’t have to be the same as Molly’s,” Kate tells him.

“Hilarious,” Kip says flatly.

“Hmm.” Kate squints at him thoughtfully, and Kip raises his eyebrows. “You’ll certainly present some extra challenges.”

“...Thanks?”

“Like, your face is two different colors right around your eyes. I’d have to pick which shade of blue will be the one all the other colors are balanced against.”

“Oh,” Kip says, as if he has more than half an idea what she means.

“Not to mention that glasses can be a little tricky. Though you could take them off and melt the film with your devastating sex appeal.”

“The camera’s digital.”

“Right, okay, problem solved then,” Kate laughs. “Go ahead and take your shirt off too, then. What the hell, let’s do an underwear photoshoot.”

Kip crosses his arms and frowns at her.

“Relax—“ Kate rolls her eyes. “If there’s going to be anything sexy about your pictures, I’d say it would be the dozen or so hickeys you DEFINITELY didn’t have yesterday.”

He blushes, glancing away.

“Yeah, well...even for me it’s a little too hot for scarves or high collars,” he grouses. “And good luck trying to get ahold of blue concealer that’s anywhere close to my skin tone, because you can’t make blue out of other colors, and—“

“Oh my god, seriously, relax,” Kate repeats. “I was gonna say that it could actually be interesting to try to get some pictures of them, if you think it wouldn’t give you a heart attack. There’s a lot of really subtle colors and shadows going on around your neck.”

“...Like...you’re serious?” Kip says slowly.

“Yeah, sure. We could try out different lightings and everything.”

He fidgets with the hem of his shorts, biting softly at the inside of his lips.

“I’m just trying out things,” Kate continues. “I’m not secretly trying to get blackmail material or something, which obviously wouldn’t even work with you. But I’m not trying to make you nervous, either. I can go take pictures of the trees or birds in the sky or Molly’s melted ice cream or whatever.”

Kip shrugs.

“Nah, it’s okay,” he says. “I’m just...kinda camera-shy, I guess.”

“Well, nobody else is gonna see these photos,” Kate says, putting a hand on her hip. “I WAS gonna send them to you guys if you wanted me to, and then you could, like, make Briggs a custom greeting card with your neck that says ‘Good job!’ or whatever.”

That coaxes a smile from him, which makes her laugh.

“Look, you can do whatever you want,” Kip says. “I just...don’t think I’m gonna be as good at being a model as Molly is.”

“Well, you can honestly just, like, sit there while I do all the work...if you know what I mean. But also, like, seriously.”

“Heh. I can probably manage that.”

“You don’t even have to look at the camera. And I promise not to tell you to smile.”

“Hm. Deal.”

—

It’s sort of a novel experience for Kip. Kate does start out taking photos of his neck, when he’s sitting at a picnic table with his chin resting on the back of his hand, when he’s leaning against the trunk of a tree, and then when he’s lying back in the grass and the direct light of the sun. He does feel a bit strange, hands resting on his stomach, trying to act like he doesn’t notice Kate even when she’s crouched down right by his shoulder, even when she stands over him with her feet on either side of his waist, camera pointed right down at him.

But it’s also kind of nice to be so observed, be focused on so intently, yet also be completely safe.

Kate walks behind him and stays there a minute, and at first Kip tenses slightly, but then gradually relaxes again. 

Then—

“Hey, is it okay if I take some pictures like, right at your face? You still don’t have to look at the camera, but I was thinking, like, some detail shots.”

“Detail?” he repeats weakly.

“Close-ups, sort of. But like, so close it’s not even necessarily your whole face.”

He blushes slightly, glancing down.

“I guess so,” he murmurs.

“Okay, just go ahead and sit down there.”

He does, but he can’t feel relaxed about it. He glances away, like something in the distance has drawn his gaze. Kate squats down next to him, sitting on one heel and sliding the other forward, resting her elbows on her thigh.

“Hey,” she says. “Trust me?”

He nods.

“I know most people are self-conscious about their faces,” Kate says. “Especially if you tell them it’s a close-up. But I swear it’s not gonna be anything to be nervous about.”

He nods again.

“Yeah,” he says. “Just go ahead and do whatever, and I’ll...stare over here.”

“Cool.”

The camera is so quiet he’s not sure when she actually starts taking photos, and only notices the zoom of the lens in the corner of his eye.

“Can I...?” She reaches a hand towards his face.

He blushes.

“...Sure,” he says.

She touches two fingertips to the side of his mouth with the restrained precision belied by the bolder, louder side of her. He follows her gentle push to turn his head just slightly more towards her.

“Take a deep breath through your mouth,” she says.

He does.

“And—freeze.”

He does, chin slightly lifted, lips parted.

“Awesome. Hold that for just a second.”

He stares up at a cloud while Kate murmurs something to herself under her breath, giving the camera a slight frown of concentration.

“Cool, thanks. You look great.”

He smiles briefly.

“Think I can try to take some pictures of your eyes?” she asks. “Again, you know, not actually looking at the camera and all...”

“Uh, yeah. Might as well. Actually, can I try one where I AM looking at the camera?”

“Oh—yeah, of course.”

Kate looks at him with mildly surprise, and Kip blushes again.

“I guess, just like...” He pivots to face her directly. 

She raises the camera experimentally, slowly bringing it up in front of her face, and he nods, keeping his expression as neutral as he can manage as he levels his gaze at the center of the lens. It moves closer, back out, in again. Then Kate lowers the camera again, giving him a thumbs-up and a smile, the latter of which he returns.

“Okay, now I’m gonna look dramatically off in the distance again,” he says.

“Cool,” Kate laughs.

—

Kip isn’t quite confident enough to look at all the pictures Kate took of him, and elects instead to go off and get himself some more ice cream.

—

An hour’s meandering walk later and the three of them end up in a little restaurant by the waterfront. Kip and Molly sit across from Kate in their booth, and somewhere between ordering drinks and waiting for their meals, the conversation shifts into more serious topics. The tone is as casual as ever, but Kate is talking about her uncertainties and concerns about the future, and Molly is agreeing that she’s not sure what her own next move ought to be, and Kip is suddenly feeling as though he’s an intruder, someone who might listen to the private worries of his close friends but will hold his own tightly against his chest.

He almost considers mentioning to Molly that he and Pascal want to live together, but then imagines it as demanding attention be shifted onto him and this one area of confidence he’s gained, and imagines it making things awkward somehow, putting a damper over things, making Kate feel uncomfortable. And then it occurs to him that maybe Molly would interpret it as Kip saying that Pascal should move in with them, all four of them living together again.

They’d all fit well together and been happy enough, but their all sharing a place had partly been the result of an emergency, after all. And Kip actually has no idea if it’d be better for all four of them to live together again—it’d better help Pascal save on rent, and Kip IS used to having Roy and Molly around, and they him.

He keeps his mouth shut about it, and lets the two of them talk, and tries not to get too nervous.

“I mean, when we all first knew each other, how could we have any idea what we’d get involved in?” Kate is saying. “Things hadn’t even started happening back then.”

“We’re all a lot different than we were when we met,” Molly says. “But all I know is that everyone has been more than incredible.”

“Yeah...no kidding.” Kate starts making a stack of sugar packets, then sighs— “Anyway.”

They’re all quiet for a moment.

“So, Ben is really getting along with Wallace, huh?” Kate says. “They showed up together last night and everything.”

Kip’s stomach drops. 

For an instant his whole body is rooted in place as he stares down at the tabletop in disbelief. His desire to separate himself from the conversation just increased a thousandfold. How could this come up, right now, in his presence? 

Just after appreciating what a great day he’d been having.

“Yeah,” Molly laughs. “It’s kinda cute. Ben acts all serious, but he likes to be around people like that, y’know?”

Kip is blushing furiously and tense as a piano wire. This is the last topic in the world he can even tolerably weather, let alone open his mouth about. But even breathing feels like a tall order right now.

“Yeah, he’s fun,” Kate agrees. “I think he’s too fun to mess with for me to get in his REALLY good graces like you and Roy, but it’s, like, painfully obvious he’s such a softie. And Wallace is like a little baby kitten or something, it’s kind of ridiculous.”

Molly snorts.

“Yeah, you should tell him that sometime.”

“Ha—it’s just cool he keeps talking about fitting in now and all, honestly. And if he’s making Ben more social again, fuckin’ awesome, right?”

“Yeah,” Molly sighs. “Anybody who helps him with that is a complete hero.”

Kip is absolutely withering.

“We should have more dinner parties and keep inviting them, I guess. You up for...uh...”

Kip quickly scratches his arm and pulls his drink towards himself, but it’s apparently not convincing enough.

“Kip...you alright?” Kate asks.

“Heh—sorry,” he laughs, shaking his head slightly at himself and shrugging as though he’s just as bemused by his reaction as she is.

“Oh, is this because...uh, you said Kate already knows, right?” Molly says.

“Oh my god, you guys,” Kip says, clinging desperately to as flippant a tone as he can manage. “Can we not?”

“Sorry,” Molly laughs, putting her hand on his shoulder. “But don’t worry. It’s not like we’re saying we’re gonna try to set Ben and Wallace up, or anything.”

This is killing him.

“Wait,” Kate says, and her tone makes Kip look over to see her fixing him with a skeptical stare. 

He sets his jaw and hopes his expression screams DO NOT SAY IT and tries to shake his head subtly yet unmistakably.

But too late, again.

“Are they already?”

“Who already what?” Molly asks her.

“Wallace and Ben,” Kate answers.

Kip wishes desperately he’d fled to the bathroom at the first mention of this subject. For once he hadn’t run away, and now he’s being punished for it.

“I...don’t know, actually,” Molly says slowly.

If he has to sit here and act like he doesn’t already know by cheerfully discussing the theoretical pros and cons of Wallace’s and Ben’s relationship—

Molly looks over at Kip again, and he has to look away, teeth gritted, toes curled, fists clenched underneath the table. He knows his face must be luminously blue and broadcasting frustration and tense discomfort.

“So what’s up then, Kip?” Kate asks knowingly.

He looks away and sighs, dropping his hand to the table.

“If I knew anything, wouldn’t I not want to talk about it at all?” he huffs.

“Oh my god,” Molly groans, leaning back in exasperation. 

Kate kicks him gently under the table and he shoots her a look.

“Look,” he says firmly. “If Ben was with someone again, and for obvious reasons he wasn’t ready to share that information with other people, I wouldn’t be jumping at the chance to spread it around behind his back, okay?”

“Kip, you idiot—“ Molly shoves him and he instinctively grabs the edge of the table to catch himself. “What, you think me and Kate are gonna send out mass texts about it or something?”

“No.” He runs his fingers through his hair and straightens his posture as though smoothing himself over. “But I still shouldn’t be telling anyone at all.”

“Well...do you even KNOW?” Kate asks. “I mean, what are you basing this on?”

Kip exhales quietly through his teeth and stares across at the other side of the booth. 

At least, now that this apparently isn’t a secret anymore, his tension doesn’t seem to be the kind that makes him tremble and drop in temperature. It’s the kind of frustration that makes him stubborn, almost contrary, almost proud—momentarily tougher than he’s ever able to be when he’s actually trying. Even though what or who that frustration is directed at is a usually little unclear to him.

“I know what I know from when Wallace turned me down,” he grumbles, picking lightly at a notch in the tabletop.

“Oh...right,” Kate says.

“Look,” Kip sighs. “I don’t know for sure why nobody’s been told yet but I...I’m not always exactly in Ben’s good graces either and I just—“

He closes his eyes for a moment.

“I’m kind of assuming he knows that I know he and Wallace are together, and...I don’t think it would be great if he thought I’d gone and told anyone about it. I mean, I know he trusts you guys, and I doubt it would be a big deal if you knew, but...if he has some reason for not talking about it at all...”

He looks over at them with a slow shrug.

“Hmm.” Kate stirs her drink with her straw. “Maybe it’s just...really wanting to take things slow. Or, I don’t know, let’s be honest: Wallace IS kind of embarrassing...”

Kip glances away with a slight blush, then looks over at Molly, who stares thoughtfully down at the pepper shaker with a slight frown.

“Hey,” he says to her. “I’m pretty sure Ben hasn’t been telling anyone.”

He puts especial emphasis on the last word.

She looks over at him and nods.

“I don’t think he’s exactly trying to hide it,” she says slowly. “I mean, we DID kind of just guess it on our own. But...even between me and him, there are sometimes things it takes a while to start to talk about. A lot of times he just...needs some time to work up to it.”

Kip almost smiles.

“Yeah, I mean, even if it it IS some big secret, it seems like they’re having fun,” Kate says. “So I guess however they wanna do that is, you know, whatever.”

Kip does smile at that, but it’s forced. He turns to his drink and pins the straw between his tongue and the roof of his mouth, sucking in a half ounce at a time.

“It’s been a really hard year after a few really hard years,” Molly says. “I feel like whatever any of us find that seems good is worth giving a shot.”

It takes Kip a moment to realize she’s looking over at him. He draws an actual sip of his drink as he looks back.

“You know about that, don’t you?” she says.

He shrugs and pushes the glass away.

“I guess I kind of do.”

It reminds him that Pascal is getting out of work soon, and that he should send a nice text for him to see when he does. So right after their food comes to the table he quickly writes out and sends a message about the ice cream he had earlier and an inquiry about how things had been at the shop.

The conversation doesn’t return to Wallace and Ben, and Kip has to appreciate the likelihood that Kate and Molly are dropping it for his sake.

—

Roy returns to the apartment after Kip and Molly do, and Kip makes a simple dinner for them, then washes the dishes while listening to some music.

Then he towels off his hands and sighs and stares down at the drops of water around the sink drain for a minute. Then he gathers himself and wanders casually into their living room, where Molly and Roy are talking and laughing as they settle on the couch with a pile of blankets and pillows and Roy’s laptop on the coffee table in front of them.

“Hey, guys?” he interrupts, standing just in front of the doorway. “I wanted to run something by you real quick.”

“I love being run by,” Roy says, sitting up and looking at Kip with a smile.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Molly says.

“Um...” Kip bites the inside of his lip and shifts his weight. “It’s just that...a few days ago me and Pascal were talking, and, uh...”

“You’re engaged?” Molly offers.

“No—you guys already eloped!” Roy laughs.

Kip blushes and shakes his head, glancing down.

“No, uh, just that I was saying I wanted to live with him again, and he was saying he wanted that, too. And, really, that’s all. I said I’d tell you guys about it first and, if you don’t want to have to get a new apartment, then of course I’ll stay. It’s not a big deal. It’s just something we talked about.”

“Oh,” Molly says simply, then looks over at Roy. “Yeah, I mean, I think we’d already kind of assumed that, right?”

“Yeah,” Roy agrees. “As soon as you guys got back together I figured that’s what you’d want.”

“Oh,” Kip says. “Okay. Uh, cool.”

He stands there awkwardly for a moment, trying to decide what else, if anything, he ought to say.

“So,” he continues, shrugging, “Obviously it’s not like I’m telling you this because we actually decided on anything more. Like—there’s all kinds of options here—I can move into his place, or he could move in here, or—I dunno, we could all reshuffle into totally new places, or we can all just stay the way we are.”

He breathes a laugh.

“Look, just—keep doing what you’re doing, because obviously you don’t have to decide on anything right now. Just, something to think about. And whatever is best for you guys is what we’ll do, you know? That’s most important. If I should stay here, I’ll stay.”

“Okay,” Molly says. “Thanks.”

“So...I should stay?” Kip asks, tilting his head.

“I just meant as in, thanks for saying all that stuff. Cuz it was really nice.”

“Oh,” Kip laughs. “Uh, yeah, no problem. I mean, you guys really just...I mean, we all started living together for my sake, you know? So I’d never wanna, you know, strand you in a tough spot or anything like that. But the other reason I won’t is just because, you know. You’re my friends. And I love you, and all, and—oh my god—“

He cringes and covers his face as the group hug sweeps forward and enfolds him.

—

Inspired by Molly and Roy, Kip slips into pajamas, puts a movie that always makes him feel nice into his laptop, gets a couple of chocolate cupcakes left over from the dinner and a glass of milk, turns on his fairy lights, swathes himself underneath layers of blankets, and settles comfortably in for the next couple of hours.

Being able to shed a few tears over something as safe and pleasant as a movie he likes is nicely cathartic.

He finishes the last of the second cupcake  
and flops back on the mattress for a few minutes, then swings his legs off the side and walks over to stand in front of the picture of his family.

He sighs, hooking one ankle behind the other.

“Hey, guys,” he says quietly. 

He rests his hand beside it and runs his thumb along the side of the frame. He looks back and forth between their faces, studying their expressions, this one instant of their existences.

“I miss you,” he murmurs. “I remember going to movies together sometimes. And then going out to eat afterwards. I’d enjoy those nights so much. I guess it was obvious, huh?”

He offers a small smile.

“I guess my day was pretty good,” he says. “You should be here having good days, too. And listening to me tell you about mine. Or complain about the bad ones. And ask your advice. And...just talk to you about whatever, like we always did. ...I miss hearing your voices.”

He draws his top lip between his teeth and rotates the fern slightly.

“So...I might be doing good. Well, doing okay. Maybe good. I’m...not really worrying constantly about anything right now. And Pascal is just...”

He shakes his head.

“Having him back alone makes everything so much better. SO much better. It’s like...” He sighs and rubs his arm. “Shitty things that could ruin my whole week before are now just...like something I can wave off and my day is still okay because Pascal is just that good. He makes me happy, is what I guess I’m trying to say. So in that way, I definitely am happy. I just wish all the other areas of my life could go ahead and get in order, too.”

He pauses as though letting them answer.

“I dunno. It’s like, I’m not dealing with any major problems, but it’s still not...”

He shrugs.

“I guess vaguer and less life-threatening problems can still be significant, right? You can have these...issues you’re uncertain about and call it a crisis if you want. And I don’t have the first clue what I want my life or...even myself to look like. I love Pascal and I wanna be with him, but that still leaves so much room for like, a million different ways to be. I don’t know. It’s been so long since I’ve been happy, much less thought that...I could keep being happy, you know? It’s like I’ve forgotten how to even think of things in those terms.”

He pauses again.

“Maybe I can relearn, or something. I must be doing better if I even think that kind of thing’s possible. I feel like I just...have to lie down and breathe for a while. Figuratively, I mean. And after that, maybe I’ll be able to know who I am and what I want. Because for so long it’s just been people’s safety. And I can’t really see beyond that yet. But maybe if I keep from worrying about that fact...it’ll stop being a worry.”

He smiles at the picture and then paces slowly around on his rug for a minute before pivoting to face it again.

“I’m talking about not having any big problems anymore,” he laughs, “When it’s still killing me that you two aren’t here. It’ll be six years in a month, and I’m scared of that, because...every single anniversary seems impossible, somehow. Like I still believe one year it’ll just stop? Like I won’t have to keep counting or thinking about it each summer, but of course I will. I think of you guys every day, and I will for as long as I’m alive. And I have to know that next year I’ll be thinking how it’s been seven years, and then eight, and one year it’ll have been fourteen years, or twenty...”

He sighs. 

“I don’t know how I’m going to react next month when it IS the day,” he murmurs. “I feel like this past week or so it’s sort of calmed down and it doesn’t feel as heavy and I almost have some confidence in myself and my ability to not be completely crushed by it, but I’m pretty sure that as it gets closer again I’m...going to be remembering that specific day more, on top of missing you, and...who knows.”

He picks up the picture and sits down on the rug, lying it on his lap.

“I love you so much, even still. It’s awful, actually, because what does that even mean? Loving people who aren’t alive anymore. I don’t know what kind of love it is when it can’t be received. It’s like...it’s only for my sake now. It used to be that—that how much I loved you made me spend time with you, and talk and listen to you, and do my best to help you, and try to make you happy and—heh—“

He swipes the back of his wrist across his eyes.

“Now I can’t do anything for you, because you’re not here. But I still love you, and I still miss you so much.”

He blinks out a tear.

“At least we fucked up their whole little operation,” he says with a quiet laugh. “But too bad that it was half a decade too late for you two, huh. And...for so many other people...”

He looks away towards the ceiling and draws a deep breath before continuing.

“I don’t know if I could’ve done anything for them, even if I’d tried,” he murmurs. “I like to think that if I’d realized what exactly E was for, I’d’ve at least been brave enough to try to let people know somehow. But I was too afraid to be involved at all, so. Who can ever know? Maybe they would’ve come after me again and killed me. But doing nothing gave them plenty of time to work up ways to drag me into it anyways, so.”

He laughs softly.

“Either way, it wasn’t me who did it,” he tells them. “Everyone else was so brave and strong and they just stepped up to help protect everyone else and...I’m proud of having a part in it, at least. I won’t pretend I did nothing. But I could never have done it alone.”

He sniffs and shakes his head, running a fingertip along the corner of the frame. His room is so quiet he hears a car passing by along the street below his window. He tilts his head slightly as he studies his family’s features again, as if he hasn’t memorized every subtle line and fluctuation of color, as if every time he looks at it is his first and only chance to view it.

“Well...I’m still here, and I miss you like hell.” 

They look back at him from the photo, faces barely over an inch wide, unmoving. He smiles briefly at them.

“I love you,” he whispers, and carefully places the picture back between the plants.

—

Kip faces away from the showerhead, letting the steaming hot water hit him on the nape of the neck and run down his shoulders and back. 

He’s thinking of Pascal. Imagining being caught unawares by his low voice right in his ear, his strong arms slipping around his waist, one drifting lower and lower until dipping inside his pants and brushing against his dick the way Kip’s hand does now, Pascal’s sweet and seductive murmurs interspersed with scratchy kisses pressed behind his ear, the corner of his jaw, down his throat—

“Mm...” Kip slowly coaxes his erection with a throaty sigh, closing his eyes. “Pascal...”

He braces himself with a hand against the slick tiles, mixing little bursts of cold in with the rising steam, making it cloud and swirl around his body, condense on his skin in clinging drops. His small gasps are muffled by the continuous thudding of the water, and in a matter of minutes his legs jerk and his breath catches and his orgasm floods his body.

Once he regains adequate coordination, he turns to let the water run down his front, washing away his sweat and cum and the tiny frost flowers scattered across his chest and wrists. His skin is nicely sensitive in his afterglow; he scrubs himself gently with citrus-scented soap, using his favored honey shampoo and a sharply minty conditioner in his hair. After a few extra minutes under the hot water, he steps out of the shower and quickly wraps himself up in a ruby red towel before the temperature drop makes him shiver.

After drying out enough to stop dripping on the rug, he takes some of the lotion Pascal’d brought him and rubs some onto his shoulders, arms and elbows and hands, his knees. And waits a little longer while the steam dissipates and the lotion absorbs, brushing his teeth and filing his nails and finally blowdrying his hair into something manageable.

His whole body feels smooth and clean and it makes his pajamas seem even softer against his skin. He sets his alarm and sends a goodnight text to Pascal before climbing into bed, cracking his window for a bit of the fresh, cool night air and compensating with the pile of extra blankets heaped on top of everything.

He watches a tiny patch of moonlight crawl across the opposite wall until he’s too tired to keep his eyes open, drawing the sheets up to his ears and nuzzling his face against his pillow. His thoughts start bleeding into dreams before he finally drifts off to imagery of buttercream-frosted cake and ferris wheel rides of fifteen years prior.

—

“Well, well.” 

Kip looks round at Cuddy as she taps him on the shoulder.

“Look at the business you’re bringing in, Kaizer.” She swivels the pen in her hand to point at the door.

“Oh,” Kip says, straightening up, smile flickering on. “Hey.”

Pascal pushes the door open and Louise follows him inside, saying something to him as they look around the café.

Kip gives up trying to hold it back and is beaming as Pascal walks up to the register in front of him, smiling back at him.

“Hey, Pasc,” he says. “Have an alright day at the shop?”

“We did,” Pascal says. “And I convinced Louise to come along here with me, like a company field trip.”

“I’m meeting up with Charlie in about half an hour,” Louise says. “This is a convenient place for that.”

Then they look over at Cuddy with a small shrug.

“Not that I don’t like coming here anyway,” they add. “Do you have any of those raspberry bar things today?”

Kip heads back to the coffee station while Cuddy rings up the orders. He glances over at Pascal a couple of times, sees him pull off his knitted hat and shake his hair out, walk over to admire one of Molly’s latest cookie-themed posters, sees him drop his head back and stretch his spine, baring just a sliver of stomach as his shirt lifts. Kip’s gaze lingers a little longer at that, spoon hovering halfway in a bowl of before he pulls his attention back to the task at hand, refilling a piping bag to crown Pascal’s drink with a generous swirled cloud of whipped cream. With a little twirl of the wrist, he drizzles a light web of chocolate atop it all, then completes the presentation with a sprinkle of chocolate shavings.

He places a saucer under the mug and carries it over to the counter.

“Pascal,” he says quietly. “Your mocha’s ready.”

Pascal looks over and smiles. 

“Oh my god, Kip, it looks fantastic, babe. Your drinks always look like they should be on the cover of a magazine, or something.”

“Baristas Monthly?” Kip suggests with a laugh. “I...might always be extra careful with yours, though.”

“Aw, as if that means it doesn’t count,” Pascal says, picking up the drink. “Besides, it’s everything you make that’s gorgeous, even stuff at home. And I know you—even when you’re distracted or rushing, you always give an extra moment to the detail work.”

“Heh...yeah, I can’t really help it,” Kip shrugs. “It bugs me when it looks too messy—I guess it’s more for my sake than everyone else’s, really.”

“It’s a real talent you have, whoever it’s for,” Pascal says. “And this coffee is beautiful, and I love it—thank you.”

“Aww,” Kip laughs. “You’re welcome. Just doing my job.”

Pascal leans in slightly.

“Would it be unprofessional to get a quick kiss from your boyfriend?” he asks, voice lowered. “You’ve got a little bit of flour in your hair and it’s really cute.”

Kip grimaces.

“Augh, I do?”

Pascal smiles softly.

“Mmhm. Just a little. Very cute.”

Kip bites his lip with a smirk and leans in as well, pressing a half-second’s kiss to the corner of Pascal’s mouth.

“Thanks,” Pascal says quietly. “Hand me a napkin and I’ll wipe your hair off for you? It’s just a bit on the ends. I promise I’ll make sure to get all of it.”

After being helped with his flour issue, Kip goes back to the espresso machine to take equal care with Louise’s drink, and Pascal settles at a small table with his phone and a newspaper. 

He stays for the remaining hour or so of Kip’s shift, frequently meeting Kip’s over-the-shoulder or across-the-register glances and giving him a warm smile. When Kip clocks out and walks into the front, Pascal stands and comes over to meet him, tilting Kip’s chin up and returning his earlier kiss.

“Heading back to your apartment?” he asks. 

“Actually, first I was gonna drop in a drug store and get us some toilet paper and dish soap,” Kip laughs.

“Well, I’d be glad to accompany you for that too if you’re willing to have me.”

“Pasc, you didn’t have to wait up here for a whole hour just to walk me home.”

“Well...” Pascal shrugs. “When our closing hour was so near the end of your shift, it was hard to resist. Besides, I didn’t feel like going home myself just yet. But I WAS in the mood to see the man I love and keep him company for a little bit. Not to mention this is a lovely place to spend a quiet hour—where else can I have a perfectly-made coffee AND look at your butt?”

Kip blushes, elbowing him softly. 

“Either of our apartments?” he says. “Though you might not get anything there as fancy as the drinks I can make here.”

“True. But I CAN see you naked.”

“Shh—“ Kip giggles and shoves him playfully. “What’s your agenda here, Briggs?”

“I just wanna remind you that you’re absurdly hot and I appreciate it enormously.”

“Look who’s talking,” Kip mutters. “You’re turning me on every other moment of the day without even doing anything. Now are we going to get out of here or fuck in the middle of the place I work?”

“There’s an idea. Let me consider the options, okay?”

“C’mon—“ Kip grabs his arm and leads him to the door as Pascal laughs under his breath.

—

Pascal is apparently in a mood for making Kip laugh more than usual. The simple errand for soap and toiletries is now the highlight of his day, refreshingly fun, even invigorating. And Pascal keeps casually flirting every few minutes, which becomes more and more difficult for Kip to laugh off—maybe because it’s a just a bit too earnest to be part of all the goofy joking that is definitely meant and always succeeding to make Kip laugh.

So as they walk on towards Kip’s building, Kip tells Pascal that he should definitely come upstairs for a minute if he has the time, and Pascal says that he definitely ought to help Kip carry up one of the two very light and manageable shopping bags, and they catch each other’s eye and break into giggles.

“Oh,” Kip says as they carry the bags inside the apartment and over to the kitchen table. “I think Molly might be out. And Roy is still at work for another half hour.”

Pascal steps over smoothly and kisses the side of Kip’s neck.

“I should still check!” Kip scoffs, rolling his shoulder back against Pascal’s chest. “What’s got you so worked up today, huh?”

“Oh, just seeing you. It’s one of those days, I guess.”

“Well,” Kip says, smiling back at him as he walks towards the hall to Roy and Molly’s rooms. “Try to hold on for at least one more minute, maybe?”

Molly’s room is unsurprisingly empty, and Kip double-checks she’s not in the bathroom before returning to the kitchen. He melts his stride into something of a strut and smiles at Pascal, reaching behind his back and undoing his apron, dropping it on top of the plastic bags.

“Well...it’s just the two of us at the moment, apparently,” he says, standing contrapposto before Pascal. “I don’t suppose you’re on a very tight schedule today, are you?”

“Oh, it’s always loose enough for you, darling,” Pascal answers teasingly, closing the distance between them.

“Good,” Kip murmurs. He lifts his head to maintain eye contact as Pascal approaches. “Because I’d love to squeeze you into mine.”

“Ooh, you’re good,” Pascal laughs. “I could say something about flexibility but there’s some stuff I’d rather do than keep talking.”

Kip slides his hands up Pascal’s chest, drags them slowly back down.

“How about you carry me into my room, and we go from there?” he proposes.

Pascal opens the top button of Kip’s shirt, then slips one arm down and takes hold of Kip’s ass with a boldly firm grab. Kip blinks; his exhale parts his lips.

“Sure thing, love,” Pascal murmurs. “Hold on to me.”

Kip puts his hands on Pascal’s shoulders and pulls, and in a mere moment he’s lifted into the secure hold of Pascal’s soft arms. Pascal stands still, looking at him.

“You only get even more beautiful up close,” he says.

“Heh—you’rd talking like we’ve just met and you have to seduce me for the first time,” Kip laughs. 

“It’s not a lie, since I know I don’t need to flatter my way into your bed,” Pascal says. “You really ARE gorgeous up close.”

Kip laughs again, blushing, and Pascal kisses his cheek. Then his neck, and collarbones, and chest. 

“Are we going to my room or—ah!” He yelps with surprise as Pascal hitches him up a little higher and pushes a kiss into the middle of his stomach. 

“Mmhm,” Pascal hums, then turns his head and buries his face against the top of Kip’s crotch, kissing him through his pants. 

“So let’s go already,” Kip huffs, squirming a little in his grip. “You’re supposed to be the impatient one, here.”

“I was only impatient to get you like this,” Pascal laughs. “But I’d hate to keep you waiting, so—here we go.”

—

Almost the moment they bring their mouths together, Kip knows he wants to top. So he undoes the front of his shirt, rises up on his knees, pulls Pascal’s head to his chest, and informs him of this desire. Pascal responds by nuzzling his face enthusiastically against his sternum and kissing his nipple as he slides his arms up the back of Kip’s thighs to squeeze his ass.

“Does that sound okay to you?” Kip asks, pressing in harder against Pascal’s mouth.

“Mmhm.” Pascal sucks before pulling off to give the other nipple the same attention.

Kip’s eyes flutter closed as Pascal kisses and sucks and licks, rolling his grip on Kip’s butt in a small circle.

“Would you like that?” Kip continues, burying a hand in Pascal’s hair.

“Mmhm,” Pascal repeats.

Kip tugs Pascal’s head from his chest; Pascal looks beautifully up at him.

“Tell me?” Kip asks quietly.

“I’d like you to fuck me,” Pascal answers even more softly.

“You really want that?”

Pascal nods.

“You should ask me, then.”

The steadily deepening flush of Pascal’s cheeks only makes his handsome brown eyes even more beautiful.

“I want you to fuck me,” Pascal breathes. The hint of a whine in his voice makes Kip’s pulse beat in his dick.

“No.” He pulls Pascal’s head a little further away, leans back so that their torsos are a little further apart—Pascal’s arms slide from Kip’s ass to his thighs. “ASK me.”

Pascal’s gaze flickers.

“Kip—“ he starts weakly.

“Little louder, babe.”

“Kip,” Pascal repeats in a steadier voice. 

“That’s good.” Kip smiles at him. “Go on.”

“I-I—“

Kip puts his hand on Pascal’s chest and pushes him back until he’s flat against the mattress, then reaches between his legs and cups him firmly.

“Ask me, please, Pascal.”

Pascal draws a shuddering breath—even through the sweatpants, Kip can clearly feel the heat of Pascal’s cock against his hand.

“Kip,” he starts again. “Would you fuck me?”

“Aw—“ Kip massages him slowly; Pascal gasps and whimpers, eyes sliding shut. “Ask me really nicely.”

“K-Kip, please will you fuck me?” Pascal’s voice trembles.

Kip watches Pascal’s face as he tilts his wrist and presses his middle fingertip right behind the root of Pascal’s sack. He gently flicks the finger out a couple times to stroke along his taint.

“Please fuck my ass,” Pascal groans. “PLEASE, Kip.”

“I’m almost convinced,” Kip murmurs, pressing his finger teasingly into the seam of the fabric. “Keep going.”

“Please, Kip, I-I need you to fuck me and—please make me cum—“ The words spill from him in a rush. “Can you please—push your dick inside me and fuck me and make me cum, Kip, please, I need you—PLEASE fuck me—“

His pleading, quavery tone is much more enticing than the notion of continuing to play around like he’s unaffected by Pascal’s desire—or his own. This vulnerably passionate voice that’s only earned when Kip draws it from him, draws out the needy, fluttery Pascal always otherwise buried beneath the reliable and steady surface.

Kip grabs hold of the waistbands of Pascal’s underwear and pants and jerks them down far enough to free Pascal’s dick—Pascal gasps and at once lifts his hips like he’s trying to grind against the air, so Kip drags the clothes further down his thighs for him.

“Sit up and let me get your shirt,” Kip says, and Pascal does.

“Let me taste your cock,” Kip says, and Pascal does.

“Roll over and get on your knees,” Kip says, and Pascal does, ass raised, face pressed to the pillows.

It’s not the exact position Kip was thinking of, but he can definitely work with it.

As Pascal obeys his directive to stay still, Kip gets up to open a condom and find the scissors at his desk. He cuts off the end of the condom, then cuts down along its remaining length to form a rectangular sheath that he brings back to the bed.

“Stay still,” Kip repeats.

He holds it flush against Pascal’s body, then leans in, puts his lips to the spread condom, and starts rimming Pascal. 

Pascal immediately whimpers and shifts his legs slightly, pushing his ass back just a bit more towards Kip. Kip presses his tongue in deeper, encouraged by every uptick in the volume of Pascal’s moans. 

“Oh, Kip...” Pascal sighs, burying his face against the pillow. “Yes—“

He cuts off with a soft cry as Kip pushes forward, licking at him before slipping the tip of his tongue inside as far as he can manage to extend it, then circling it slightly, gently stretching Pascal. 

Kip would be glad to continue for a good while longer, but they don’t have time to luxuriate in every stage of this process. He draws his tongue out and licks at Pascal a few more times before sitting back.

“Pasc,” he murmurs, kissing a freckle on his butt, then kissing over his tailbone. “Work on stretching yourself out a little more while I get a condom on.”

Pascal hums his assent and reaches around his back to nudge the tip of his arm up into himself. Kip gets off the bed and throws away the cut-up condom, taking a new one out of the drawer. He curls his fingers around his dick, looking over to watch Pascal pushing further into himself, his handsome face flushing, one eyebrow subtly twitching upwards, a little drop of sweat clinging to his temple.

“Pascal,” Kip murmurs. “...Pascal.”

Pascal turns his head to look over; their eyes meet and Kip strokes himself a little faster. Pascal’s gaze jumps down to Kip’s cock, up to his face, back and forth. 

“You want this?” Kip asks, pumping his erection before stilling his hand at the end to give a soft squeeze, rolling his thumb around the tip.

“Yes,” Pascal breathes. He bites his lip and stares right at Kip’s dick while rocking his hips back harder against his arm, as if already imagining being fucked with it.

Kip pumps himself for a few moments more before tearing open the condom with slightly shaky hands, pinching the tip, and rolling it down to the base of his cock. He flicks open his lube and pours some into his cupped palm, wrapping the hand around himself again and evenly smearing the liquid all around his length.

“How’s it coming?” he asks, climbing back up onto the mattress. “Do you feel ready?”

“I think so,” Pascal murmurs. 

Kip watches him stretch his arm a bit thinner and ease another inch inside himself with a breathy moan.

“Take your time,” Kip tells him. “Keep right there for a minute.”

He kneels behind him and drips some lube onto his fingertips, slipping them in between Pascal’s arm and his body to rub some everywhere that might press against his dick once it’s inside. He tries to make sure to go over every inch at least twice, then takes hold of his cock.

“Ready?” he asks again.

With a slow exhale, Pascal pulls his arm out. Kip nudges the tip of his erection into place. Then he leans in across the expanse of Pascal’s back, sliding one hand up his spine and threading the fingers into Pascal’s thick hair.

He pulls on it slightly while taking hold of the base of his cock, giving a little thrust to slide the first inch inside Pascal.

“Yesss—” Pascal sighs. “Oh god, Kip...”

With another rock of his hips he feels securely held inside Pascal, and lets go of himself to put a hand on Pascal’s shoulder. He coaxes Pascal to sit up with concurrent tugs on his shoulder and hair, and adjusts his own position as Pascal’s body shifts against his. He grabs Pascal’s waist, holding him steady as he adjusts his knees and rolls his hips to sit better beneath Pascal’s. 

“W-want me to hold on to the wall?” Pascal asks.

“Mm... Yeah, that’d help make it easier.”

Pascal leans forward enough to slide his arms up the wall. His shoulderblades shift as he pushes them against the surface.

“Okay,” he murmurs after a few seconds. “I’ve got it.”

“Nice.” Kip presses his lips to Pascal’s spine. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Pascal gasps. 

“Do you want this?”

“Yes, fuck, yes—I want it—“ His tone is desperate.

“Okay.” 

He drags his nails lightly down Pascal’s back, slides his palms around Pascal’s hips, and watches himself push another inch into Pascal, then another. He starts an easy, rolling rhythm, moving just a bit of his length back and forth. Pascal lets out a quiet, long moan. 

“Does it feel good?” Kip murmurs.

“Yeah,” Pascal breathes.

“Does it hurt?”

“No. I’m ready.”

“You’re ready?” Kip echoes. 

“Yeah.”

In one slow, smooth push, Kip slides his full length inside—Pascal grunts as they press flush together, head bowing.

Once again Kip takes hold of Pascal’s hair and pulls, dragging his head back up.

“Lift your gorgeous face while I fuck you, babe,” Kip breathes, digging his fingertips into Pascal’s hip. 

He pulls out a couple inches and jerks back in. Pascal whines sharply and Kip gives his hair a slight tug.

“Keep your head up,” Kip tells him, winding his grip in. “Believe me—the way you look is something to be completely proud of.”

Pascal huffs; Kip sees his arms contract slightly against the wall.

“It’s really too bad I can’t watch your face right now,” Kip says. “But I think I’ll find a way to make up for it. Would you like that, you think?”

“Uh-huh,” Pascal groans weakly.

Kip eases out, pushes in, eases further out, pushes back in with a snap at the end.

“Let’s see what I can do for you,” Kip murmurs. 

He leans in until his forehead rests on Pascal’s back, and gives a few searching rocks of his hips. With each one, Pascal whimpers—the fifth earns a throaty moan that makes Kip clench.

“Almost, love,” Kip breathes. “How about right here?”

He tilts his hips a degree so subtle and particular that it’s only managed through his inherent familiarity with Pascal’s body, a half-subconscious extra sense Kip’s earned over their years together. Unsurprisingly, but as thrillingly as always, Pascal’s breath catches and his muscles twitch under Kip’s palm. 

“Right there,” Kip confirms in a whisper.

He wastes no time in building up to an indulgent rhythm, filling the room with their heavy breathing and the healthy beat of their hips. Pascal is moaning more often with every minute, louder, longer. Kip provides some of his own as his arousal climbs in steady rises and aching jumps.

“Nnh—doing good, Pasc?”

“Yes,” Pascal groans helplessly. “Oh god, oh fuck me, yes...”

Kip gives a parting tug on Pascal’s hair before releasing his hold in favor of wrapping his hand around Pascal’s cock. Kip digs his thumb just a bit into his slit, earning a jerk of the hips and a strangled “Fuck!” and a little more precum with which to slick up Pascal’s length.

Before he knows it, he’s got Pascal burning hot and rock hard in his hand, pushing back against each thrust, exhaling Kip’s name with some blend of desperation and reverence.

Kip curses under his breath, feeling himself hooked and drawn towards an imminent climax. 

“Pas,” he huffs. “You ready?”

“Y-yes,” Pascal breathes.

“Tell me all about it, then,” Kip says. He leans in to press his chest to Pascal’s back while sliding his hand up Pascal’s stomach. “Let me hear.”

“I want you to make me cum—“ Pascal’s voice is so low, almost gravelly, his tone rich and needy and intense. “Please, Kip.”

“Mm...” Kip plants a toothy kiss on the back of his shoulder and bucks into him with a little extra edge, pumping him just as hard. “Ask me again.”

“Aah! God!” Pascal throws his head back, spine arching.

Kip slips his hand further up Pascal’s torso, feeling up into his soft chest hair for his nipple and giving it a teasing flick. Pascal sucks in a breath through his teeth and lets it out as a long, pleading groan.

“Please, Kip,” he manages. “Please, I wanna cum. PLEASE make me cum, Kip, please—“

“Alright, alright,” Kip laughs softly. “You know I want it, too. I’m gonna make you cum now, okay?”

“Okay,” Pascal gasps. 

It’s easy—Pascal’s practically already there. But Kip reaches up to pull him up away from the wall by the top of the shoulder, then the base of the throat, then the ends of the hair, until Pascal’s weight is practically atop his lap.

“C’mere,” Kip croons against the back of his neck. “Let go of the wall.”

“I-I’m trying...”

With a few rough tugs, Pascal wrenches the last suckers loose and presses himself back into Kip’s embrace. Kip closes his eyes and lets himself go on autopilot, tucking his nose behind Pascal’s ear, dragging his tongue along its ridge, along the corner of his jaw, the side of his neck, scattering kisses everywhere. 

“Pascal—“ The second syllable is muffled as he plants a kiss to his warm skin. “Mm—Pasc, I’m close...”

Kip takes a deep breath and works Pascal’s dick with an extra burst of energy, determined to make him climax first. Pascal reaches back, arm sliding down Kip’s waist, clumsily petting at his thigh. 

“I want you to cum, Pascal,” Kip murmurs to him. “Go ahead and cum for me.”

“Kip—“

Kip jerks into him, hips smacking up against his ass, each thrust shoving Pascal’s cock into the tight wrap of his hand.

Pascal moans breathlessly—Kip can tell from his voice that he’s wavering at the tipping point. He shoves himself deep into Pascal and puts both hands on his erection to pump him as hard as he can manage.

“Kip!” Pascal’s voice crackles.

He freezes up—Kip strokes the underside of his erection with one palm, cupping the other around the tip. A moment later, Pascal drops his head back with a low groan, spilling generously into Kip’s waiting hand. He clenches as he orgasms; Kip sucks in his breath and does his best to hold still.

“Kip...” Pascal sighs. 

Kip can feel Pascal’s tension easing away, replaced with growing relaxation and an occasional gentle shudder.

“Here,” Kip murmurs. “Lean down, Pasc...”

He presses his chest against Pascal’s back, pushing his weight into him, encouraging him to sink forward. He moves with him until he’s partly lying against Pascal, partly kneeling on the mattress behind him.

“Just a minute more,” he breathes, and hooks an arm across Pascal’s front. “And I’ll...”

He drops his forehead to Pascal’s spine, bites his lip, and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Just keep relaxing, Pascal,” he says softly. “I’m so close.”

He pushes into Pascal and starts to buck, pressing his mouth to Pascal’s skin, moaning softly against him.

It’s not even fifteen seconds before he snaps his hips forward, curling in around Pascal with a rough gasp, and cums.

He takes a few moments to breathe before sliding his hand down to Pascal’s stomach and slowly pulling out.

“Pascal,” he murmurs. “How’re you feeling?”

Pascal answers with a quiet, satisfied hum.

Kip takes the condom off and leans across the edge of the mattress to toss it in his wastebasket. He settles beside Pascal, hip to hip, licking the cum off one hand while rubbing circles against Pascal’s shoulder with the other.

Pascal inhales deeply and turns his head to look over at Kip.

“I’m glad I decided to stop by and see you,” he quietly laughs. “I feel really, really good, thanks.”

Kip smiles.

“You wanna take a shower?” he offers. “I can make us glasses of sweet iced mint tea and lemonade while you’re in there.”

“Oh, man, would you?” Pascal lifts his head eagerly.

“Absolutely I would.” 

Kip leans in and kisses Pascal’s forehead.

“Hey,” he says, brushing his fingers down Pascal’s cheek.

“Yeah?” Pascal looks up at him. “What’s up?”

Kip just looks back for a moment and then smiles again, squeezing Pascal’s shoulder.

Pascal blushes and smiles gently back.

“Here,” Kip murmurs, and helps him up.

—

Pascal is apparently still dedicated to making Kip laugh—joking around with him not only while they chat and drink their teas, but all while Kip walks him back to his apartment. He has his arm wrapped from Kip’s elbow down to his hand, and squeezes just slightly each time Kip giggles aloud. When Kip drops him off at the front door, Pascal asks about talking over the phone later, and Kip promises it can happen and hangs on to his shirt a little longer than necessary when kissing him goodbye.

He notices the absence of Pascal’s arm around his as he heads back to his own apartment, but feels almost effervescently upbeat regardless.

He doesn’t even mind all that much when he sees Wallace, clearly back from his office, working the lock on his door open. He glances over his shoulder at Kip and does a small double-take in recognition.

“Oh, hey,” Wallace says, turning away from his door. “That was fun the other night, wasn’t it?”

Kip pauses in place about five feet away.

“Yeah,” he says.

He starts to take another step, but hesitates. 

“...I did, uh, wanna mention something to you, though.”

“Oh?” Wallace turns a little more towards him, attention a bit more focused on him. “What is it?”

Kip scratches his shoulder and glasses upwards.

“Well—look, I know this isn’t exactly something that you can practice, but these kinds of things rarely are...” he starts. “Still. Could you try to make sure to...get used to touching monsters?”

“Huh?” Wallace seems confused, almost taken aback, blushing a little. “How do you mean?”

Kip fights back a smile at the thought that Wallace’s first thought might’ve had a sexual context. But it’s easy to dampen his amusement with the memory of how it feels to see Wallace recoil from even the chance of the most casual, passing contact with Pascal’s arms. 

“I mean, you need to be okay with touching monsters who don’t have hands, or have any other sort of...less humanlike features,” he explains.

Wallace blushes impressively.

“O-oh,” he says simply. “Um.”

Kip shrugs. He’d actually love to walk away or avoid this conversation entirely, but he already knows that it’s either matter-of-factly confront Wallace about this now, or inevitably snap at him over it at some point in the future. Either way, it’s something he’ll need to say, and as uncomfortable as this may be for the both of them, it’s still the preferable route.

“Everyone’s used to it from humans,” he says. “But if you’re a human wanting monsters to cooperate him, that’s a kind of signal that you don’t...take things seriously.”

Wallace face is still flushed pink, his mouth twitches—for a moment Kip prepares himself to counter a defensive rise in temper.

“Sorry,” Wallace mumbles instead, clutching at the strap of his bag. “I AM trying to take my work as seriously as I know I should.”

“Yeah,” Kip says, hoping his honesty can be heard in his tone. “I know you are.”

He meets Wallace’s eyes.

“It’s just important to pay attention to these details of how you and other humans interact with monsters,” he says. “There’s...a lot of potential for disrespect. Like I said, I know you can’t exactly sit there and train yourself to get used to touching Pascal—“

He cuts off and blushes slightly himself—even if they both already knew that Kip is referring to Wallace’s lingering uneasiness about Pascal’s arms, Kip hadn’t meant to specify anything.

“...But you should try to be aware, and remind yourself. It eventually ought to become close to second nature, even if you have to perform comfort for a while,” Kip continues slowly.

“Okay,” Wallace answers, nodding to Kip as though to someone in a superior position. “Right. Um—thanks for the advice.”

Kip nods back.

“Sure. Uh—I hope you have a good evening,” he says.

“Thanks,” Wallace says. “You too.”

“See you.” Kip flashes a small smile and turns away at once, walking off unsure of whether he ought to feel proud or embarrassed.

—

Roy and Molly arrive a bit later with an additional resupply of toilet paper, and Molly goes downstairs to spend a while with Ben, and invites Roy along. Kip writes a little while they’re gone, distracted halfway through by vibrant texts from Eno that insist he’s going to come by in a couple of weeks to spend a whole day in C, visiting Kip in his natural habitat. Kip only plays it cool for a couple of replies to tease Eno about the sudden interest before reflecting his enthusiasm right back at him.

About an hour after Molly and Roy went downstairs, Kip sets to work reheating some leftovers for their dinners. Twenty minutes later, he makes himself a plate from the couple of pans he’s got on the stove, and sits crosslegged on the couch to listen to a podcast while he eats.

A full half hour passes after he’s finished eating, and he’s a little confused that he’s still alone in the apartment. Usually Molly’s visits to Ben last a little over an hour—about two, tops. He supposes there’s a chance it’s just turned into an impromptu longer hangout. He’s been part of plenty of those, even ones that happened with with Ben, even one’s AT Ben’s. 

He tells himself repeatedly not to worry too much about it—he’ll cause all sorts of a fuss if Molly and Roy come back from a nice evening with a mutual friend in the same building and find out Kip couldn’t’ve trusted them to manage to stay out of trouble.

Luckily, Pascal preoccupies him nicely with a call that lasts a solid half hour and makes him feel much less lonely. He jokingly brags about not having an anxiety attack over his friends’ technically-unknown locations, and Pascal plays along nicely by offering to swing by again and help him take advantage of the solitude once more. After they’ve said goodbye to each other, Kip eats a little more, then puts the food away again so that the other two don’t suspect him of expecting them to have returned for dinner and being quietly disappointed that they didn’t.

He decides it’s an ideal evening to indulge in a long bubble bath, adding a cup of tea and a book to the experience, settling in to soak in the heat. He waits until he can’t pretend the water’s still all that warm, then cleans himself and washes his hair before getting out to trim his nails, rub on some lotion again, and shave.

He repeats his movie-watching experience from the previous night, engulfed in blankets, this time with a large mug of hot chocolate in place of the cupcakes. By the time that’s done, he takes off his headphones and is glad to hear Roy and Molly chatting in the other room. He gets into pajamas and lays out his work clothes for the next day’s opening shift. 

By the time he heads into the bathroom to brush his teeth, the others have apparently gone into their own bedrooms, but Kip doesn’t mind.

He’s actually kind of happy that they’re able to enjoy themselves without worrying about whether HE’S worried. He feels guilty about the idea often enough—he’ll gladly take evidence to the contrary.

He’s going to bed a bit earlier than usual, but the thought of getting a couple extra hours of rest after a full day and before an early morning is an exclusively appealing one.

—

Kip’s next day is much quieter, but he doesn’t mind in the least. The rainy, overcast weather contributes to the subdued atmosphere and keeps things at work a little slow. Kip chats with Kate for a bit when she comes to relieve him, and she tells him all about the different edits she’s been trying with the shots he and Molly provided her, promising she’ll send him his pictures when she’s done—mostly for her sake, he agrees she definitely should.

He heads home, gets changed, makes a new post, answers a couple of emails, and heads out to spend an hour or two at the library, this time armed with an umbrella.

He has an awkwardly unpleasant, momentary run-in with a human there, but forgets it soon enough.

He has dinner with Molly and Roy, sitting at the couch and armchair—he and Molly exchange occasional glances as they let Roy go off on his stories and explanations as often as he likes. 

He gets a text from Pascal before bed, telling Kip they should meet up the next evening so Kip can come with him to his pottery class, and Kip agrees.

Kip dozes off multiple times in the middle of his attempt to read until he finally gives in, sets his alarm, takes off his glasses, and turns off his light.

—

Kip finally registers this tiny distant sound as the alarm his phone going off—he knows he recognizes it as a part of something completely different from all this, and knows that maybe if he can grab on to it and focus as hard as he possibly can on it, blocking out all the rest, maybe it will somehow rescue him.

Kip gasps, falling to the floor, thrashing his legs out for a moment before realizing he’s all twisted up in his sheets. He grabs at them and wrenches his limbs free, scrambling onto his feet. His head swims at the sudden change in orientation and he grabs at the mattress for support, vision going dim and fuzzy.

“S-stop it!” he orders the alarm, voice raspy. “Stop it!”

It seems to be blaring at him from all directions. It’s like he’s caught between this reality and the one from the dream that’s still in his head, playing in jarring flashes as if through a broken-down projector. The alarm still shrills at him and he can’t figure out how to make it stop; his frustration flares.

“Stop it!” he hisses again, a note of desperation breaking into his tone. “Stop—shut up shut up shut UP!”

Finally he can manage to turn and see his phone on the nightstand—he fumbles with it until finally it‘s silent, and then just stands still in the middle of his room, able to hear his own shallow panting in the newfound quiet.

He can’t just move on. He can’t even try to ignore this another instant. He needs to know if it might be real, if it’ll keep fucking up his dreams every night, fighting to intrude into even his waking awareness.

And there’s a chance that someone can tell him—

Wallace.

Kip is partway down the staircase without having fully processed what he’s doing and why—he slows his descent, trying to figure out exactly what’s happening. Somehow he manages to work out what time it must be, and that it’s actually possible—even plausible—that Wallace is awake.

He stumbles and clutches at the handrail.

Before he knows it he’s on the bottom landing. The door handle feels cold against his hand, the carpet too rough against his bare feet, and the whole building is too big and too full of people who could appear from anywhere at any moment.

Kip glances nervously in the direction of the front door as he walks quickly towards Wallace’s apartment—he keeps a hand against the wall, though he finally feels somewhat steady on his feet.

He finds Wallace’s door and knocks at once, as loudly as he thinks is safe. It opens only seconds later before he even hears footsteps—he flinches back.

“Hey, wh—oh. Uh, hi, Kip,” Wallace says. “...Are you okay?”

Kip nods, hugging himself across his stomach.

“You were there when I was being burned, right?” Kip says unhesitatingly. “You saw it?”

Wallace is silent for a second or two, just looking back at him.

“I-I didn’t see everything,” he answers finally. “I looked away for some parts of it, and I was trying to figure out how we’d be able to get you out of that room...”

“What did you hear?” Kip asks, tightening his arms across his front.

“Hear?” 

Kip nods.

Wallace blinks, glancing over at the frame of the door.

“I...mostly heard you, really,” Wallace murmurs. “And there was this...really loud sort of rumbling sound? Or something.”

“What about voices?” Kip asks, curling his left fist, nails digging into his palm.

“Voices?” Wallace echoes again. “...I heard you. And I guess sometimes I heard people who were in the room with you, talking to each other and all. But I couldn’t really hear what they were saying, that one noise was so loud...”

Wallace trails off, grimacing slightly.

“Why do you wanna know what I heard?” he asks. “Is...something going on?”

Kip shakes his head.

“I just need to know for myself,” he mumbles. “You didn’t hear anyone else’s voice in the noise?”

Wallace shifts his weight and rubs his head again.

“I don’t think so,” he says. “What sort of voice are you thinking of? What are you trying to find out?”

Kip looks up and meets Wallace’s eyes, and suddenly feels pulled just that much more into full consciousness. He faintly starts to regret rushing down here half-asleep, nearly too bewildered and confused to keep himself upright. And Wallace must be confused too, getting this surprise visit at such an hour, being asked upfront about his memories of Kip’s torture in E.

He’s slightly embarrassed as well that Wallace is standing in front of him in only boxers and a thin white tank. But he himself is barefoot in sweatpants and an old tee, no doubt aptly looking like he just fell out of bed.

“...I was wondering if you heard anything like...screaming,” Kip murmurs, moving his gaze down to Wallace’s stomach. 

“Um...” Wallace breathes. “No, I didn’t. I only heard you.”

Kip lifts his head to hold eye contact again, staring at him silently for several long seconds.

Wallace shakes his head softly, and Kip looks down the hall back towards the stairwell.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Sorry for bothering you like this so early. I...woke up out of a nightmare, and just...decided I needed to ask you right off.”

“Uh, it’s fine,” Wallace says. “Do you wanna sit down for a minute? You don’t look great, and—I figure you could use a cup of tea, or something.”

Kip’s attempt at a flat laugh comes out more of an exhale.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I need to get back upstairs and get ready for work. ...Thanks for the offer, though.”

“Oh...alright,” Wallace says. “You’re sure you don’t wanna sit down for, like, one minute and a glass of water?”

“I’ll be fine.” Kip steps back. “Sorry again. I’ll see you later.”

“O-okay. Later.”

Kip nods and heads back down the hall.

He thinks the sound of his phone’s alarm must be in his head, but upon entering the apartment he realizes it’s actually going off again. He swears under his breath and rushes back into his room with no shortage of annoyance to shut it off for good.

—

Kip has himself a little more smoothed over by the time he heads out for the café. It’s another rainy morning—the gentle patter of drops on his umbrella feels like it’s helping to ground him, too.

And it has to be a comfort that, according to Wallace’s recollections, the sound of his family dying is apparently a product of his nightmares alone.

He has to suspect that the combination of memories from the fire and from E is what’s been roughening his bad dreams so much lately. And hope that having this one source of comfort in the back of his head might ease their sting again.

It’s kind of nice being the one to open, getting to go into a dim, empty store with no one else around. Despite feeling much more himself than he did only an hour or so ago, the whole morning has him on edge. The quiet routine of opening helps blunt his tension, and easing into his work mode is a lot simpler than trying to feel like he’s his natural self.

By the time he opens the door, he feels perfectly able to seem as calm and collected as on any other day. And it doesn’t require all that much faking anymore—he figures that by the end of his shift, he ought fo feel fine enough.

The first few people are regulars who stop by most mornings on their way to work. 

And then Wallace comes in.

Kip senses only a little flush of warmth. He looks at Wallace evenly, as if he hadn’t turned up in front of him earlier, looking a mess and asking him bizarre questions about E. There’s no one else in the café in the moment, which, for better or worse, leaves Kip without as much of an excuse to act more formally towards him.

“Hey, Kip,” Wallace says, shutting the door behind him. He approaches at an easy pace. “How’s things here?”

“Fine,” Kip answers, taking hold of either side of the register. “You’re going to the office? This is kind of out of your way, isn’t it?”

Wallace shrugs.

“Not too much. Besides, it’s nice to have something to drink on a morning like this, huh?”

“Sure...” Kip glances at Wallace’s damp hair, and then the way the shoulders of his button-up shirt cling to his skin. “Didn’t you bring an umbrella?”

“Oh, heh—“ Wallace blushes, laughing. “It wasn’t hardly raining when I headed out. But I got caught in a little bit more of it just a few minutes ago.”

He gestures vaguely with his hands as he explains, and Kip fights the urge to shake his head in disbelief. He sighs instead, turning slowly around on his heel.

“Wait here,” he says to Wallace. “I’ll bring you mine.”

He goes into the back, lifting his umbrella off the end peg of the coatrack. He carries it back to the front and holds it out across the counter to Wallace.

“O-oh, you don’t—I’m fine—“ Wallace stammers, shaking his head with a smile. 

“I can tell it’s already raining harder than it was when I was out,” Kip argues. “You’ll be soaked by the time you walk all the way over to your office, Wallace. I’m not using it now.”

“W-what about when you have to walk back?” Wallace says. “You won’t still be here at...six, will you?”

“No, but if it’s raining too hard when my shift is over, I’ll borrow Kate’s or Cuddy’s, then get one from the apartment and bring theirs back over.”

“You don’t have to go through all the trouble,” Wallace says.

“Where else could you borrow an umbrella that you can return as easily as this one?” Kip asks. “Come on. You’ll be soaked by the time you’re at work.”

He offers the handle insistently, pointing it right at Wallace’s chest. Wallace looks down at it, then back up at Kip, who stares back steadily, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay...” Wallace laughs softly, taking the umbrella from him. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Kip pushes his sleeves further up his elbows and puts his hands on his hips. “So, was there something you wanted to order, or...?”

“Just a latte, I think,” Wallace says, looking up at the menu.

Kip glances at him as he enters the order.

“You want a cinnamon roll?” he asks quietly. “Molly made today’s batch, and hers are always especially good.”

“Oh—sure.”

“Okay.”

Wallace fumbles around for a moment trying to find his wallet, finally passing Kip a ten. Kip hands him back his change, trying to maintain a cool, unblushing expression when their fingers bump together.

“I get this much back?” Wallace says, looking over the money with confusion. 

“Uh-huh. I’ll ring up the roll myself later,” he explains. “That’s on me. Thanks, you know...for dealing with me earlier.”

“Oh—don’t worry about that!” Wallace says. “That’s, well, uh—part of why I decided to drop by this morning. You mentioned you were going to work, and I figured I’d stop in and...make sure you’re doing okay.”

Knowing Wallace as he does, Kip had already suspected as much, but it gives him a bit of a flutter to hear Wallace say it. He wishes he wasn’t apparently still so lovestruck and moony over Wallace like this. But the bitter frustration he’d used to feel over it has at least resigned itself into something quieter.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs. “Sorry again for intruding on you like that, and so early and everything. I’d just...gotten thrown by a bad nightmare, and was sort of at your door before I’d exactly gotten myself together.”

“It’s okay. It seemed important,” Wallace says, offering a smile.

Kip gives half a shrug.

“Still, it can’t have been the nicest start to your day, being asked about stuff like that,” he says. “And...I know being around me hasn’t exactly been fantastic for you lately. I really appreciate your patience.”

“Aw, it’s okay,” Wallace says quietly. “I’m not expecting you to be the most comfortable around me yet. I understand.”

Kip offers a small smile.

“I’d better get started on your coffee. I don’t want to make you late.”

“Don’t worry,” Wallace says. “I gave myself plenty of extra time for this.”

Kip feels another little shiver in his chest that he ignores—there’s nothing flirtatious about Wallace trying to be prudent, and it would be awful if Wallace WERE flirting. He flashes a quick smile before heading over to the coffee bar, devoting his attention to latte production for the next couple of minutes. As soon as the drink is done he sweeps into the back, heating a cinnamon roll, giving it a generous coat of icing, and enfolding it waxed paper.

“Here you go.” He walks over and passes it to Wallace and returns to his latte without missing a beat. “And I just have to put a lid on this, and...”

He does so, and slips a paper sleeve on, and writes Wallace’s name in purple marker at the top.

“Here’s your...oh, um. Well.”

He stops and looks Wallace over.

“Damn. You only have two hands, don’t you.”

“Ha...yes. Sorry.”

“Maybe I could give you a carrier for the coffee and you could put your wrist through it, and...” He sighs. “No, that’s...no.”

“I could just go ahead and eat this before I go,” Wallace suggests, lifting the cinnamon bun. 

“Ugh, I didn’t want you to make you have to rush through it,” Kip says. “...You know what, I can put it in one of our paper bags, and you can just keep it on your elbow while holding the umbrella, and hold your coffee in the other hand—that way you can wait till you’re at your desk to eat it. So you can look forward to it while you walk over.”

He digs out one of the bags as he speaks, opening it up and holding it out for Wallace.

“Alright,” Wallace laughs.

He slips the roll inside and takes it from Kip.

“Alright. And here’s your coffee. I went ahead and added the sugar for you, by the way.”

“Oh! Thank you!” Wallace brightens and laughs again. “Gosh, well...thanks. It’s good to see you’re feeling alright.”

“Heh. Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”

He glances up to see Wallace already looking right at him. Kip feels his heart pound twice before Wallace smiles at him and finally looks away, down at the cup in his hand.

“I guess I should head off, then,” he says. “Thanks for the coffee. And the roll, and the umbrella.”

“Of course.” Kip smiles at him. “Have a good day at work, yeah?”

“I hope so. You too, then, huh?”

“I’ll try.”

Wallace laughs softly.

“Okay—oh, and...uh...” His expression falls somewhat.

“...Yeah?”

“I...well, the other day, I know why you were wanting to talk to me about that stuff. I remember I sort of...hesitated when Briggs was han—uh, giving me that dessert you made. I know you must’ve noticed that, and—I’m sorry.”

Kip blushes.

“Um—yeah. I did see that. The, uh, advice does still apply in general, but...I guess I can admit I did have a personal motivation for it, too.”

Wallace nods.

“Sorry,” he repeats quietly. “I’ll pay better attention to that kind of thing, I promise.”

“Thanks,” Kip murmurs.

Wallace’s smile returns, gentler than usual.

“See you later, Kip.”

“Later, Wallace.”

Kip watches as Wallace heads to the door, propping it open with his foot as he opens up Kip’s umbrella. He raises it over his head, looks over his shoulder at Kip, and sends him a smile, lifting the coffee in the other hand. 

Kip returns the smile and gives a small wave. 

Within seconds, Wallace walks out of the range of sight afforded by the café’s front windows. Kip stares after him for a moment, then looks at the rainwater dripping from the awnings.

He takes his time ringing up the cinnamon roll, digging out the exact change for the order, then pushing the till shut with his knee.

He has to take a minute or two smoothing himself over for entirely new reasons.

—

“Oh, are you going out?” Roy says, looking up from the craft he’s putting together.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” Kip says. “Need me to do something for you while I’m out?”

“Oh, no, don’t worry, I’m all set for the night,” Roy answers. “I was just wondering.”

“Yeah.” Kip looks at himself via his phone’s camera, straightening the v-neck of his charcoal grey tee. “I’ve been wanting to sit in on one of Pascal’s sculpting classes for a little while now, and apparently tonight’s my big chance.”

Roy sits up.

“Sculpting classes?” he repeats.

“Yeah, clay and pottery and that kind of thing. It’s...sort of a hobby of his, I guess. Did you not know about it?”

“I had no idea! That is SO cool,” Roy gushes. “Tell me all about it when you get back! I have no idea how that kind of thing works—I’d love to get some inside information about it, you know?”

“Sure, I will,” Kip promises. “Pascal seems to have a lot of talent for it. And he says he likes it. I thought it’d be neat to get to watch him work.”

“Oh, he does? How do you know? Oh!” Roy gasps. “Have you gotten to see things he’s made?”

“Uh-huh. He does a lot of little detail work and makes everything really pretty and smooth. It’s really impressive.”

“So does he have stuff over at his apartment then?”

“Yeah. I’ll see about taking some pictures next time I’m over there. And, you know, we could all figure out some time to go hang out with him at his apartment together.”

“Oh—“ Roy lights up at the idea. “Yeah! I’d LOVE to see what he’s made.”

Kip smiles to himself and hikes up the strap of his bag.

“Alright, I said I’d meet him at the shop, so I’m heading over, alright?” he says to Roy, walking to the door. “I’m gonna go ahead and spend the night at his place, too, so I should see you tomorrow...night, actually. I’m closing.”

“Aw,” Roy sighs. “Well, I’d better give you your goodnight and good morning in advance, then.”

It takes him a handful of strides to traverse the distance between the couch and the door.

“C’mere—“

He scoops Kip into a hug.

“Goodnight, then,” Kip says, putting his arms around Roy’s back. “And good morning.”

Roy kisses Kip’s forehead, making Kip blush and laugh.

“Have fun,” Roy says. “Say hi to Pascal for me!”

“Okay,” Kip says. “Have a nice day—however long it takes till I see you again.”

He steps through the door and practically walks right into Wallace.

“Shit!” he hisses, flinching severely.

“Sorry, sorry!” Wallace moves back. “I—I just wanted to return your umbrella. Thanks again for letting me use it.”

Kip exhales through his teeth, letting Wallace pass him the umbrella.

“It’s...no problem. I was just going out again, actually. It’s not raining too hard out there, is it?”

“Oh, no. It seems like it’s been light showers on and off the past couple of hours—just sort of sprinkling right now, really.”

“Okay, well...thanks for bringing this back with such...good timing,” Kip says, raising the umbrella slightly.

“Heh—yeah, sorry for scaring you like that.”

Kip looks at him for a moment before shaking his head with a laugh.

“You heading back down to your apartment?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah, I am. I can’t wait to change out of these work clothes,” Wallace says.

They start walking down the hall together.

“I always think rainy afternoons feel kind of relaxed,” Wallace continues. “Like I should take a hot bath and spend the whole evening in a robe and slippers or something.”

“Heh, yeah. I think rain is kind of cozy, too,” Kip agrees. 

“Like wanting to curl up by a fire when it snows,” Wallace says.

Opening the stairwell door for Wallace provides Kip with a reason not to respond immediately.

“I’m pretty much always cold in the winter,” he sighs. “It’s a relief whenever it’s warm enough to rain instead of snow.”

“I guess you’re glad it’s summer, then?”

Kip smiles weakly as he follows Wallace around the turn of a landing.

“Sure. Some days I feel overheated like everyone else, and other days I’m STILL cold, but I prefer it a lot more to feeling cold constantly.”

“I guess you’re not cold today, then.”

“Hm?”

“Short sleeves, and everything.” Wallace glances back at him with a smile. 

“Oh—“ Kip looks down at his shirt. “Yeah, it’s comfortable today.”

“That’s good,” Wallace says. “I remember how cold you’d sometimes get last winter.”

“Yeah. And all the stress doesn’t help.”

“...Is it easier to stay warmer if you can kinda control the ice better now?” 

“Uh...sort of, I think. It still takes a fair amount of focus for me to feel like I’m able to do something. The lowered temperature has kind of always happened on its own, constantly.”

“Ugh—“ Wallace groans sympathetically. “I wish it wouldn’t.”

“Yeah...it sure makes being around me fun for people,” Kip says sarcastically, laughing. “Though at least I’m fairly popular on extra hot days.”

“Oh—no—“ Wallace laughs too. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you don’t enjoy being cold, and...I wish it would stop for that reason.”

“Oh—thanks. I’m more used to it, I guess. It’s sort of been going on forever.”

“Like...even when you were a baby?”

“So they told me, yeah.”

“Huh. Does it start that early for everyone with abilities like that?”

“It varies. They tend to start showing pretty young, though—before anyone starts school, usually.”

“Wow. It must be even more impossible to control things when you’re a kid.”

“Well, the powers kind of develop along with us,” Kip explains. “A little kid is only gonna have a pretty rudimentary version of what they’ll eventually be able to do even, say, three years later. And the energy a baby or toddler can put into their abilities is really limited. Luckily for everyone, I’m sure.”

“How’d it first show for you, do you know?”

“Mm...apparently everyone was stressed about my low body temperature after I was born, until someone saw me make a little frost on the side of an incubator.”

“Oh, jeez,” Wallace laughs. “I hadn’t even considered that.”

“Yeah, the involuntary sort of stuff can be more confusing than obvious at first, especially at its lowered levels.”

“So...you’ve been feeling cold since, like, you were born, then?”

“Uh. Yeah, pretty much. Probably sucks having to try to take care of that on top of regular baby stuff. I cried a LOT, Kent told me once. Had to be annoying.”

“Well, you couldn’t help it.”

“Sure. I don’t have as much as an excuse now, though. It’s also pretty unusual to have your powers stay almost completely involuntary into your teens, much less your twenties. Most ten year olds would be able to control their ability better than I can now.”

“Aw, there’s plenty of stuff that takes ages to figure out,” Wallace says. “I’ve got a couple of years on you, and there’s shit about myself I was totally clueless about before this past year. The past few months even. There’s been totally new experiences I never knew I was missing, you know? Nobody has themselves together at ten, no matter what they can or can’t do.”

Kip hums noncommittally.

“Plus, your powers are really strong, right? That has to make it harder to get a handle on.”

Wallace opens the door to the bottom floor for him; Kip gives him a small nod as he passes through.

“Hey—“ Wallace says. “Are your...no, sorry.”

Kip glances back at him.

“What is it?”

“No, never mind. It was, like, way too intrusive.” He breathes a laugh.

“Ha—I feel like I owe you one free intrusive question today, for sure,” Kip says. “Go ahead and ask it. I’ve got myself together a lot better than I did this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay—well—I guess I was just wondering if your parents were...still around,” Wallace asks slowly.

“Well...” Kip exhales, looking up at the ceiling. “They’re probably still around as in ‘alive,’ but they haven’t been in the picture since I was still pretty little. I hardly remember them at this point, really.”

“Oh—I’m sorry.”

“Nah. It doesn’t bother me. It wasn’t anything to do with E. Just, you know, things not exactly working out in other ways.”

“Oh...”

Kip can tell Wallace likely has more questions, but he doesn’t try to ask them. Maybe out of embarrassment, but maybe because they’re steps away his apartment door.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kip says, turning to offer him a smile. “They were never really in my life enough for me to feel like I lost anything. It doesn’t bother me to talk about.”

Wallace nods, blushing.

“Well, this is you, then?” Kip says, tilting his head towards Wallace’s door. “Enjoy your rainy evening, and everything.”

“Yeah,” Wallace laughs. “Have a nice evening too, Kip.”

“Thanks. See you around, Wallace.”

“Bye.”

Kip turns and heads through the lobby and out the front door, into the gentle rain.

—

“You go in first,” Kip laughs. “I’ll just follow you.”

“Okay,” Pascal says, and leads Kip into the classroom.

It’s a tall, open space, with a larger room branching off from the back, full of shelves and racks, cupboards and drawers. The classroom portion has two columns of wide, paint-stained tables with stools and chairs arranged around them, with plenty of various art supplies on smaller tables set up against the walls. There are several large windows up near the ceiling as well as fluorescent bulbs overhead, and the mixed light fills the space.

Kip is feeling fairly self-conscious as the others in the room notice Pascal’s presence, hovering close to his boyfriend. A couple of people greet Pascal, and he greets them back, and casually introduces Kip, who gives both a smile, nod, and brief wave.

Pascal touches Kip’s wrist and leads him to an empty table near the back. Kip settles on a stool and lowers his bag to the floor beside it, looking frequently over at Pascal. Pascal sits beside him and looks over with a warm smile.

“You nervous?” he asks quietly.

Kip shrugs and smiles.

“Only a little,” he says.

Pascal puts his arm around Kip’s shoulders and kisses his temple, then slips his arm down to slowly rub Kip’s back. Kip relaxes a little, looking around at each of the people sitting at the other tables. They’re fairly varied ages, there’s a couple of humans, a few are chatting quietly.

“How many more weeks of this class do you have?” Kip asks after a moment.

“Uh—five, I think,” Pascal answers.

“Oh...what are you gonna do after that? Is there some other way you can keep making stuff?”

“I think so. There’s other places that have kilns and stuff.”

“Mm. Well...you should be able to keep at this if you want to, y’know.”

“Ha—yeah, I figure I’ll make sure to ask more about it before the course is over.”

“Yeah, get some pamphlets and shit,” Kip says, squeezing his arm.

Pascal laughs, and Kip asks him if he’s in the middle of any projects, and listens to Pascal’s explanations and descriptions of each with increasing enjoyment of his boyfriend’s quiet enthusiasm.

—

Kip is still and quiet during a brief period of instruction—he supposes it can’t be that surprising that the class is more about learning through direct experience than spending too long discussing practices in theory.

It’s a little awkward sitting at the table while everyone else gets up and moves around the room, bringing back plastic-covered half-finished pieces, fresh blocks of clay, plastic and metal instruments of all size and shape, brushes, newspaper, wire, water. Everyone seems to dive right into work—Kip scoots over to give Pascal room and watches him get set up with what seems to be a vase. The top half is an unformed, vague mass, but from the base up grows an intricate texture of what looks like—

“Those are waves?” Kip asks quietly, staring at it in wonder.

“Yeah,” Pascal laughs. “I really like sculpting flowers with lots of petals, and leaves, and stuff, but I wanted to try something different, so I decided to try to make this one like water.”

The waves have a flow to them, rendered so smoothly, with curling, foaming edges with such an organic appearance that Kip can see the similarity between Pascal’s work here and his creations of rich, entwined flora. He points this out to Pascal, who cocks his head as if considering it, then tells Kip his analytical perspective is fantastic.

“YOU’RE the fantastic one, here, Pasc,” Kip whispers. “This is so beautiful, I can’t believe you just started doing this? You’ve got such a natural talent for these designs—“

“Why are you whispering?” Pascal whispers back, laughter in his tone.

“I don’t wanna seem like I’m trying to brag about how great you are,” Kip says. “But you totally are.”

“I mean...I MAY have played around with polymer clay and stuff every now and then when I was little,” Pascal laughs. “And other kinds of that sculpting stuff they make for kids to mess with. I always liked it, I dunno.”

“Still!” Kip breathes. “Fuck, Pascal, this is gorgeous.”

“Aw...I’m glad you like it.” 

Pascal presses a kiss to his ear and picks up a small plastic scalpel.

“Okay, I’m gonna try not to distract you too much,” Kip laughs, closer to a regular volume.

“Don’t worry,” Pascal says. “I like to talk while I work.”

“Oh—heh. Cool.”

“You should check out what everyone else is working on, too, it’s really cool.” Pascal leans back in his chair and looks over to a sixty-something monster sitting at the table across from them. “Hey, Elise, you wanna let Kip see your honeypot? He’s into that kind of thing.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Elise laughs. “I’d hate for anyone to miss a chance to look at THIS.”

Pascal pats Kip’s thigh, and Kip wanders over with only a light blush, listening attentively as Elise points out the bees and honeycomb pattern she’s working into the sides of her sculpture, demonstrating her technique for him. And she talks to a couple other people around her as well, which leads to Kip being passed off to look at someone else’s work, and so on until he’s spent a minute talking with every single person, trying to come off as nice without acting like a teacher hovering beside them to scrutinize or praise.

But everyone acts friendly to him immediately. Kip glances over at Pascal often, suspecting that it’s his boyfriend’s deep natural appeal that has automatically granted him favor with all these strangers. A few times Pascal is already looking over at him, and smiles brightly when their eyes meet—Kip feels lighter and easier each time.

—

Kip watches with complete fascination as Pascal works, coaxing the clay into an unfolding continuation of the flowing design. It seems partly effortless, he’s unhesitating in both his large sweeping movements and the tiny, delicate details he has to lean in and bite his tongue for. He regards his work with this unbreaking focus even while talking to Kip, and is never bothered by the coating of clay traveling further and further up his arms with each minute. His hair falls into his face at times, but he hardly even seems to notice, his concentration is so steady.

The whole picture is unexpectedly sexy; Kip grows a little fidgety and warm just looking at him.

At one point Pascal sits back with a long exhale, regarding his progress. Then he looks over at Kip with a smile.

“You wanna try messing with some of this stuff?”

“Wha—o-oh, no, that’s alright, I’m not in the class, it’s fine—“

“Aw, you can just use a piece of clay and mash it back down at the end, no worries.”

“Um...” Kip hesitates, lifting his shoulders.

Pascal gazes back at him with a smile, both of them silent for a second.

“C’mon,” he laughs. “I’ll show you all the stuff in the back.”

A minute later, Kip is watching him cut off a piece of clay from the top of a large block.

“There you are,” Pascal says. “Bring it over here, and I can show you how the wheels work for a second.”

He heads off to a table a few feet away; Kip picks up the surprisingly solid and weighty piece and follows him, setting it down on the sienna-stained plate of one of the wheels.

“Here, you can put a little bit of water on it to make it smoother.” Pascal takes a green spritzer and mists all over the clay, squeezing it into a rough mound, spritzing it again. “I’ll put it on a low speed—hang on—“

Low turns out to still seem pretty fast to Kip. The clay becomes a blurry shape; the wheel hums intimidatingly.

“Don’t worry,” Pascal says. “Go ahead and press your hands in around it. You won’t mess anything up.”

“Okay.”

Kip leans in, hands hovering on either side of the spinning clay. He brings them in slowly, hesitating at the last inch or so.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s louder than I thought it’d be—heh—“

“Yeah, I was caught off guard the first time too,” Pascal laughs. “You’re fine. Don’t be scared of it. You won’t get hurt.”

Kip laughs nervously, and brings his hands in. He almost flinches back at the opposing pressure that he meets his palms.

“Oh—“ He keeps his arms steady and in a matter of seconds the clay already feels smoother and more yielding against his hands.

“There you go,” Pascal says encouragingly. “Move your hands up and down, and don’t be afraid to really dig in there and taper it if you want. It’s weirdly fun.”

Kip does, and it is. Soon the silhouette of the clay solidifies into something of an hourglass shape. 

“Nice!” Pascal laughs. “Kinda fun, right?”

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “Here, show me how you do it.”

He steps back, and Pascal puts his arms against the clay with an easy confidence, moving them up and down, pressing a tip in and yanking it quickly up.

“Check that out,” he says, and switches the wheel off. 

The spin slows to reveal a subtly concave column with an indent spiraling from top to bottom. He looks over at Kip with a smile, who grins back.

“Alright, let’s take it back to the table and you can make whatever you want with it.”

Pascal lifts it up, folds it over and smooths it back into a featureless mass, and passes it to Kip.

“Oh—okay, yeah.”

—

“What’re you making that into?” Pascal says.

“Huh?” Kip pauses, leaned over the loosely-defined clay he’s stroking and brushing into shape. “Oh. It’ll be a surprise.”

“Ooh, excellent.”

“Yours seems to be coming along well. Are you gonna be able to like, finish it and take it home?” 

“Yeah, eventually. I’ll probably need next class to finish it and check over all the details and stuff, and then maybe another class or two to glaze it, and then I’ll just have to hope it doesn’t explode in the kiln,” he laughs.

“Oh, god, I hope it doesn’t,” Kip sighs as he gazes at it. “Has anybody’s stuff broken in there?”

“Not yet,” Pascal says. “Fingers crossed. Figuratively.”

“Yeah,” Kip says. “Be sure to take some pictures before you put it in, just in case. It’s beautiful.”

“Heh, I will.” Pascal blushes nicely.

—

Kip rolls a bit of clay into a long cone and works on attaching its base to his sculpture, using little slashes in the clay and rubbing the surfaces with water the way Pascal showed him.

“Oh, is that me?” Pascal laughs. 

Kip stifles a giggle.

“Yep,” he says. “You’re my muse. It’s going to be terrible, though, so don’t think it’s how I see you. I just suck.”

“Aw. I’m honored already no matter how it looks.”

“Thanks. I’m not even gonna try to do your face, honestly, so don’t worry about that.”

“You can just do, like, a little smiley face or something.”

“I’d probably make it look creepy,” Kip says, flattening little ovals to make suckers for the arms. 

“Faceless me might be creepy, too.”

Kip laughs. 

He makes the clay Pascal some legs, adds feet, rolls short tubes as thin as he can manage to make drawstrings like he’s wearing sweatpants. He adds layers of clay hair, trying to give it a hint of the substance and weight of the real Pascal’s, then does his best to imitate the jawline he’s so familiar and enamored with.

“That totally looks like me,” Pascal laughs. “I love how you made all those suckers for it.”

Kip glances at him with a smile.

“I’m gonna cheat and like, draw on the clay, so you can tell you’re wearing clothes and all,” he says.

“Aw, it’s not gonna be a naked sculpture? Like, classical?”

“Nah, I’ll save that for if you take a marble sculpting class or whatever. I promise I will absolutely chisel your penis if I ever make a stone statue of you.”

Pascal laughs.

“I don’t know where you go to learn how to do THAT kind of sculpting, honestly,” he says. 

“I dunno either,” Kip says. “But if that turns out to be your dream, we can look it up.”

“Awesome, thanks.”

—

Kip does decide on a little smiley face, putting on a tiny nose and some even smaller eyebrows, gently rubbing the chin with the bristles of an old toothbrush to suggest Pascal’s scruff. Then repeats it over the neckline he’s carved into the chest. He spends the last few minutes working some detail into the hair, a bit of soft indentations from the roots to tips, trying to imitate the lovely flow Pascal puts into his sculptures.

“Kip! No!” Pascal puts on a tone of despair. “You made it too amazing, now I really wanna keep him.”

“God, not even,” Kip laughs. “It’s not good at all.”

“I love it, though...” Pascal sighs. “Aw, you gotta take pictures of him and I’ll get them printed and framed.”

“Jeez,” Kip giggles, softly delighted with the compliments nonetheless. “Look at what YOU’VE done! That’s genuinely great. Now I’m all excited to see that when it’s done.”

Pascal laughs warmly, from his chest. Kip leans in and kisses his cheek.

—

It takes a while washing the clay off themselves; Kip has a nice layer halfway up his forearms. Kip watches at least half the class walk over before they leave to say bye to Pascal as he’s wiping down the table.

He’s even surprised and by a couple of people coming by to say goodbye to him as well, and say it was nice to see him.

Kip is in a great mood when he and Pascal step out into the fresh evening air, and Pascal makes him laugh by saying he not only took plenty of pictures of Clay Pascal, but also secretly set it aside in the back so that if nobody notices and the statue dries out on its own over the weeks, he can sneak it home and set it on a shelf somewhere.

—

Soon enough they’re back at Pascal’s apartment. Kip opens up a window to let in the cool air of progressing nightfall while he and Pascal work on a simple dinner, cutting vegetables, cooking eggs, boiling rice. Pascal’s old radio sits in the corner, and Kip keeps quietly dancing along.

He keeps Pascal company while he does a bit of shop-related paperwork. He washes the dishes from dinner. He takes a shower, then makes them cups of tea while Pascal takes his turn.

They talk for a couple of hours, and conversation flows from topic to topic, some serious and personal, others spur-of-the-moment musings, pointless stories, remarks and observations to make each other laugh. They eventually fall into bed, chest to chest, arms around each other, kissing slowly and softly at first, then a little deeper, a little more insistently. They hook their legs together, and roll their hips smoothly to rub their erections together—they don’t fuck, or even try to get each other off. They simply lie there against each other for a while, embracing loosely, making out at with lazy indulgence, grinding together at an easy pace, enjoying being turned on and turning each other on and the occasional shudders of spiking pleasure.

It’s a nice way to end the day, and Kip hums against Pascal’s mouth and then laughs softly, resting his hand on Pascal’s ass. 

“You looked really good making that vase,” he murmurs to him.

“Mm—“ Pascal kisses him. “Did I really?”

“Mmhm. It was kind of hot.”

“Oh, I didn’t expect that.” Pascal’s voice is sweetly soft and low. “Are you being serious?”

“Yeah.” Kip breathes a laugh. “You looked all sexy. I’m thinking about it right now.”

He nips at Pascal’s lip and slides his hand into Pascal’s boxers to rest in the same place, against his soft, warm skin. Pascal giggles.

“Well,” he says, “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“I did,” Kip confirms. “Thanks for letting me come along. I had a really nice time. I’m happy you’re having a nice time with it, too.”

Pascal squeezes his back in a hug and brushes his mouth against Kip’s forehead.

“It was extra fun with you there,” he murmurs.

“Heh—thanks.”

“And it’s extra fun falling asleep with you here.”

“Yeah,” Kip breathes. “Oh, and by the way, I mentioned us living together to Molly and Roy the other day.”

“Yeah?” Pascal hums. “Whadthey say?”

“They said they hate me now,” Kip says with a sigh, closing his eyes.

Pascal exhales against his neck with a silent laugh. 

“Aw, babe,” he coos. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah,” Kip says. “I’ll try to win them back tomorrow.”

“That’s the spirit.” 

Pascal nuzzles the tip of his nose along Kip’s face until he finds the right angle and presses their lips together again.

—

He wakes up to Pascal’s kiss on his cheek. The slight friction of his scruff is almost overwhelming, according to Kip’s half-asleep senses.

“What is it?” he says. “Did I wake you up?”

“No—“ Pascal laughs softly. “I’m heading off to open the shop in a second.”

“Huh?”

That wakes Kip up a bit more.

“When did you wake up? How did—where’s the—“

Pascal lays his arm on Kip’s shoulder and kisses his cheek again.

“It’s okay. My alarm didn’t wake you up. And I wanted to let you sleep while I got ready.”

“Oh...” Kip processes the words slowly, pushing himself up a little. “Oh, I would’ve gotten up with you...”

“Thank you,” Pascal murmurs, “But it’s alright. You were sleeping really hard—I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“It’s—okay to interrupt,” Kip mumbles.

“And it’s okay for you to be asleep when I’m awake,” Pascal counters. 

He strokes his arm down the side of Kip’s face and offers him an affectionate smile.

“Don’t worry,” Pascal says. “I like mornings with you, but I’m still okay on my own. And it’s been nice just thinking of how you’re asleep in my bed. I’m sure it’ll keep being a nice thought while I’m at work.”

Kip is too tired to think of something to say. He rubs a hand back and forth across Pascal’s suckers.

“Mm—“ Pascal puts his arm to Kip’s chest and pushes him gently down to the mattress, holding him there with a lingering kiss to the forehead. “I left a note for you in the kitchen in case you forget that I already left when you wake up again. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay” is the simple kind of response Kip is capable of. Then he manages to add: “I hope work is alright.”

“Thanks,” Pascal says. He brushes their lips together. “Later. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” Kip murmurs. He’s already been drifting off, fighting to keep his thoughts from falling back into dreams. “Bye, Pas.”

“Bye.”

Pascal presses his lips to Kip’s cheek—Kip dozes off almost as soon as he leans away.

—

Kip is glad for the note when he wakes up a few hours later—he knows Pascal’s at work and vaguely remembers their exchange before he’d left, but the details are confused with dreams and altogether fuzzy.

He again does a few tasks around the apartment for Pascal. He makes up the bed as neatly as he can manage, moves things around a bit in the kitchen to wash off the countertops, takes a shower and then scrubs down the tiled walls and tub.

He leaves a note of his own for Pascal before heading out, a simple “Thanks for another really nice night,” followed by “text me how work went,” signed with a heart.

He slips back into his clothes from the previous day and heads out to return to the other apartment to make himself a late breakfast. Or brunch.

He’s surprised to see Ben out front, looking off down the street and absently fidgeting with the cigarette in the hand at his side.

He might feel a little rise in anxiety, enough tension to make him too self-conscious to naturally come off as otherwise. But there’s no burst of nerves, none of the shivering in his hands or knees, no reflexive fiery blush, no inability to look right at him, no injection of enough discomfort or frustration or confusion or alarm to wholly throw his mood.

It’s just Ben, after all. Which is a lot. But it’s at least nothing to warrant even a hint of the kind of the stress and aversion that things with E—and earlier, Wallace—had elicited.

Whatever’s between them at this point is just the way it is now.

And considering it hasn’t seemed to involve his fears of Ben being brought back to a state similar to that of six years ago, he’s glad for whatever this is. For Ben managing as put-together and unmoved an exterior as ever. For not letting everyone down by hurting Ben, making them all angry and bitterly disappointed with him.

If Ben was going to hate him for getting tangled up in Wallace, he surely would have done so already. And if he DOES hate Kip, he seems to be very uninterested in expressing it.

He glances over at Kip as the latter reaches the front steps.

“I haven’t seen you out front much lately,” Kip says as he passes. “I was beginning to think you’d quit.”

“Gradually,” Ben murmurs. “I’m at least at the point that my breaks aren’t that regular anymore.”

“Oh, nice.”

And Kip is inside, door shutting behind him.

Easy enough. No problem.

—

As far as he’s aware, Kip makes it all the way to his next appointment without any significantly bad dreams, and tells Eno so—he explains as well that he thinks the approaching anniversary is doing a number on his unconscious mind, infusing already warped recollections of E with elements that were already hard enough to cope with on their own, creating especially horrific nightmares that he’s unable to weather without being pushed into a defensive stress response. He also admits that he, at least partly, found himself acting on the panic from a dream after waking up, explaining how he’d immediately gone to Wallace to see if his recurring dreams of having been tortured with the sounds of his family’s voices as they’d died. 

He can see the subtle flicker behind Eno’s expression as he loosely describes it, and hurries to explain that Wallace had confirmed it was just an addition exclusive to his nightmares, not anything he’d blacked out. But then he has to further admit to still being unable to shake a preoccupation with the details of their deaths, which he can never know, but which he knows might be intolerably awful. He mentions his conversation with Pascal as well, repeating what had been discussed about knowing he can’t know how bad it was or wasn’t, and taking comfort in the fact that it’s in the past—not some kind of suspended moment of agony his family is continuously experiencing while Kip gets to live and move further from them every minute of the day.

They spend almost half the appointment on the subject; Eno moves around from one detail to the next, asking questions that are plenty open enough for Kip to move comfortably around inside his answers, and treating even the answers Kip feels make him look somewhat ridiculous with as much seriousness as his own ideas. Kip is grateful for the equally analytical and gentle help navigating such a fraught, difficult issue, as well as for Eno’s unflinching willingness to discuss some of Kip’s darker worries about something which is intimately horrible for them both.

After moving on to other topics, is bewildered to find himself tearing up over such a comparatively ridiculous, easy-to-handle issue as feeling guilty for still being drawn to Wallace. But it only takes a moment of digging from Eno for Kip to start in on his frustrations with himself for believing Wallace could really like him back, when he’s been so difficult for Wallace to deal with, when he’s STILL so difficult for Wallace to deal with, when their whole history together has been the worst year of their lives, when their involvement with each other has been tied up exclusively with horrible, traumatic, nauseatingly scarring things. When most of what Wallace has seen of Kip has been him at his lowest, his least appealing, his faults heightened, short-temperedness and boiling over anxiety and panic and inability to feel capable of anything and how much that costs everyone around him because the most special, important thing about him is that he was in a certain family at a certain place and time and happened to survive. When even now that they’re months into recovering from E, Kip still has never given Wallace anything consistent, anything better than the recognition of what they had to endure together, what they owe each other because neither was willing to abandon the other. 

And so he’s crying, explaining how angry he is with himself for being angry, as if anyone owes him this, as if he’s good enough for Wallace when Wallace needs someone so much less caught up in himself than Kip is, and Ben is like the kind of person Kip has always been pretending he could be but really isn’t at all. And how ridiculous it was of him to know how many people liked Wallace, and how much, and knowing that others had been interested in him, and still somehow being so turned around by a simple crush that he thought that after all this time, around all these fantastic people with temperaments much better suited to Wallace’s, Wallace might not only be single and looking but would be most interested in him.

Eno patiently lets him rail against himself uninterrupted, waiting for a few moments before asking Kip how he supposes that his interest in Wallace is demanding anything of the human.

He asks Kip why he thinks of his own interest as a sense of superiority to everyone else.

He asks Kip why he thinks there’s nothing about him that Wallace could be interested in. Whether he thinks that nobody else would be interested. What he thinks about Pascal’s interest in him. Whether he thinks Pascal must be mistaken or misguided to want to be in a relationship with him.

He asks Kip whether it isn’t just guilt and discomfort that makes him feel so disgusted with himself and convinced of his own arrogant sense of entitlement.

Kip can at least admit that he’s never able to insult Pascal by believing his love and good opinion of Kip must be in error. But he tells Eno he can’t get rid of the reaction of a quick stab of pain followed almost immediately by a deep frustration that surely can only be directed at himself, the only one involved who deserves any blame for the situation he’s created.

Eno assures him that there’s nothing shameful or abnormal about feeling angry over such ordinary reactions as longing, embarrassment, sadness, jealousy—simple hurt feelings, pain he can’t easily push aside or wait out.

Kip is at least laughing at himself as he presses a tissue to his eyes and scrubs it under his nose.

He tells Eno about the evening with everyone over at the apartment, and how he actually liked being in the midst of all the company, even if he was mostly quiet and largely kept to himself. Eno tells Kip that having a naturally outgoing attitude isn’t the only way to enjoy socializing, and that he knows Kip both needs to be around people and to have time alone, and that he likes interacting with people even if—especially in more recent years—he doesn’t always show it by being all that talkative.

But, he tells Kip, he’s seen Kip drunk a few times, and knows that there’s a socially bold, outgoing, even kind of loud Kip in there underneath the usual reservations and/or façades and/or sober preferences.

Kip tells Eno it’s unfair to bring up their distinctly personal interactions in therapy, and Eno tells Kip that they both do that all the time already. So Kip just tells him to shut up, and laughs at Eno’s halfassed efforts to pretend he doesn’t want to laugh at Kip.

—

Kip has a quiet couple of weeks. Work is blessedly routine, and he hangs out with his friends seemingly every other day, and the volume on his depression and anxiety seems turned down, even if he fights down any impulses to be too chatty, too funny, indulge too much in the moment, in what’s probably temporarily lifted spirits, act too happy in the thrill of his passing ability to be okay and confuse everyone—not to mention himself. But he can’t help it, it’s impossible to completely stifle his maybe? almost? ongoing streak of good days with good moods.

And he doesn’t actually want to. He appreciates getting to enjoy being himself around people who are enjoying themselves around him. He appreciates just getting to feel nice and comfortable in simple, everyday interactions and experiences. He appreciates that it feels good to feel good, and that he probably deserves to let himself like it.

Nightmares crop up now and again, but rarely wake him up, and never anyone else—with the exception of one incident when Pascal is spooning him and Kip unconsciously elbows him in the stomach, which sometimes happens regardless of any bad dreams or not.

He and Pascal only get one full day together, but it’s lovely. They take a lunch out to one of the larger parks in the area, and sit in a quiet, secluded grove under a shimmering latticework canopy and the accompaniment of birdsong. Kip tries his best to climb up a tree, and doesn’t get very far, but gets fairly sweaty and scraped in the process, and is glad when he’s back on the ground and the clouds overhead condense and pull around solid breezes to cool him off.

The cooling is sort of undone when Pascal starts kissing Kip’s little bruises and scratches, but the clouds start gathering and contributing sparse but noticeable raindrops, and somehow Kip finds himself having officially outdoor sex for the first time—at least, the first time since a quick mutual handjob which occurred in early high school, a clumsy tryst set in a discreet spot a ways beyond the sports field, which he feels hardly counts. Not nearly as lovely a location, nor half as wonderful a partner, nor even close to as fantastic an orgasm. The difference between a too-dry, inexperienced hand down his pants and the treatment his whole body gets from Pascal’s whole body is too vast to even bother making any comparison. Though it’s definitely worth mentioning that Pascal deftly managed to bring along a condom and lube without Kip noticing, as well as some wet wipes—which Kip had assumed was because of the food, but then appreciated anew as soon as he started feeling hot and sweat-soaked, clutching at grass and dirt in his desperate and passionate responses to being fucked out of his senses, knees stained green, grassblades and clover leaves and even some dandelion seeds sticking to his skin.

Kip cums first, right onto the ground, squeezing around Pascal’s cock which feels like so wonderfully much up inside him, and then turns around and strips the condom off of Pascal and sucks him the rest of the way to orgasm. It provides an unexpected benefit in that the deep breaths Kip draws through his nose let him better appreciate the smell of rain and the breeze through the trees, all enhanced with the heady notes of Pascal’s sweat and the taste of his cock.

As deeply satisfied as Kip is with the sex, it’s just as good when they spend the rest of the afternoon simply walking aimlessly around the city streets together, neither bothering with any particular plan, just browsing shops and messing around on whims and simply enjoying each other’s company more than anything. Kip doesn’t notice being noticed very much, and any momentary awkwardness or discomfort is quickly forgotten thanks to the fact that a couple of times someone recognizes Pascal from his shop—Kip’s delight easily supersedes any fleeting annoyance.

The night back at the apartment is fun and casual. They try making a brand new recipe together, Kip goes down on Pascal again while they watch a movie, and after the credits roll they end up pretending they’re both trying to seduce each other through heavy flirtation, which turns into a bit of subtler, earnest flirtation, until Kip finds the seduction to be very real—or at least really very effective—and hopes his half of the exchange holds up. Soon it’s an irrelevant question when they end up naked on the floor, groping all over each other and making out with even more fevered intensity than they’d indulged in under the trees, and frotting to a hot and heavy and simultaneous orgasm.

Kip massages Pascal to sleep. When he wakes up, his first thought is that it doesn’t bother him in the least that living with Pascal and getting to be his partner again is really all that he currently wants.

—

Kip feels like he’s doing so well that he doesn’t even shrink away from Roy’s casual invitation to hang out with him and Kate and Ben and Louise at a restaurant for lunch one afternoon. 

He’s apparently actually doing well, because he doesn’t feel eaten up with tension despite sitting nearly directly across the table from Ben, and doesn’t regret going along in the least. He even manages to speak directly to Ben frequently enough without feeling that he’s being too cold or irritatingly trying too hard. Better yet, Ben isn’t being too cold or pointedly congenial either, and there doesn’t seem to be that subtle sort of gloom or dismay or disappointment that had so often been settling over Ben in Kip’s presence, digging into Kip even before he got this mixup with Wallace involved in things.

He doesn’t even seem to dislike Kip’s presence, though he doesn’t exactly seem to particularly get all that much out of it, either. Kip supposes he shouldn’t be hung up on this either, but as usual can’t force himself to either stop caring or minding about Ben.

But it’s this one quiet moment of glancing over at Ben, finding himself caught up momentarily in watching his features, his minute shifts in expression, that brings this thought into Kip’s mind, seemingly so unprompted and unrelated to anything that Kip didn’t know it was even an idea he was harboring anywhere in his awareness.

It’s simply this sense that he understands why Wallace had been so fixated on hearing the story of Kip’s trauma in his own words. Just looking at Ben, and his roundabout, meandering thoughts suddenly offering the fact that he and Ben had never, not once, had any conversation with each other where they discussed what had happened that day, from their own perspectives. Kip knew the general details of what had happened to Ben, the same way Wallace knew, in broader strokes, what Kip might’ve been through. And despite Kip having the capability for an empathy that Wallace doesn’t, Ben has still never confided in him anything about it, nor vented, asked for advice—nothing.

And it’s not as though it isn’t unfair, since, matching Ben’s approach, Kip hasn’t said hardly anything to Ben either about what had happened on his end.

But it does occur to him that the idea of Ben sharing his story with Kip is appealing not because Kip wants to get all the details right from Ben’s mouth rather than any other source, but because it would mean that Ben trusts him enough, feels close enough to him, considers Kip someone significant enough in his eyes, worth the time and effort, worthy of knowing, worthy of being allowed to sit there and listen as Ben puts himself through the task of finding the words for the unspeakable, dragging something that can never be okay into a moment of ordinary life.

For obvious reasons, he’d never actually request it of Ben the way Wallace had of him. But it’s not so surprising that Wallace would be bolder and less filtered and more direct, blunt even, than Kip would be—in this situation or any other, really. But the sense he gets just from the idea is convincing enough to make him sympathize with Wallace’s clumsy attempts to push him on the subject.

And he might be pushing his luck to even consider pursuing this line of thought. But his gut feeling is that it seems right, and he knows that he’s most likely capable of actually going through with this while he’s got a foundation of an ongoing good mood and the unusually elevated confidence that accompanies it.

And if this turns out to be a mistake, he’ll at least have let Wallace know that he’s still important to him. And the streak of nice days he’s been enjoying will surely help him recover from the hiccup he’ll inevitably trip up on, whether due to this or to some other issue that will arise sooner or later.

—

Kip texts Wallace during his break, asking if he’ll be able to come by the café at around seven, when Kip’s shift is over, so Kip can talk to him for a minute in person to ask him something that shouldn’t be too unwelcome. His phone lights up about five minutes later with an affirmative reply—there’s a small reaction in his chest, like a squeeze of a fist.

He’s taking advantage of the fact that he’s not only going over to Pascal’s afterwards for dinner, but also bringing along Molly and Roy for their first visit to Pascal’s apartment in C. The threat of a tiny bit of awkwardness is nothing in the face of his anticipation of his evening plans.

Kip is almost relieved when he accidentally gets a little spill of espresso down his front, staining his shirt solidly across the chest and in streaks running down to his stomach. It’s not as if he expected to come across as intimidatingly dignified, but having something to maybe break some tension can only be helpful.

Wallace shows up about ten minutes before seven with a smile and a wave, and Kip has to shake his head at him and laugh under his breath. Wallace settles in at one the corner tables and Kip turns his attention back to the handful of orders he’s putting together.

It’s just a couple of minutes after seven when he hands off the last of the coffees, straightens out the bar, and clocks out.

“Hey, Cuddy—“ He sticks his head in the back. “Is it cool if I make the coffees for me and Wallace?”

“Hm?” She looks up from her notepad. “Oh, yeah, go ahead.”

“You want me to make you anything while I’m at it?” Kip asks.

“Nah, I’m alright. Thanks.”

“Okay. You coming by tomorrow?”

“Mm...probably, yeah.”

“Alright, maybe I’ll see you then. Have a good night.”

“You too, Kaizer.”

Kip takes a deep breath and goes out into the front of the store. He can already tell that Wallace is too focused on what he’s writing in his folder and won’t notice anything until Kip’s right on top of him—a smile keeps tugging at Kip’s mouth as he approaches.

He pauses about four feet away.

“Wallace.”

Waits a moment.

“Hey, Wallace.”

Wallace blinks and looks over, face lighting up.

“Hey,” he laughs. “Sorry. Are you off?”

“Yeah. It’s cool. You want a coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Anything in particular, or...?”

“You can surprise me,” Wallace says with a grin.

“Alright.” Kip smiles in return. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, then.”

“Okay.”

Kip gets a hot chocolate for himself, adding some orange juice to whipped cream and mixing it evenly into the beverage. He gets Wallace another mocha, this time mixing in just enough mint to give the coffee and chocolate flavors a gracefully subtle undertone with a slightly tingling nip. 

The cups radiate warmth from his hands through his wrists and up his arms as he carries them back over to the table. This time Wallace looks over as soon as Kip emerges from the door to the back, and has his work put away by the time Kip reaches the table.

“This one’s for you,” Kip says, handing him his drink. “I don’t think you’ve had it before. I think I’m pretty good with hitting the balance of the flavors, but let me know if it’s not your thing, and I’ll be sure to surprise you with something else going forward.”

He sits in the chair across from Wallace, crossing his ankles and discreetly undoing another button of his shirt as he takes a sip of his hot chocolate. He watches Wallace uncap his own drink and regard it with some curiosity, as if the foamy crown holds some information. Kip looks away as Wallace brings the rim to his lips, trying to act as if he’s not at all concerned with whether Wallace thinks his barista abilities are great or not.

“Oh,” Wallace says, lowering the cup. “Whoa.”

“What kind of whoa?” Kip asks, taking another drink before setting down his cup.

“Good whoa,” Wallace laughs. “That’s mint in there, right?”

“Yeah,” Kip says, pleased. “Just a regular mocha otherwise. It’s mostly a matter of getting just the right amount of the mint flavor, so it doesn’t overpower the drink, but isn’t so weak that it just sort of makes things taste off, y’know?”

“Heh. That’s really cool. And not just because mint, like, kind of has that cold feeling in your mouth—“ Wallace laughs. “Just, cool.”

Kip smiles back at him.

“You can try mine too, if you like. It’s just a hot chocolate, but I mix whipped cream and orange juice and blend it in.”

“Ooh...” Wallace looks at the drink; Kip slides it over for him to try. “Wow—Kip, are you this good with EVERYTHING food-related?”

Kip can’t help a bit of a blush and a smile as he shrugs.

“Maybe,” he laughs. “I’m no expert, but I try.”

“Well, in my opinion, you’re really great.”

Kip smiles again, glancing down at the table. He can only indulge in so much flattery from Wallace before he’ll have to start feeling guilty about it.

“Thank you,” he says. “And thanks for meeting me here.”

“Oh, it’s no problem. I love an excuse to drop by, anyways. What did you want to ask me?”

“Well,” Kip leans back, folding his arms. “I was thinking about something you’d said. Remember when you were telling me about wanting me to tell you about what had happened with my family?”

He looks right at Wallace as he says it—Wallace looks back at him and blushes as he hears it.

“O-oh—“ Wallace straightens up his posture. “Yeah...what about it?”

“I was thinking that...I’d like to take you up on that, I think. Tell you about it, I mean.”

Wallace looks so surprised that Kip has to fight a sudden urge to laugh. He leans in over the table towards Kip.

“Wh—really?” he stammers, voice lowered. “You’d actually want to do that?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“You’re serious?”

Kip does have to laugh at Wallace’s incredulity.

“Yes. I’m serious.”

“Well...sorry, I’m just...I really didn’t expect you to say that.”

“What were you expecting me to ask you about?” Kip laughs again.

Wallace shrugs.

“I didn’t really know what to expect,” he says. “But it wasn’t this.”

“Mm. Well, if you’re still interested, I think we could...maybe pick a time to meet up again and just. Do that.”

“Um—y-yeah, sure we could.” Wallace is blushing harder. “As long as you’re fine with it.”

“Okay, well...I know evenings and weekends are better for you. I can text you some times I’m free the rest of this week, and hopefully we can find something that works. I think that setting aside a solid hour or two would be a...prudent idea.”

“Sure,” Wallace says. “I’m usually done with work a little after six, and there are some days I end up working from home part of the afternoons, and—yeah, we can figure something out.”

“Okay,” Kip says. “...Sorry for bringing you out here just to say I’ll text you again later, but I thought it’d be better to talk about this in person.”

“Oh—yeah—don’t worry,” Wallace laughs. “I hear you.”

There’s a small pause; Kip gives himself a moment by taking a sip of his drink. 

“If it’s alright to ask...” Wallace says quietly, “Why’d you change your mind?”

Kip looks at him levelly, which apparently makes Wallace blush again.

“You just didn’t exactly seem interested when we...” Wallace trails off.

“I know,” Kip sighs. “I was thinking about some things and I just...realized I understand better why you were asking me about it like that.”

Wallace’s laugh is soft and nervous.

“Yeah, I’m still really sorry about all that.”

Kip smiles gently.

“It’s alright. Even while I was mad, I knew you weren’t trying to hurt me or anything.”

“Still, I shouldn’t’ve risked upsetting you or...pushing you on anything like this.”

Their eyes meet; Kip acknowledges the apology with a nod.

“Uh—were you heading back to the building?” Wallace asks. “I didn’t mean to hold you up—“

Kip laughs.

“Wallace, I’m the one who asked YOU here, remember?”

“O-oh yeah, I guess that’s true...” Wallace brushes some hair behind his ear, blushing again.

“We could walk back, if you want,” Kip says. “I’m the one who shouldn’t be holding you up.”

“If you want to,” Wallace says.

“If YOU want to,” Kip says.

Wallace looks at him, then smiles.

“Alright,” he says. “Then let’s go.”

—

He gets Wallace talking about his job, and listens to him monologue animatedly all the way back to the building—and then for a few minutes more in front of Wallace’s apartment.

Then Wallace gets a little flustered about keeping Kip downstairs and Kip laughs and they exchange goodbyes and Wallace calls Kip’s name as he’s heading down the hall, and once Kip had turned around, thanks him again for the coffee that, in all his talking, he still hasn’t finished.

Kip smiles at him and tells him he’s more than welcome, and to have a good night.

—

Roy and Molly are more than ready to head out to Pascal’s, and keep asking Kip every three minutes if he’s done changing and freshening up. As soon as Kip emerges from his room and declares himself ready to go, Molly takes her container of freshly-baked chocolate chip cookies and the bowl of diced cantaloupe that Roy prepared and leads the way, while Roy grabs Kip’s hand, entwining their fingers and pulling him forward with such eager strides that Kip practically has to break into a jog.

Kip texts Pascal about their imminent arrival on their way downstairs, and soon finds himself flanked by the other two as they set off down the sidewalk. 

Roy asks plenty of questions about what the apartment is like, and Kip repeatedly assures him he’ll get answers as soon as they arrive. Molly intervenes after a minute, turning the topic to Pascal’s tea blends instead, which keeps all three well occupied.

The conversation slows as they near their destination. Pascal’s building comes into view; Kip glances back and forth between Molly and Roy.

“Hey, guys?” he says. 

“Yeah?”

“What’s up?”

“I wanna say that, uh, I wasn’t telling you about wanting to live with Pascal because I don’t value spending time with you guys, or anything.”

Roy giggles and Molly bumps him with her shoulder.

“We know, Kip, seriously,” Molly says.

“Yeah,” Roy concurs.

“Okay—well—I don’t want you to think I care about you less, or I’m not grateful. For how amazing you guys have always been.”

“KIP.” Molly stops short and grabs his arm; Kip is kept from stumbling by Roy’s hand against his chest.

“Oh my god—“

Molly pulls him around to face her, holding him by the shoulders. Kip blinks and presses his lips together.

“We know, Kip,” she says, gazing levelly at him. “It’s really nice of you to say that kind of stuff. But we know that you don’t hate us now, okay?”

“Of COURSE you wanna move in with Pascal, Kip—“ Roy adds. “I even asked if you guys wanted to live together weeks ago, remember?”

“Y-yeah,” Kip says. “I mean, I... You just deserve to know you’re not any less important to me because I’m with Pascal again. I know I’m not always the—most expressive about the way I feel about people, but...”

“We KNOW, Kip. We’ve known you for ages.” Molly lets go of him.

“I know,” he answers.

“We all loved each other even before we were living together,” Roy says. “It’s not as though we only think you love us because we’ve been living in the same place!”

Kip gives a short laugh.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I just...know this thing with Pascal has been happening kind of fast, and I don’t want it to seem like I’m just. Dumping you for something better, or whatever. You guys have always been completely great to me the whole time we’ve been roommates.”

“Absolutely we have,” Molly laughs. “But your plan isn’t to stop being our friend as soon as you stop living with us, are you?”

A smile tugs at Kip’s mouth as he shakes his head.

Molly smiles back at him and pats him squarely on the head.

Kip looks up at Roy, who’s already beaming down at him.

“And what are you talking about,” he says to Kip, “Saying that your thing with Pascal is happening fast? We’d been waiting on it for FOREVER.”

“C’mon—“ Kip laughs, glancing down with a blush.

“Alright, here it comes, Kip,” Roy singsongs. 

Kip groans under his breath.

“You know we have to do this,” Molly adds.

They hug him until their collective center of gravity shifts too much and they have to let go to prevent themselves from toppling to the pavement, cracking up and clutching at each other.

—

Roy is in raptures at the decor of Pascal’s home, praising the furniture arrangement, the patterns in the rugs, the dish sets, the colors of the pillows on the couch. Molly backs up all the compliments, and Kip is pleased to see the flattered blush across Pascal’s face and the almost bashful smiles and laughs with which he fields their luminous approval.

Molly and Roy settle on the couch as Pascal passes out glasses of iced tea. 

“Pas,” Kip says. “You should show off what you can do.”

“Ooh,” Molly laughs.

“Yeah, Pascal, what can you do?” Roy asks, grinning.

“You know...” Kip says, ignoring them. “All the things you’ve made.”

“Oh!” Roy leans forward. “Your clay stuff?!”

“Your clay stuff,” Kip echoes, smiling up at him. 

“Sure—it’s not THAT good, though,” Pascal says to Molly and Roy. “I’ve got a mug, a bowl, and a couple plates, and a little...just a sculpture or something, I guess.”

“We wanna see all of it,” Molly says. 

Kip pats the small of Pascal’s back and follows him from the room to help carry in each of his works, setting them down in front of the other two, and for the next ten minutes or so the pieces are picked up multiple times and carefully rotated and examined, the detail and beauty of each remarked on, Pascal’s skill and creativity and aesthetic sense lauded until he laughs and puts his forehead on Kip’s shoulder to hide his blush. Kip rubs his back soothingly.

They all settle into conversation, until Pascal gets up to start cooking dinner, and Roy and Molly both offer their help—Kip stays in the armchair to prevent the kitchen from being even further crowded. He sits back and listens to the voices and laughter down the short hallway, closing his eyes, trying to fully appreciate the absence of any negative feelings.

There’s a small clatter—“Oh no,” Roy laughs.

“You guys need any help in there?” Kip calls.

“We’re okay,” Pascal answers. “But thank you.”

“Yeah, thank you!” Roy chimes in.

Kip covers his eyes with his forearm and puts up the footrest.

Soon enough, Molly walks softly down the hall to the threshold of the doorway.

“Comfortable?” she says.

“Mmhm,” Kip hums.

—

They all sit in the living room again to eat with each other, and it’s so much like being in D again, yet the points of distinction feel right, feel like the difference is good. 

After all, they couldn’t all have been happy in D. Not forever. Though Kip has sometimes—maybe even often, especially during the darker periods of this past year—wondered what might have been if he’d simply stayed behind with Pascal and tried convincing Roy and Molly to return to C without him. Even though of course he’d never believed that was a real option.

He’s just lucky that Pascal was willing to move to C for the chance to be with him again.

He reaches out and puts his hand on Pascal’s arm when this thought strikes him, and squeezes, and smiles softly at Pascal when he looks over.

—

An hour into the conversation, the focus is on Pascal and his ambitions for what he wants his shop to be like. Pascal talks about it being a space that feels like a chance to pause, to patiently savor the moment, to appreciate a lovely interplay of color and light and smell and feeling—everything reminiscent of what tea provides. He eventually moves from somewhat reasonable ideas to his vision of the perfect space, one that he knows is impossible—talking about a space he could never afford and skylights and plants everywhere and fountains and something like a café to sit and make yourself a hot cup of tea.

Then Pascal starts asking Molly and Roy if they have any ambitions—or idealized dreams—for themselves. Roy talks about how he’s been considering other jobs with kids, including obvious ones like teaching, but also the idea of training for jobs where kids need help through potentially stressful and bewildering situations—pediatric hospitals, for example.

“Like, a nurse?” Kip asks, cocking his head.

“Yeah, you know, helping them understand and feel more comfortable with what’s going on for them right now.”

“Wouldn’t it be hard to work in a hospital?” Kip says. “I mean—of course it would be—but the hours, and dealing with so many emergencies—“

He draws his feet up onto the chair and hugs a leg to his chest.

“...Sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m interrupting.”

“It’s just one idea,” Roy says. “Not everyone’s job is involved with things like ERs and all, either. So I think there’s a lot of options.”

“You’d be so incredible at something like that, Biv,” Molly says. 

“Yeah,” Pascal agrees. “It makes a big difference having someone who’s so good at making others feel comfortable and cared about. Especially kids.”

Kip simply nods, determined to keep his mouth shut so that his recently elevated aversion to anything like hospitals doesn’t make him say anything unhelpful again.

But Roy wasn’t kidding when he said he had other ideas too, and he quickly moves on to much more of them.

Molly says she knows she likes making things, creating designs—but isn’t sure where to go from there. She says she’s been thinking lately about whether she could learn anything about designing and producing clothes. And that she could create clothes for monsters like her, or at least learn how to tailor for them, for monsters whose proportions make human-dimensioned fashions tricky to deal with, often impossible, unless custom modifications are made.

Kip engages with that a bit more easily—he’s genuinely curious about her thoughts on it, and intrigued by his instincts that it could really suit her.

But that somewhat backfires when Molly asks Kip what he thinks his ambitions are. And Kip has to sit there after having just listened to such thoughtful, impressive ideas for everyone’s futures, and shake his head, and say he doesn’t know.

He says that, like everyone already knows, he wants to live with Pascal. But aside from that, he says all he can manage to figure out is that he’d like to finally feel—really believe—that he can relax. He says it’s become hard to tell if he wants to continue running his blog longterm—if it doesn’t feel as good a fit as he used to think it could, or if he just needs a break, or if it’s fine but all his uncertainty and fluctuation about what he wants or expects out of things has just bled into all areas of his life. 

Everyone assures him there’s nothing wrong with having small, unambitious goals. Pascal says he doesn’t have to feel like he’s completely certain in everything such as who he is and what he wants to do and what he wants from his life. Molly agrees, saying that not everyone figures things like that out at the same points in their life, or in the same way, or even feels like they have to ever be certain about those kinds of things at all. And Roy says that Kip is already an amazing person who’s aways done excellent things and continues to do so, and the others enthusiastically concur, and Kip blushes and says that he’d be happy to feel like half as good a person who’s done half as wonderful things as the rest of them.

That sets off a period with everyone complimenting each other, in general and in regards to specific acts and events. Kip pushes himself to be as earnest and open as he can manage, wanting very much to embrace this chance to let these three incredibly wonderful people know how great they are and have been, and how much he appreciates them and everything they’ve done. Everyone else seems to be responding to Kip’s subtle sense of urgency in making the most of the situation—their exchanges of praise get a little more personal and a little more intense, taking on an air of real solemnity whether it’s thanking each other for hugely significant acts of help and support or pointing out and exalting some minor trait that’s never saved anyone’s life but is admirable nonetheless and evidence of a good, interesting person who we’re all lucky to know.

Kip eventually has to acknowledge what the three of them did for him after the fire, that he truly believes he might not even be here without them, wouldn’t had made it to this past year to have to be saved by them all over again. He says he knows it’s something he can’t ever return, and they all say that they helped him because they love him and not because they ever wanted or expected the support they gave to be returned, and that Kip doesn’t owe them anything, and that they’ve always known he would’ve done the same for them, because they’ve always known he loves them the way they love him. 

The things they say about him feel slightly striking—he doesn’t actually start tearing up, but his face grows hot as he repeats that he knows how much he has is thanks to them, and that he’s appreciated them even before the fire, and still appreciates them all more than ever even now that things are sort of ordinary again and nobody has to feel actively imperiled anymore. His voice wavers with a hitch and he buries his face in his hands and laughs, and Pascal leans over and hugs him, a soft laugh of his own tucked against Kip’s neck.

—

They end up having two rounds of hot tea before reluctantly acknowledging that Roy needs to be home soon to get things together for the next morning and head to bed. It takes about five rounds of hugs of every possible combination before Roy seems satisfied; Kip smiles up at Pascal for a moment before wrapping his arms around Pascal’s neck, pulling him in, and sneaking a kiss to the corner of his jaw. But then, after they all walk over to the other building and have another sequence of hugs at the front door, Pascal takes Kip by the elbow and smoothly swings him in to touch him at the back and bring their mouths together. 

Kip’s head spins for a good few minutes after that, even after they say goodnight to Pascal and he and Roy and Molly climb the stairs and enter their apartment.

“Pascal’s so great,” Roy says happily.

“His apartment is SO cute, Kip,” Molly tells him.

“Yeah, I really like it,” Kip agrees. “His apartments always...have the same kind of feeling that you get from him in person. Like you belong there too and can really feel at home and be comfortable and, uh...everything.”

He shrugs—Molly and Roy share a glance and giggle.

“Well,” Kip huffs, shrugging. “Y’know...I love him. A lot.”

Molly walks over and hugs him with a breathless squeeze.

—

In about ten minutes Pascal texts Kip that he’s home safe.

“We all had a really great time,” Kip sends back. “thanks for spending the evening with us.”

“I had a ton of fun too. It’s always so good to hang out with all you guys.”

“roy and molly always miss you too. im kind of glad they got to visit you at your shop even before i did. i dont have to feel as guilty about separating us as i used to haha”

“still,” he adds, “i’m really grateful everything worked out where we get to all see each other and you and me get to be together again.”

“Yeah. I am too.“

“oh man so i forgot to tell you about this while i was over there, but also we weren’t alone so” Kip types up in a rush. “i talked to wallace earlier about like meeting up with him this week and”

He spends a moment figuring out how to phrase it.

“telling him about what happened with the fire and stuff,” he finishes. “so i guess thats something that’ll be happenomg soon”

“...*happening” he corrects.

“Oh, he doesn’t already know?” Pascal asks.

“i don’t think he knows anything specific at all. obviously he knows they died and he knows everything we found out from district e together about it. but i dont even think he knows it happened with a fire.”

“Shit really? How are you feeling about it”

“i feel like i want to explain it to him. and i know its gonna be hard to sit there and try to tell that whole story but i know i can do it and that it’ll be fine”

“You’re still really strong for being willing to do that for him,” Pascal says. “You’re amazing, Kip.”

“YOU’RE amazing.”

“Well I love you.”

“good because i completely love you back,” Kip replies.

A few minutes pass before Pascal’s response.

“Think you’ll have time for a call tomorrow night after you close?” 

“of course <3”

“Cool! :)”

Kip giggles and stretches his legs out.

“go have a relaxing night before you have to go to bed,” he tells Pascal. 

“Louise is handling opening tomorrow actually. I get to sleep in.”

“lmao fuck well what am i doing all the way over here then!”

“Idk. You keep me guessing and that’s why I love you.”

“shut up”

“:)”

Kip laughs—“im leaving to take a shower. go treat yourself to a nice night of like dessert and fancy hot baths and lie down in your robe and watch a nature documentary. make it worth me not being there to suck your dick five times”

“Nooooo :’(“

“go!!!!!” 

Kip tosses his phone to the foot of the bed, rolling over to bury his grin in his pillow.

—

Kip stops to check the mailbox on his way out to the grocery and pulls out a slip. 

“Oh, shit,” he murmurs. “Finally!”

He rushes out the front door and doesn’t slow down until he makes it to the counter of the post office, pushing the slip and his I.D. across to the attendant. Moments later his I.D. is handed back with a medium-sized box—Kip bites his lip and tucks it under his arm with a small smile.

He takes it back to the building, fingers drumming intermittently against the cardboard all the while. And heads all the way back up to the apartment, climbing up on the bed, getting up again to take some scissors from his desk, getting back on the bed, and carefully cutting it open.

The hands-free prostate massager is weightier than he expects. He cuts open the plastic bag around it and wraps his hand around the curve, staring at every inch of its length, rubbing his fingertips against its cool, surprisingly smooth surface. It’s almost like it’s soft, but it’s so solid—he drags his fingers down to the slightly widened base, pressing against it as if he can imagine it up against his taint.

It’s definitely a bit of a turn-on just looking at it. He presses his lips together and sets it aside, reaching into the box and lifting out the sleeve. It’s about five inches long, a translucent azure, with a slightly wavy silhouette and thick walls. A bit of texturing ridges and bumps are visible inside. Kip can tell it’ll feel tight—maybe even simulate suction. He figures there’s plenty of aspects about the wrap of Pascal’s arm that no sleeve can replicate—but this should be much more similar of a feeling than what he can generate with his hand alone.

He cuts it out of its bag too. The smooth outside is shaped to be comfortably held, and yields nicely to the pressure of his hand. There’s a slight roughness to its texture, just enough friction to provide some extra grip. And then Kip slides two fingers inside the the hollow center and almost gasps at its softness. He feels his pulse in his dick.

He really can’t deny himself this. He takes the sleeve and massager into the kitchen and washes them thoroughly with soap and hot water, pats them dry with paper towels, then takes them back into his room. He puts the massager away in his drawer and takes out some of his lube, then moves the box off his bed, strips his clothes off, and lies back on the mattress. He palms himself until he’s half-hard, then pours a few drops of lube into his hand and starts slowly pumping his length.

He decides being nearly fully erect is good enough—or at least as far as his patience can take him. He spreads a bit more lube around his cock, then takes hold of its base and picks up the sleeve with his dry hand. He stares at it for a moment, adjusting his grip to find one he likes best, and then slowly brings it down.

It’s a little strange pushed against the tip of his dick, but he can already feel the material giving way to even the light pressure he’s applying. And it’s enough to make him restless. He pushes the sleeve down—the head of his dick slides right in and he gasps, his hips jerk, he thrusts another inch of his length up into the squeezing texture of the sleeve. He pulls it down further, bucks up, and moans.

Within half a minute, he’s pumping himself and rocking his hips with a fiery rhythm, clutching at the blankets, head pushed back, lips parted, eyelids flickering shut. 

It has a definite grip and pressure of its own, a softness that makes him want it all to be so much harder. He tries small twists of his wrist to better slide the internal texture around his cock—his breath catches and his body twists against the bed. It’s all so much more effective than he imagined—it may not be Pascal’s arm, but, just as he’d hoped, it’s certainly closer to that experience than it is to the inferior feeling of Kip’s own hand. 

It works him up so fast that his limbs grow twitchy and his moans spike and crack. With a few seconds of hard pumping and back-curling thrusts, Kip sucks in a ragged breath, squeezes the sleeve tight around his cock, and cums in consecutive arcs onto his collarbones and chest.

He melts into his afterglow and sinks back against the mattress, slowly pulling off the sleeve and resting it on his stomach. It feels like his whole body is ringing with the orgasm he just achieved. This single use alone would’ve been worth the full price of the item.

About ten minutes pass and then Kip languidly slides off the bed, cleans everything up, redresses, and starts his trip to the grocery all over again.

—

Kip is caught in an evening rainstorm on his way home after closing, and has to take shelter beneath an awning for a little under ten minutes while the deluge thunders down around him. As soon as it lets up enough he dives back in at a run, and makes it to the front door with an overall feeling of being damp, but not soaked. He retrieves his keys from the bundled apron he’d protectively cradled to his chest and lets himself inside.

He runs into Molly on the staircase, on her way back up after moving some laundry into the dryer, and promises he can help her fold the clothes and carry them back up, then asks how her day went. When they reach the apartment he puts the apron beside his plants and heads right into the bathroom, removing his unpleasantly cold and clinging clothes, stepping into a warm shower instead.

He dries off thoroughly afterwards, puts a towel around his waist, tucks the workclothes in one arm, and goes into his bedroom. After dropping the clothes in the hamper and folding up the towel, lying back on the bed seems like his main interest, so that’s what he does.

He turns on his string of lights after a minute, staring up at the ceiling, thoughts drifting from something to anything.

After a quiet ten minutes or so, he gets up and unwraps his phone from the apron, texting Pascal that he’s gotten back home now, if he still wants to try having a call. Then he puts on pajamas and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water, which he’s drank halfway when Molly comes out of her bedroom in pajamas too, letting him know she’s about to get the laundry if he still wants to help her with it.

He puts on his sandals and follows her down to the laundry room.

“Oh, good,” she says. “They’re still warm. You want some bathtowels and bedsheets?”

“Sure,” Kip answers.

He folds up a blue towel before suddenly speaking up again.

“Hey, Molly?” he asks. “How do you feel, like, in general?”

“Huh?” She sets down a shirt and looks over at him. “What are you talking about?”

Kip shrugs and blushes and picks up the other blue towel.

“I’m just always...worrying about if everyone feels like they’re happy,” he says. “I keep wanting to sort of check in, or something..”

“If I’m happy?” Molly repeats. “Well, yes.”

“Yes?” He puts the towel in his lap and turns a little more towards her. 

“Yeah. Because I know things are still kind of messy and we haven’t all totally gotten settled down again, including me, but I feel like I don’t have to worry about being unhappy going forward, and that makes me feel like, yes, I’m happy.”

Kip blinks, blushing a little more.

“Plus, knowing that so many people I care about are okay,” she adds. “You guys are as important to me as ever, you know?”

“...Yeah.”

He picks up a striped pillowcase.

“...A lot of people are...at least doing better,” he murmurs. “Even people I was never close with or barely even knew.”

“Uh-huh,” Molly agrees. “I think that...the changes made it a little bit better for everybody.”

“Yeah. I hope so.”

They look at each other.

“I’ve just always been worrying a lot about everyone,” Kip says. “For almost the past ten years or so, I guess. I know I’ve been a pain in the ass about it sometimes, and sometimes it has me acting weird, but I just—you guys are all so great, and I really, really want things to be good for all of you.”

She smiles at him.

“Especially now,” he continues, “After what everybody had to go through. It’s...hard to be okay sometimes, even if you KNOW you’re okay. And I know you guys are okay, but I really want you to be happy, too.”

“I know,” Molly says. 

Kip steps over, and somewhat haltingly puts his arms loosely around her shoulders, leaning in until his head gently touches hers. He lets go after only a moment or two, but Molly takes that as the indication that it’s her turn, and wraps him at once in a hug.

“I’m really glad you and Roy are always looking out for each other so well,” he mumbles against her shoulder. “But I don’t wanna give you guys the sense that...it’s not important to me to help you and be here for you because I’m just expecting you to take care of each other and take care of me too and I’m not even thinking about you guys—“

“You want us to know that you’re our friend? And you’re not taking advantage of us?” Molly laughs, squeezing him breathlessly close. “Okay. Done.”

“I know I’m not always the best at showing how much I care about people,” Kip says, squeezing a little in return. “And I know there’s been loads of times I’ve been keeping to myself, and that when I do that it means I’m not paying as much attention to you guys, and I know it can seem like I take you for granted, but I swear I don’t, I appreciate both of you and everything you do and getting to be around you, and—“

He has to pause to inhale, and Molly grabs either side of his head and plants a kiss on his forehead.

“And you want to know we don’t feel taken for granted,” she says. “Done—we don’t. And how can I when you’re, one, helping me out with a chore even though you just got off work, and two, telling me how great you think I am in the middle of it?”

Kip gives a small, breathless laugh—Molly lets go and he straightens his glasses.

“I’M the one who has to make sure you know me and Roy love you,” she says.

“Huh? No, you don’t.”

“Well, you keep asking if we know you care about us, and always call yourself annoying or selfish or something. Ideally, you’d never even have to question whether you’re as important to us as ever.”

“I mean—“ Kip blushes. “I know I’m important to you and that you really care about me. I just don’t want to...rely on people’s past feelings and histories with me. I wanna make sure I’m being a good friend NOW.”

Molly smacks his arm.

“You are. You’re an amazing friend.”

Kip presses his lips together and shrugs helplessly; Molly glowers at him, hands on her hips.

“I’m not the worst,” Kip admits, laughing nervously.

“You don’t still worry you’re a bad friend because you think you’re too boring, do you?” she asks suspiciously.

“...I wish I wasn’t as boring,” he admits. “I know...I can kind of be a drag.”

Molly rolls her eyes and tosses a balled-up sheet at his chest.

“Well, we don’t love you for the entertainment of it,” she says. “So don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“Heh—I’ll try not to.”

He finds the corners of the sheets and starts folding. He glances back up at Molly.

“Uh,” he starts, “I guess all that is just me trying to say, you know, that I love you.”

“Well, I love you, too.”

—

Kip texts that he’s ready whenever Pascal is, and about fifteen whole seconds later is accepting his call.

He flops back onto the bed and asks Pascal to tell the story of his day. Pascal obliges, and then Kip describes his own day, trying to lend the kind of humor to ordinary details the way Pascal can.

And then Pascal talks about how fun it was to have everyone over, and that they should do it again soon, and Kip returns that Pascal should keep coming over to their apartment, too.

And then Kip has to mention what he got in the mail, as well as the success of his test drive, and Pascal tells him he’d love to see it in action for himself. And then tells Kip he might’ve bought something a little while ago too, maybe even before they’d agreed to get back together. And Kip laughs and says he has to tell what it is, and Pascal insists it’d be more fun to give Kip a demonstration the way he demonstrated a prostate massage for Pascal.

This quickly evolves into teasing and flirting, and before Kip knows it he’s making use of the sleeve again as well as his headphones, bringing Pascal’s voice a little closer and louder as he continues describing what he wishes he could do to him right now. Pascal seems to be finding it fairly easy to narrate these desires, though he definitely grows bolder and more specific after the first couple of minutes. Kip is also glad that the headphones free up his hands, lending him some increased coordination as he gets the sleeve and the lube and a few tissues for good measure—though disentangling himself from his clothes is a momentary challenge.

It’s also unexpectedly easy to overcome any feelings of nervous awkwardness about enjoying this—apparently talking dirty over the phone isn’t as corny in practice as in theory. Not that he’s facing all that difficult a task when, at the start, he’s only listening, focusing solely on letting himself grow aroused. 

When Pascal pauses in a description of kissing Kip from the backs of his knees up his thighs, Kip finally speaks up with a shaky “Yeah?” before realizing he still needs to actually have the phone near his mouth. He grasps for it and pulls it over.

“Y-yeah?” he repeats. “Keep going—please—“ He strokes himself, fidgeting against the bed. 

“Sorry—“ Pascal exhales. “It’s just...I’m touching myself, and I...”

“Fuck,” Kip moans softly. “I-I am too.”

“You are?” Pascal’s voice quavers—Kip squeezes the end of his cock and circles his thumb around the tip, his back rising from the bed.

“Yeah.”

He hears Pascal give a low, quiet grunt. He pumps himself a few more times before pushing the sleeve around the head of his erection, immediately bucking further into it—he lets his moan come out just loud enough to be heard by Pascal.

For a couple more minutes, Pascal keeps telling Kip what he wishes he could be doing right now, and Kip does his best to respond encouragingly, but soon enough they’re simply listen to each other jerk off. Kip tries to keep his mouth at least vaguely close to the mic, panting, murmuring Pascal’s name, occasionally giving a soft whimper as his pleasure flares and makes his heart pound harder, makes him radiate involuntary pulses of cold.

Pascal has no need to be nearly as inhibited with his sounds, and hearing his rich, heavy groans in stereo is driving Kip to the brink even faster than before.

“Pascal—“

“Kip,” Pascal moans in response, voice full of such earnest desire that Kip can’t take it.

“I’maboutto—“

He thrusts up hard, pulling the sleeve down as far as he can manage, and is hit with an orgasm that darkens the edges of his vision. His gasp hitches; his cry comes out a whine that he quickly buries in his pillow.

He comes back around, panting heavily.

“...Pasc,” he whispers. “Now you gotta let me hear YOU cum.”

Only seconds later, he does.

For half a minute they lie there, catching their breaths.

“That was a pretty good phonecall,” Kip murmurs.

“Yeah,” Pascal pants. “One of the best.”

They talk a little longer, and settle on the idea of Kip heading to Pascal’s apartment one evening so that he’s there even before Pascal comes back from work, and can set up dinner sort of like a date. Pascal says it’s not the most date-like if Kip has to do all the preparation himself, and Kip argues it absolutely is, except he’s acting as if he’s the one who lives in that apartment, not Pascal.

“Besides,” he says, throwing down what he knows will settle the matter. “I want dinner to happen at your place, so that you can give me that demonstration.”

“...Yeah, okay.”

—

Another nightmare that makes him jolt awake, so covered in sweat that it takes a moment to ascertain he didn’t wet his bed.

He throws off the blankets and stalks into the bathroom, soaking a washcloth in cool water and pressing it against his face, eyes screwed shut, trying to breathe deeply.

He can at least tell it wasn’t the same dream that made him rush to Wallace. But, lucky for him, he’s got plenty more, and an infinite capacity to remix and expand upon them all—this one might’ve had to do with the things he read in documents from E.

He ends up running a warm, shallow bath so he can rinse off the clammy feeling of sweat on every inch of his body. He doesn’t get out until his breathing is slow and even again.

He wraps himself in a towel, pajamas tucked under his arm, and walks quietly to the kitchen. He opens a cupboard and lifts out the tea blend Pascal made for him. He takes off the lid of the tin, closes his eyes, and draws a slow, deep inhale. 

After a few more grounding breaths, he puts it carefully away and goes back to bed.

—

Kip sits down for his lunch break and checks the texts from Pascal only to see that it’s actually one from Pascal and one from Wallace. With something of a flutter in the chest, he bemusedly opens Wallace’s message.

“Hi Kip! I hope work’s going okay. The client I was calling on tomorrow afternoon just ended up rescheduling, so I’ll be able to be back at my apartment early. I know your schedule has you working until 2, so I wanted to let you know in case you’d want to try meeting up when you’re off.”

Almost before he knows what he’s doing, Kip texts back: “okay. i can send you a text to let you know when i’m on my way.”

Then he sort of processes what he’s just agreed to. Even though he knows he wants to have this talk with Wallace, and knows there’s nothing about it that can hurt either of them, it’s suddenly a bit more intimidating now that it’s happening in barely over twenty-four hours.

Fortunately, reading and responding to Pascal’s text is a bit of an emotional salve.

—

Eno texts him that evening, talking about coming by for a day or so in a couple of weeks. Kip jumps on the suggestion at once with firm assurances that he’d love to have him, that he could stay with them for the night, that he’ll get Pascal to come by too, that he’ll make adjustments to his work schedule if needbe. 

It’s been over a year and a half since Eno has visited him in C, and even longer since the two of them were in the same place for more than fifteen hours or so. The excitement Kip feels at the idea that this might finally happen reminds him why he can’t shake the desire to coax Eno towards moving to C.

The excitement lingers as Kip prepares for bed, but falters nearly flat when his gaze lands on his family’s picture. 

He’s not actually afraid of trying to tell the story of what happened. He knows it’s sure to be at least partially cathartic. He knows that as rough as it might get at times, he’ll ultimately be able to handle it. But he’s still unsure of what exactly will happen, and that makes him undeniably nervous.

The forget-me-nots are thriving. He needs to put them in a new pot. He picks up his fern and spritzes it with a bit of mist, then carefully adjusts the placement of each item, and leans in and brushes his lips to the pictureframe.

—

Despite his anxiety, Kip’s sleep is undisturbed. That he grows distracted and on edge as the hours of his shift drag by has nothing to do with how early he had to get up. Molly asks on a few separate occasions if he’s feeling okay—he assures her it’s nothing to worry about, just a little tension.

He’s on his own for the last couple hours of his shift, and somehow finds himself feeling a little more confident. He figures it might be something like a last-minute boost, or even a sense of resignation overtaking his nerves. But even at its height, the anxiety was really nothing compared to worse levels he’s gotten plenty familiar with. 

Maybe he’s already used up his allotment of real dread when it comes to facing Wallace—maybe his system has simply been exhausted of its ability to get worked up with any real significance around the human.

But he supposes with a touch of bitterness that that’s probably wishful thinking, and slides the till drawer shut.

—

It’s a humid, sunny afternoon, and Kip is only halfway home when he decides he should take a shower. He glances at Wallace’s door as he passes by, then pushes himself up each flight of stairs till he’s at last in the apartment and behind his bedroom door, stripping his clothes off and tossing then aside into a pile. He lies down on the floor beside them, knees open, arms laid out perpendicular to his body, basking in the feeling of cooled air against his bare skin.

He even showers at a lukewarm temperature, and blowdries his hair with much more use of the cool setting than usual. And makes sure to apply a generous amount of deodorant for good measure. 

But when it comes to his clothes, he doesn’t exactly feel like he’s in the mood to wear his most summery outfit for this—but neither does he want to show up looking all formal and layered and ironed-out. And he doesn’t want to spend ages planning out the perfect look as if this is a date, so a couple minutes later he’s in soft, almost loose jeans, and a soft, almost loose grey sweater. He slips on ankle socks and his oldest, most worn-in pair of sneakers.

He catches himself repeatedly giving these sighs, as if each time bracing himself for the task ahead. He stuffs an unopened pack of tissues into his back pocket, sends Pascal a text saying he’s hoping he’s alright and wants to drop by the shop later in the day, slides the phone into his other back pocket, puts his keys in the front, and then has no other reason to delay setting off for Wallace’s apartment.

He looks at himself in the mirror for a moment, expression set. Then he looks at the photo, gives it a small nod, and leaves his room.


	8. Chapter 8

He knocks the way he does, and hears Wallace’s movements and footsteps as he gets up and quickly opens the door for him.

“Hey, Kip!” Wallace says, a bit more cheerfully than Kip would expect. Then again, he’s likely nervous, as he’s got a noticeable blush. “Was work okay?”

He moves back and out of the way to let Kip inside.

“Yeah,” Kip says, stepping out of his shoes. “It was basically the usual. How was your time at the office?”

“Oh—uh—pretty good, actually. I think I got a lot of headway for a couple of clients.”

There’s restrained excitement underneath his voice, and Kip can’t help a glance and a smile at him. Wallace’s hair is a little messy, not unlike the way Kip would see it after long stretches when Wallace was so focused on one thing he’d forget to pay attention to anything else, and would repeatedly wind his hand through some of his hair or rake his fingers through it. He’s also got on a solid grass-green tee and tan cargo shorts—Kip has to wonder if Wallace’s thoughts about what to wear for this were similar to his own.

“Sorry I didn’t text to say I was on my way,” he tells Wallace, walking slowly closer to the middle of the room. “I took a shower as soon as I got home after walking in all that humidity—and by the time I got out there wouldn’t really have been much of a point.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Wallace laughs, shaking his head. “I was just sitting here getting some paperwork together.”

He gestures to the small stack of folders on the table by the couch.

“If you were in the middle of something, I don’t mind letting you finish,” Kip says. “I don’t have anywhere I have to be for a while.”

“Nah, it’s fine,” Wallace says. “This sort of stuff I can do pretty much anywhere, anytime. And I was waiting for you anyways.”

He glances over at Kip—who nods at him—then seems to remember what they’re about to do, expression shifting into a flicker of nervousness.

“Do you—uh—“ He glances around for a moment. “Would you like something to drink? Or...”

“I’m alright, thank you,” Kip says. “But, actually...you don’t happen to have an old dishrag or something around, do you?”

Wallace blinks.

“Um, I think so...”

“I’ll probably want something to do with my hands,” Kip explains, raising them. “I should’ve brought something myself, but I didn’t think of it till just now.”

“Y-yeah, absolutely, just one second.” 

And Wallace turns into his kitchen and reemerges with a small towel of pale yellow terry cloth, passing it to Kip.

“Thanks,” Kip murmurs, already rubbing his thumb against the material. “Um—“

“So—“ Wallace’s voice overlaps with his. 

Their eyes meet.

“Sorry,” Wallace laughs, blushing. “Uh, how would you like to do this? You’re in charge.”

Kip blushes slightly too, and looks around the room.

“I...was kind of thinking that it might be better for us to face away from each other,” he says, a little embarrassed. “It might make it easier to not have to worry about looking at each other.”

“Sure,” Wallace answers unhesitatingly.

“I guess I could, uh...sit at your desk, and you could stay here on the couch,” Kip says with a small shrug. 

“Wherever you think you’d be most comfortable,” Wallace says.

“The desk should be fine. I think it’d be good for me to face a wall.”

“Okay. Do you want me like, sitting sideways on the couch, so I’ve got my back to you?”

“Um...” Kip looks over at the couch. “Actually...yeah. That sounds good.”

Wallace gives him a small smile and walks over to sit on the end, then draws his feet up onto the cushions and turns so that he’s facing the door, away from the desk in the corner.

So now Kip should go over to the desk, like he said. 

But first—

“Um,” he starts, shifting his weight slightly. He curls the hand holding the towel into a fist. “So, I’m probably going to get upset...”

Then he interrupts himself with a shake of the head.

“I AM going to get upset,” he says levelly. “Probably really upset. I haven’t ever...had to talk about what happened like this. You’re pretty much the first person in my life since then who hadn’t been there with me that night, or heard about what happened. So...I’ve never had to explain everything like I’m about to.”

Wallace nods solemnly, looking back at him.

“But just because I’ve never had to do this—I know that I can, and like I said, I want to. I’m okay with the fact I’m going to be upset by this. If I don’t say I need to stop, I don’t need to stop, okay?”

“Oh—o-okay,” Wallace agrees.

“And don’t worry about comforting me or anything,” Kip continues. “This whole thing is going to be hard. If you tried to make me feel at ease the whole time, we’d never get through this. If I need a break, I’ll let you know. Otherwise...just let me keep going.”

“Alright.” Wallace nods again, and draws his knees in slightly. “I’ll just...stay over here.”

Kip nods back.

“Thanks,” he says. 

There’s an awkward pause in which they look at each other; Kip doesn’t make a move to walk over to the desk.

“Okay,” Kip says with a slight sigh.

Wallace smiles briefly. Maybe encouragingly.

Kip turns his head and then the rest of his body and then goes over to the desk, pulls out the chair, and sits down. 

His heartbeat is definitely already raised. He puts the towel down on the desk in front of himself and takes out the tissues, opens them, and pulls the small wastebasket a little closer to the side of the desk.

He stares at the wall a moment.

“Alright,” he says to it. 

He pauses.

“Is this loud enough?” he says at a conversational volume. “Can you hear me well enough from there?”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Wallace answers.

“Okay.”

It’s a small room, after all. He could probably hear Wallace breathing from this distance if he tried.

“So.”

Wallace doesn’t say anything. Kip moves his gaze over the wall, and finds a tiny streak of a scuff mark. He stares at it.

“I’ve been thinking about how I might talk about some of this stuff,” he starts. “But I didn’t exactly plan any of it out.”

The mark on the wall looks something like a small stratus cloud. Kip wonders what it would be like to have this talk outside, to sit under the sky and watch clouds and birds and waving branches as he talks.

He’s quiet for half a minute. And grateful Wallace doesn’t speak.

“...So you know my family was killed,” he says. “And you know why they were killed. Right?”

“...Yes,” Wallace says. 

Kip is quiet again. He tries to figure out how in the world this story should be told. 

But as long as he’s the one telling it, however he does it is probably fine.

“The night they died,” he says slowly, “Our home burned down.”

“Oh—“ Wallace’s voice is small. “Oh.”

“I didn’t remember that ever actually being specified around you,” Kip says. “But basically everyone knows.”

“I—no—I didn’t know that yet,” Wallace says. “It sort of makes some things make more sense...I thought the stuff about you and fire was just...because you have ice, so maybe they thought you were afraid of fire or it hurt you worse or something...”

Kip laughs flatly, putting a hand against the towel.

“Well, that’s sort of true. But not because of some sort of...elemental incompatibility. It’s because that’s how my family died.”

“...Oh,” Wallace repeats softly.

Kip doesn’t continue for a few moments. The Kaizer fire is common knowledge for virtually everyone within a hundred mile radius, but someone hearing about this for the first time could probably use a second to process it, to let it begin sinking in.

“I can’t swear the fire itself is what killed them,” he starts up again. “I didn’t have to see them die. The—the fire was happening before I realized anything was going on. And it’s possible that someone had already killed them by that time. If that was the case, it was probably only Kent they would’ve killed before the fire, because nobody did anything to me. But I don’t know at what exact moment they died, or how. But, whatever had happened before it was set, I was the only one to survive the fire.”

He folds over the edge of the towel, starts rolling it up.

“I loved them so much,” he says, already feeling a flush rising into his face. “We were always very close. We got along really well, even when we were younger.”

For as long as he can remember.

“We looked out for each other. Kent especially. He really took care of us in a lot of ways. I always knew I could come to him for help with anything. I...was very open with my family. They knew me very well. I was...different when I was younger. And I was different before the fire.”

Better, maybe. Maybe Wallace would’ve liked him better if they’d known each other back then.

“I don’t really know how Kent was always so strong. It seemed to just be what he was like. There was nothing he wasn’t willing to take on for us. But...I know that just because it came naturally to him, it wasn’t ever really easy. But he’d just...manage to do whatever we needed to be okay. We really relied on him. I owe so much to everything he did to keep us safe and together. He was such, SUCH an amazing person. Even when I was little, I could tell he was someone really incredibly strong and brave.”

He laughs softly.

“He was very much everything I’m not,” he says. “In a way, I’m always trying to pretend I’m like him. People want me to be just like him. And I wish I was. But, unfortunately for everyone, that was never really the case. I WAS less afraid when I was younger, but I think that’s really due to the fact that Kent protected us so well that I hardly realized how much cause I had to be afraid.”

He’s rolling up the towel on the desk, unrolling it, rolling it from the other direction, from the corner, starting from the other side, slowly but incessantly.

“I mentioned that our parents weren’t really part of our lives,” Kip says. “And the only reason that doesn’t have to feel like a huge deal is probably only because of Kent. He made it feel like we were all we needed. And I guess ultimately that was true, but there was definitely a really long period where things were...kind of rough and unstable. But as long as the three of us were together, things seemed okay. And we were always together.”

He looks at the cloud mark.

“We were so close.” His voice isn’t as conversational anymore. He can’t quite seem to raise it to that volume. “I loved them so, so much, and—they loved me so much.”

He pauses so that he can take a few breaths and subdue the feeling that he’s about to start tearing up. 

“I was actually really happy when I was younger,” he says. “I knew things weren’t perfect and I...I’m not saying that I was sheltered from the world, or I never knew what it was to be afraid or upset, but...I felt like I was safe. I never had to be on my own. It felt like I would always be okay if I just had them with me.”

He huffs an exhale through his nose.

“It was kind of true, I guess.”

He takes the rolled-up towel and starts twisting it.

“I was really happy most of the time, and I...was actually kind of fun. We eventually got to kind of settle down right around here, and I...was always lucky enough to make a decent amount of friends, including some pretty close ones. And it was all thanks to Kent keeping things together. And Eno had always been helping, and he...was a really good friend of Kent’s. I’m pretty sure Kent was able to confide in him about the reality of the situation whenever things were getting hard. I’m really glad that’s the case, because I could never do that. Kent never wanted us to have to worry about all the things he did.”

Kent would’ve never wanted you to get mixed up in this sort of thing.

Kip sighs heavily, heartbeat strengthening.

“...Kent always had to help people to the best of his ability,” he says. “It was just who he was. When it started to look like something was going on with monsters in the area, he was paying close attention. And he saw that nobody was going to step in and try to figure out if anything was going on—none of the institutions that should’ve been interested in a string of disappearances, anyway.”

Kip laughs flatly.

“I don’t think he planned to really seriously get involved at first,” he explains. “He was just doing a little bit of research and keeping track of things. But soon he had files and documents about it, news clippings, and he was actually writing to people who knew someone missing, getting put in touch with others...”

He twists the towel hard.

“Eno started helping soon enough, and then was actively participating in his own right. And...eventually Yumi volunteered to help them investigate and talk to people, too.”

It’s funny to think that at this point there’s a chance Wallace knows more about Yumi than he ever has. Except for the direct knowledge of what it was like to be around her, see her, talk with her.

“When someone went missing, that was usually it. And anyone who knew them just...had nothing. As soon as it became known that there was someone who was making pretty much the only serious effort to keep track of things, and who probably knew most about it, and had the best chance to figure something out, people started coming to us. They had no one else to go to. Kent seemed like the only chance anyone had to see their loved ones again. Coming to him seemed like the only thing anyone could even do. And, obviously, people were desperate.”

He twists up the towel for about the hundredth time, then keeps twisting and twisting until it coils up. He lets it go, smooths it out, starts over.

“It became ordinary to just have complete strangers walking in our door,” he says. “I saw so many people. And all I could do was go and get Kent for them and then try to stay out of the way. I...wanted to help, too. But I knew I had nothing to offer. And everyone knew that if there WAS something to discover behind all the vanished monsters, it was going to be something horrible. We were all scared. I started becoming more and more afraid week by week—not only because of what was happening all around the area, and because people I knew were being affected, but also because...I knew that the more Kent and Eno and Yumi got tangled up in everything the harder it would be to back out, and the closer they got to succeeding in finding the pattern, the closer they got to whatever was so dangerous that it was just...erasing us from existence, with nothing and no one able to stop it or protect themselves...or protect anyone else.”

He remembers trying to explain to Wallace how much the disappearances changed everything in C and D. He hopes it had an impact on the human, though he knows that even if he explained it perfectly—even if Wallace had been there himself—Wallace could never know how it had felt.

“...Before I knew it, I just...realized that things were never going to be the way they used to. I’d had sort of had this idea in the back of my mind that someday Kent wasn’t going to be so worried and stressed and frustrated over things, that fewer people would start showing up instead of the other way around. That things would get better. But then I just...stopped thinking that way. I guess maybe part of it was also just that I was growing up. I was...about fourteen and a half when the disappearances started. Fifteen when Kent started seriously getting investigating. Sixteen when I realized that things weren’t going to be okay.”

Almost as if in imitation of the creeping, warningless shift Kip describes, he finds himself tearing up before he even knows he needs to try to stifle it.

“It’s funny how long it took for things to end,” he laughs helplessly. Already the tears are welling so much that they might spill off his lashes any moment. “We had almost four whole years from the start of things...we even had two years after I realized that we weren’t going to get to have our ordinary lives again. But in a way it felt like hardly any time at all.” 

His breath hitches. He glances through swimming vision at the pack of tissues sitting a foot away.

“But even in the middle of all of that, we were as close as ever. We...still had amazing days together. I still felt like I could learn to be okay, because we still had each other. There was still plenty of times I was happy and having fun and enjoying myself almost as much as I used to. And my friends were fantastic and...it’s not like I don’t have some really great memories from those years. And I was still with my family, so.”

He blinks and a heavy teardrop rolls down his cheek. 

“...One thing that feels lucky,” he says quietly, “Is that Pascal and I met when I was seventeen. It didn’t take long for us to start dating. I had a crush on him from the moment we met and I fell in love pretty fast. I mean, you know him. The way he looks, the way he acts, the way it feels to talk to him...”

He laughs breathlessly, sliding a hand up beneath his jaw, propping his head up against the desk. 

“He was just as wonderful back then. I actually came out to my family after I met him... It had been a while since my last boyfriend, because that one had turned out to be a bit of a bad experience and it sort of...put me off things for a while, and I was pretty preoccupied with things at home anyways, and...I wasn’t looking for or expecting anything like what I ended up wanting with Pascal. I’d just had, you know, a few instances of pretty brief and casual only-at-school boyfriends, and it was always alright, but...it felt like a whole different creature with Pascal and I guess coming out was part of my way of hoping that we would be together. But I was really nervous, even though I’d already come out to other people, and even though I knew they’d be fine with it. And of course it was fine, and I was really happy I’d told them, and I’m still...really glad I got to tell them. They got to meet Pascal too, plenty of times, they knew we were together and they got to know that...he’s really amazing, and was making me really happy.”

He has to pause for a little bit, inhaling carefully so that his breaths don’t catch, so that their soft shuddering remains silent.

“They never got to know that he was more than just a really good boyfriend and a really nice person—I-I wish they did. But I hope that they were able to guess. I hope they might’ve guessed how important he was to me and...and how much he already cared about me...”

He stops to give a slow sniff; his nose is starting to run. A tear travels along a previous track along his cheek, makes it down far enough to cling to the corner of his lips. He licks it off. 

“For a little while, even as bad as things seemed, he was such an—an unexpected infusion of...all this goodness and happiness that I’d never known could happen to me, and I thought—maybe, I thought, things could still become okay again—“

His voice breaks at the very end and his shoulders jerk and he cuts himself off, squeezing his eyes shut. A tear falls quickly, sliding all the way from the corner of his eye to his jaw in one second, falling onto the desk with the softest tap. He places the tissue over the drop to absorb it and draws a few deep breaths in an attempt to steady himself.

“There wasn’t any warning. Things didn’t even seem any worse than usual—things might’ve even calmed down. I think that for a little while they might’ve backed down somewhat because they knew someone was really paying attention, but—“ He laughs bitterly. “I guess it didn’t take long to decide there was no need to pretend they didn’t exist when nobody could stop them but they could stop anybody they wanted.”

The night of the fire.

“It had been kind of a good week, actually,” Kip murmurs. He’s crying outright, steadily but quietly. He swipes the tissue under his nose. “Our last week was kind of nice and I...”

He has to stop before his voice cracks.

“Like I said, there was no reason to see it coming. There was never any direct threat against us, ever. There was no point in that—we never had any real leverage over them. And they obviously had—had no reason to want to avoid killing us. They didn’t give a shit about killing monsters.”

He wipes his nose again.

“I—“

Now he has to explain the fire. He doesn’t have to—but he wants to, even though he doesn’t want to. He at least wants to prove to himself that he can.

But he knows he’s not going to get through this without breaking down worse, and that’s hard to face.

Yet Wallace has seen him during multiple all-time lows. And has said he’s not going to try to interrupt Kip.

He just has to start, and then it will start to come more easily. Maybe it will even become more difficult to stop than to continue, and before he knows it it’ll be done.

He just has to start.

He just has to tell him.

“I...don’t think I was meant to live,” he says slowly, staring at the fibers of the towel. “I, uh, sometimes had nightmares even back then. All the stress, and worrying all the time, and just—I started getting a lot more anxious in ways, and I was definitely depressed those last few years, thinking that nothing we could do would ever let us be okay again...”

He shrugs as though facing someone.

“I would’ve been upstairs if I hadn’t gone to bed early and had a nightmare a few hours in. Sometimes I’d go downstairs for a cup of tea to help myself relax or warm up. That was sort of my thing—I’d always be making my family tea, probably more than they’d ever even want it. But they’d never refuse it, I think because they knew it was my way of trying to help.”

He laughs softly, and this time there’s nothing flat or bitter about it.

“Anyways, I’d—I’d gone to the couch to breathe and relax and drink my tea. Eno had always had suggestions about how to try to help with my anxiety flareups, and he’d told me that lying down and putting a hand on my stomach might make it easier to focus on breathing slower, and...”

Maybe he would’ve died if he hadn’t been given that tip.

“I guess I’m lucky I was trying it out that night, because I just fell back asleep on the couch instead of upstairs. There wasn’t even any real reason I didn’t just take my tea back to my bedroom. Sometimes I like to stay away from my bed for a minute. I guess that’s all it was. But there was no real reason I was downstairs. I just was.”

Speaking of his anxiety—

“I-I—“ he wavers.

He pauses for a bit. Picks up the towel again. Instead of repetitively rolling or twisting it, he just works it between his hands, nervously and distractedly fidgeting.

“I told you I never saw them die. I didn’t even see them at all. I...hadn’t even talked to them since hours earlier that evening, we—we just all went to bed and—“

Suddenly he sniffs and a fresh wave of tears well up. His face feels hot, it feels like a hand is pressing at the top of his throat, another pushing against his sternum. Snot runs down the curve of his lip, he sniffs again but it isn’t enough—he crumples the tissue and wipes it off. Draws a shaky breath through his mouth.

“The fire woke me up,” he says. 

The scene is playing in his mind’s eye—blinking his eyes open to see a ceiling that wasn’t his room’s, lying on something that wasn’t his bed, hearing the strangest sound, breathing the strangest scent, sitting up and wondering what was going on, turning his head—

“I didn’t realize what was going on right away,” he says. “The fire was...it was set to start and spread upstairs, where all our bedrooms were, so I-I think the whole top of the house was burning before I even woke up. I-I—I had—“

To his horror, his breath seizes with a loud, rasping hitch. He grits his teeth and scrubs more snot away.

“I’d w-woken up before that,” he manages. “A couple times something was waking me up, there was noises and I’d be half-awake and too out of it to realize it—it was anything out of the ordinary a-and—I hate thinking about that, I hate that I was so close t-to being able to...maybe wake up in time to—“

His breath hitches again, more of a proper sob. He has to get a new tissue, brushing the back of his wrist across his eyes.

“...When I did finally wake up, I...I knew something was off, but it took me a second to realize what it was. And...when I did realize, I—just couldn’t accept that that could be happening. I couldn’t even get up from the couch for a minute. B-but then I—I saw all this orange light against the wall in the next room. It was way too bright and none of our lights ever looked like that and—and it was almost like it was flashing, and I got up so fast I don’t even remember putting on my glasses and—and I ran—“

The sound getting louder, the light growing harsher, the recognition of reality becoming more agonizing and terrifying and undeniable. His heart plummeting a thousand miles with every beat of his socked feet against the floor, propelling him towards exactly what he couldn’t bear to face.

“I ran towards it,” he continues, voice pathetically uneven. “I didn’t want to see, but—I wasn’t even hardly thinking, it was all instinct. And a-as soon as I g—I got to the bottom of the s-stairs I—“

Another grating sob pulls his words back. He has to wipe at his lips and cheeks every few seconds to keep up with the steady leak of snot and tears. He knows his breathing is audible, but he doesn’t care about that anymore—if he’s crying aloud, what difference does it make.

“I just looked up and saw fire upstairs. I’d already known that’s what it was but I couldn’t actually believe it even when I was looking right at it, and—how bright and loud it was—and the flames must’ve been—four or five feet tall, they were climbing up the walls a-and across the ceilings—“ His breath hitches. “And it was starting to come down the stairs and everything up there was so thick with smoke that—all I could see was the fire.”

He pauses to quietly blow his nose, tosses the used tissues into the wastebasket, gets out a fresh one. The towel is wadded up in his other hand. He stares down at the slight patterns in the wood of the desk. His legs are shivering in brief pulses.

“I couldn’t move again,” he continues quietly. “I was so shocked that I—almost didn’t know to be afraid. I wasn’t afraid for myself. I was okay. But I—I realized that my family might still be up there.”

He presses his lips together and shakes his head.

“I don’t know how to describe how that felt,” he says. “It...almost was like it wasn’t a feeling. It was like I felt this whole shift in...in all of existence. Like the entire universe had just been pulled inside out. It was—so much fear I didn’t even recognize it as fear. It was just so wrong that I-I knew if it was true, then I was dead. Like it didn’t matter that I wasn’t hurt. I was dead if they were.”

It IS starting to feel like there’s some sort of flow to this now. Like he’s pulling himself along. His crying is even momentarily alleviated.

“I yelled for them as loud as I could,” he says. “I was screaming their names, as if I thought we could hear each other. I could barely hear myself. The fire was so loud it was like it was pushing against me. Even standing downstairs, the...there was so much heat it was making everything up there blurry and I—I knew I couldn’t go up there. It was more than a wall of fire, it was—like it was alive—I can still remember how it looked. But I still tried running up there, but a few steps up and it suddenly hurt so much it knocked me back. I—I couldn’t even force myself to try again. It was way too late. I—“

He shakes his head. Runs his hand down the back of his neck.

“It was so loud,” he murmurs. “I started hearing these creaks and huge snaps and booms from all over upstairs. It was so scary—and I kept—I kept thinking that any of those noises might’ve been my siblings up there.”

He laughs flatly again, a harsh roughness to the sound.

“It was way too late,” he repeats. “But I kept screaming for them. I just—didn’t even decide to, I just started sprinting around the whole ground floor, looking everywhere for them—I opened anything I could open and pushed everything aside and—as if they might be hiding in the kitchen cabinets or behind the armchair and the wall and didn’t hear me—“

He swallows and twists his head to the side, using the shoulder of his sweater to soak up some tears.

“When I came down here to ask you about hearing anything when I was burned, you told me about that loud noise you were hearing?” he says. “That’s what it sounds like being close to a really huge fire. They knew I’d recognize that. And...I was asking about voices because I—I was having these dreams where I heard my family screaming as they died. And I didn’t know if that had been from that day in E when they were trying to make me feel like I was back in the fire, or if it was just an invention from me—from my always worrying about—i-if they were—“

A strong sob grips him so tightly his body jerks, so sudden that he doesn’t manage to stifle it in the least.

“Worrying if they—“ His voice is so uneven. “If they w-were alive in the fire—“

He sobs again, shoving the back of his hand against his mouth. Holds his breath a few seconds before trying again—his inhale shudders and scrapes. 

“But it had just...been the sound of a fire,”  
he manages in a rush. “I wouldn’t have come down to ask you but I was still half-asleep and freaked out...”

“...Oh.”

Wallace’s response is scarcely a breath, but Kip still hears it clearly. Somehow it makes him feel shakier yet somewhat emboldened to continue.

“I-I was just searching and screaming for them for I guess a minute or two,” he says. “But it felt like it lasted forever. Rushing around and feeling more panicked by the second. And then the—the creaking from upstairs was getting so loud and—all these crashes, I guess walls and furniture and beams were falling over, but it scared the shit out of me...”

He sniffs.

“Finally I started noticing the smoke was getting downstairs too and—it was starting to leak from everywhere and I—I finally noticed that the fire was halfway down the staircase like it had poured down and—and things moved really fast after that.”

He blows his nose, gets out a fresh tissue, puts his hands flat on the cool surface of the desk and closes his eyes and breathes. In and out, several times over until he feels just a little bit steadier. He opens his eyes and finds the wall-cloud again.

“I don’t remember exactly when, but at some point Kent had showed me where he kept his folder, and where the key to unlock that drawer always was. He’d told me that he was letting me know so that if anything ever happened, I might be able to grab it. But he told me to be sure to take care of myself first and to leave it behind if I thought it wouldn’t be safe to try to get it, and...”

He sighs heavily so that the exhale doesn’t shake as much.

“It had scared me a little to hear him talking about things like that,” he says. “But I guess that helped me remember. Because I swear I didn’t even hardly have to think about it. I just saw that—there was this crash by the stairs and something had fallen and the fire was spreading and suddenly it was like there was so much more smoke, and I ran to Kent’s desk and grabbed this key from the drawer and unlocked the other drawer and grabbed the folder and—heh—“

He drags a hand down his face.

“I actually closed and locked the drawer again before I—I ran back and it was like half of downstairs had caught on fire already. I was—was starting to breathe smoke, and it was like—being burned in the throat and breathing water at once. I got to my knees because I knew I needed to be closer to the ground, and the air was so hot but I could still breathe a little and I was still trying to call their names as loud as I could, but everything around was so loud I couldn’t tell the difference between me screaming and being silent anymore. I was holding the folder as tight as I could and—and by the time I realized all I could do was try to escape, it seemed like—like I might not be able to.”

He pauses again to breathe for a minute.

“I don’t really remember feeling more scared. I think it was all instinct. It was spreading so quickly. I was—was watching things burn around me, watching it burn my home. But it was getting hard to see, it was too bright and too dark at the same time and it was too hot to hardly keep my eyes open, and the smoke was making them water, and it was getting hotter and harder to breathe and—everything started hurting and I—I just ended up in our dining room, looking in all directions I could go and just seeing smoke and fire. I tried to mess with opening the window behind me one-handed, because I knew I couldn’t put down the folder, and then I just... Adrenaline, I guess, I just picked up a chair in one hand and smashed the glass. I had to break the stormglass too, and I did. I barely managed to make this hole in the screen but then the leg got caught and I was yanking it out when...when...”

He trails off softly and balls his left hand into a fist, rubbing his thumb across a knuckle. Take a moment and let yourself just breathe.

“I think part of the ceiling fell through,” he says. “There was this huge sound and I turned around and I saw this huge cloud of smoke, and it was like all this fire  
fell through too because I was hit with this...wall of heat. It knocked me down. And...”

He shakes his head and starts twisting up the towel again.

“The next thing I knew, someone’s hand was on my shoulder. I heard voices next to me. ...I thought I was dreaming.”

The tears are coming back. He can already tell.

“I don’t think they were trying to wake me up,” he says. “I don’t think they knew I was alive, at first. I don’t know how long it was between me passing out and the fire being put out enough for anyone to get to me—I’m not even sure if the fire engines arrived while I was still conscious or not. And as for me making the ice that kept me alive—I don’t even know that I was conscious when I created it. I must have at least been able to keep sustaining it while I was passed out...and I think the broken window had given just enough fresh air that—that when I pushed all this cold air out it—it pushed the fire and smoke back too, just enough to suck some air in from outside, enough that...I guess there was enough inside the shell of ice I made. I wasn’t conscious again until the flames were gone, even though what was left of the house was still burning—there were all these embers and smoke around still. I guess I’d somehow realized the fire was gone, because the ice melted down on its own, and there was this...weird patch of unburnt floor where I was just...lying curled up around the folder, barely even bruised...”

He remembers vividly how it felt to open his eyes like that. Realize that neither this nor the fire had been a dream. Lift his head and see his home just...gone. Nothing between him and the night air.

“Someone who lived in the neighborhood had spotted me through the smoke and run in to see if I was still alive. And I was, and I woke up, and they were picking me up and...I was barely processing anything, but I still held Kent’s folder against myself as tightly as I could. I-I knew I couldn’t let anybody take it from me.”

How he would’ve felt then to know that, in his hands alone, it was worth so little.

“I was sort of fading in and out at first, but I’d started to realize what was happening the moment I first woke up. Then I was by an ambulance and...I remember the flashing hurting my eyes, and there was a few people all around me at once, and someone was helping me sit upright, and they put a mask over my mouth, giving me oxygen—I think that helped me come back around faster because that’s when it felt like the fog in my head cleared and...I knew exactly what I was looking at.”

That image is still engrained in his memory, too. The tower of smoke reaching into the sky, blacker than the night, obscuring the stars and the soft glow of the city around them. The misting jets of water blasting at the corners of the wreckage of his house, churning up fresh brownish greyish plumes, little showers of sparks. The whole scene still steaming and smoking, still spotted with glowing patches of angry orange and red.

“I just had to stare at what was left of the house for a second. It was nearly impossible to recognize and—it was so hard to understand that it could just be gone. I had only gone to bed, and then it was...burnt down. It was the fire engines and everything that really let it sink in, I think. And...then I realized I was still holding the folder. I had been doing it so unconsciously that I forgot about it for a minute.”

He pinches his tongue between his teeth and tilts his head back slightly, looking upwards, drawing a deep breath.

“...I turned and asked whoever was beside me where they were,” he starts. “I don’t even remember their face. It was like everything around me fell away. They didn’t understand me and I took the mask off and I asked again where they were, and the person said there was only me, and I got up and went to the other ambulance and I asked who had taken my family to the hospital, and they said nobody had gone to the hospital, and I asked, well, where did they go, then, and...”

A tear spills down his cheek.

“...Everyone was saying it was only me, it was only me, and I kept looking around everywhere and there was all these people on the sidewalks and in driveways and they were all staring at the fire or at me and I—and it was so dark but I was trying to find them, and I-I ran into one of the firefighters and I asked where my family was and they s-said—“

His voice crumbles suddenly but he forges on.

“That—they said ‘How many people are inside?’ and I said ‘There’s three of us, w-where are the other two,’ and they said—“ 

He sobs, twice, pitch veering up at the very end in almost a squeak. He holds his breath a second and the next sobs are like deep coughs.

“They told me that they were still looking.” His voice is choked with his effort to hold back his sobs. His chest feels twisted up. “And I said, ‘Where are they,’ and s-someone from the ambulance took my arm and started trying to lead me back but I...I couldn’t, I couldn’t sit down, I just put both arms around the folder and started walking up and down the sidewalk, fast as I could, looking everywhere, I was—I was trying to hard to spot them because I knew—it was like I knew they had to be alive because it was impossible for them not to be, b-because if they’d died, there was no way for ME to be alive either, a-and...”

He shakes his head hard.

“I was just pacing back and forth, trying to figure out where they would’ve gone, a-and—and one of the neighbors from across the street walked over and s-said that—“

He wipes some snot off his lips.

“He said there wasn’t—that I was the only one anybody had seen, a-and I started to cry because I was getting really scared, and he tried to get me to sit down somewhere but I-I couldn’t sit but now I couldn’t keep walking, and I just...”

He draws a few loud, shaky breaths.

“There was this street sign across from our house,” he says in a quieter, gravelly voice. “Just some parking sign on the curb. I’d seen it every day for all the years we lived there. I’d passed it hundreds of times walking back from school. And I went over beside it and I...grabbed on to the base and I stared at what was left of the house. I-I didn’t know what to do. I felt like—just like nothing. It was—I was standing there, numb and crying, hanging on to the pole to keep myself upright, because once I stopped walking my whole body was shaking really hard, and... The only thing I could think about was that my family wasn’t there and I didn’t know where they were.”

He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head again. 

“I-I...” he tries. “I s-st-stood there for...I don’t even kn-know how long...”

He stops and holds his breath—it keeps his sobs silent in his chest, but they jerk at his whole torso. And then he has to draw a wheezing inhale, and a sharp sob escapes his throat.

“I s-stood there and—“ He sobs. “And it—I couldn’t do anything else—I was holding on a-as tight as I could, and...I don’t know how long it was, I-I didn’t know what was going on or w-what anyone was doing o-or what was happening, I just—I was just waiting for m-my family, I was w-waiting for them—to show up—and—“

A sob breaks from him again. He lowers his head, one hand to his forehead, one holding a tissue under his nose. For a little over half a minute, he just cries, dripping tears onto the desk and his glasses. He just has to let some of this out before he can actually manage to speak some more.

Wallace doesn’t speak the whole time.

With a few long inhales, Kip raises his head again.

“I-I...I knew they might be dead. But I couldn’t actually get through the thought,” he begins quietly. “I just waited, however long it was, I waited for them to show up.”

He sniffs.

“I saw...the people who were going through what was left of the house...there was still all this smoke, but so much of the walls had been burned away...and one of them walked over to another and then a third person went over. A-and—“

He hears an odd, huffing exhale from Wallace. He doesn’t turn around.

“I didn’t know...what I was seeing at first,” he says. “But then it seemed like...just a minute later the same thing happened up on what was left of the second floor.”

He sets his jaw and lifts his chin to look straight ahead of himself.

“I knew what it was when I saw them carrying out the second bodybag.”

He keeps his voice as steady as he can.

“I was trying to think that—it must be some mistake somehow, or that maybe somehow it wasn’t them...but then everyone was looking at me. And one of the firefighters started walking towards me, and...I collapsed.”

To try describing all the layers of what he felt in that instant would take hours.

“I really did just—my legs went out. I just fell onto the curb. I was still holding the folder and I was still holding the sign, so tight it hurt. But I—I can’t explain what it felt like. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt that...I can’t describe it. It’s like the world dropped out from under me and I...I didn’t even feel like myself. I didn’t feel like I was real anymore. It was like the world was gone, and I was gone, and this—this hole had been punched straight through me and was filled with—something colder than the coldest I’d ever felt.”

He sighs.

“...I can’t explain it,” he repeats. “I can’t explain how it feels to realize someone you love is dead.”

It’s quiet.

Kip grasps the towel and bunches it up, smooths it over, and folds it.

“A second after I fell, I just...started to scream. You know...how you hear about how someone learns that somebody died, and they hear themselves crying before they even realize they’re making the noise? So, yeah, it was pretty much involuntary, and I didn’t realize it was me at first. I didn’t even realize I had fallen down. I didn’t—I couldn’t process anything else but that they were dead.”

It definitely is somehow easier to talk about it, now that he’s gotten to this point, now that he’s described aloud this one moment.

What else could possibly be harder to talk about?

“I didn’t exactly have the quiet, frozen reaction,” he says. “I screamed, and screamed, I don’t know how long—I was crying—“

He’s back to twisting up the towel.

“I cried so hard I’d keep running out of breath, but I wouldn’t stop screaming—every time I had enough air for it, I’d just scream out as loud as I could manage. It hurt, but it...it was nothing. Even the pain of dealing with the fire had been...nothing compared to knowing my family died. Nothing.”

He sits quietly as some tears brim and leak from the corners of his eyes.

“...I’m sure I...if anyone on our street had slept through the fire and all the sirens, I bet I woke them up,” he says flatly. “I couldn’t move or get up or stop crying or anything. It...felt like I’d died. I was just holding on to the folder and the pole and curled up because it hurt so much and I—I felt as if I was dying. I didn’t want to stop screaming or sit up or open my eyes because...I didn’t want to see or hear or do anything. It felt like I would never get up again. I don’t know how describe it. I can’t explain the way it hurts, and how much, and how it...how it feels when it’s that much of a shock. When suddenly, they’re just gone, and you’re left. You’re not even you anymore, and you feel like your whole life just ended, and...I can’t even tell you how much it hurts feeling that way but knowing that you’re going to continue on like this, because you’re still here. Just...left.”

He sniffs gently and finds the wall cloud again.

“At least it made me easy to find when Molly got there,” he laughs softly. “It was the middle of the night, but...Kent was kind of a big deal. News traveled fast enough, and I guess pretty quickly word got to someone who knew that Molly and I were close. Later on she said that...it took a couple minutes of touching my back and saying my name before I even noticed she was there. I remember when I did look over and see her beside me. I—it was the first time I lifted my head since I fell. That’s when I got the sort of...numb, quiet reaction. I was just...I was looking at her, and I couldn’t speak. Things didn’t even seem real. I could hardly hear what she was saying.”

His memories of the period following the realization that his family died are definitely much vaguer than even those from the preceding chaos.

“She sat down beside me and kept her arm around me,” he murmurs. “I remember I was shaking really hard. And I was as quiet as I’d just been loud. I guess it was being hit with the shock. I don’t know. Roy came over soon, and it was—pretty much the only time I’ve known Roy not to say a word. He just sat on the other side of me, and they held on to me until I felt like I could at least breathe again.”

He gives another quiet laugh.

“But as soon as I felt like I could breathe, I could start crying again too. And it make me shake even worse. I...I think they wanted me to move, so that I wasn’t just...sitting on the side of the road in front of my burnt-down house. But I wouldn’t move an inch. I still had my arm around the sign pole. I...guess it had been about an hour that I was...just sitting there. I don’t think I noticed when all the trucks went away. There was still people around on the street, and still people going through the house. I definitely didn’t notice anything else going on around me. I didn’t notice even Eno was there too until he knelt down right in front of me.”

The memory of that moment isn’t vague. Eno had appeared before him like a vision—yet looking at him with such an expression that Kip knew this was real. All of it.

“...I hadn’t even known he was alive,” Kip murmurs. “I hadn’t been able to think about anything else but what had just happened to me, but I was definitely surprised to see him. Alive, and right there with me. It would be a couple of days before I learned that Yumi had been killed. ...That surprised me, too. I’d...never known her as long as Eno, but I thought that maybe it was only my brother who’d been targeted. But...he wasn’t, of course.”

He sighs and sits back.

“Eno talked to me, and—and I heard him. He had been close to my whole family, you know, and had...been really good friends with Kent. He was feeling the same way as me, and I could hear it in his voice. And he wasn’t trying to tell me it was okay, or anything, just that he was here for me, and he was going to stay with me. He...didn’t have any sort of speech or anything inspirational to say. He just...told me he loved me and that he was sorry and...that a lot of people who loved me were here for me, and I wouldn’t be alone. I just remember him saying all those things. It wasn’t anything amazing. But I remember it really well.”

He can’t explain how he could see his own grief reflected back at him in Eno’s face. Something beyond tears or sadness or horror, something you had to have experienced yourself, and then you could recognize it in an instant.

“Molly and Roy helped me stand up. And Eno went and called Pascal to let him know what had happened. Apparently...the other day Pascal told me that he’d gotten a call with a little less information first, and so for a half hour he thought I was dead.”

“Oh.”

Wallace’s voice is a quiet murmur. 

Kip has to appreciate that Wallace so recognizes the horror of what Pascal went through that it’s the first thing in ages to make him speak.

“Yeah,” Kip answers. “Eno convinced me to come over and spend the rest of the night with him. Well, he didn’t really convince me—I was just...okay with it. I didn’t want to go anywhere, but if I had to, I knew I’d want to be with Eno. And I definitely didn’t have it in me to argue with him. I just...let him take me with him. Molly and Roy were amazing—they waited behind in C to meet up with Pascal, so he wouldn’t have to travel alone into B. I think they got to to B about an hour and a half after Eno and I did, and the three of them stayed in a hotel room that first night. Molly let Eno know as soon as they got there and Eno took me downstairs to wait for Pascal, and...the whole time I‘d been sort of cycling back and forth between crying really hard and shaking and being scared and just...feeling like I wasn’t even hardly conscious, or even alive. I was more out of it when Pascal arrived, because I just...suddenly felt him hugging me. And then I switched right over from being numb to crying, and crying really hard, and I hadn’t really spoken at all since trying to ask where my family was, but I remember after a few minutes of just...crying and wailing I managed to get his name out. It’s...hard to describe the way it felt to be with him then. I guess my family suddenly dying made me appreciate how it might feel to lose anyone else.”

And still does.

“He spent ages just holding me,” Kip says softly. “I have no idea how long. I quieted down after a while, but I kept crying until I couldn’t anymore. I don’t completely remember him leaving—just that I was with him, and then Eno said something and Pascal said something back and then something else to me, and I at least tried to say something too, and I did manage to hug him before we went back to the hotel. And then Eno took me back upstairs to his apartment over his office. I think it was kind of a good thing it was just me and him that night. It was kind of rough, and the less I had to process, the better.”

He looks down at the desk. Eno had a workdesk in one room of the apartment, and when Kip had seen it that night, he’d been reminded of Kent’s, and started to shake. Even now, his legs are tensed up at the memory.

“I hadn’t let go of the folder once, not even when Pascal was holding me,” he says. “But Eno told me I ought to wash off, so that I wouldn’t have to keep breathing in the smell of the fire, and he promised over and over not to lose the folder until finally I let him hold it. And he gave me a shirt and pajama pants of his, because...the socks and the pajamas I was wearing were the only clothes I had anymore. They were the only things I still owned, actually—except my glasses and the folder, which was still Kent’s. So I took a shower, and...you know, there’s a color I can’t stand to see now, because of that shower.”

It’s so easy to visualize how he’d looked down to see this opaque, dirtied water spiraling down the shower drain, the same color streaked against the blue of his legs.

“It was kind of horrifying to be doing something so ordinary as showering. Like my family being dead was...going to be ordinary, now. And I kept thinking of how I’d just taken a shower not even half a day ago—technically earlier that night—and when I had, they were still alive. I could only stand there under the water. And I looked down and I saw that...there was this color running off of me. It was kind of this...flat, ugly tan. It was so close to grey that I barely thought of it as a color, but it was also browner than I expected, so for a few seconds I didn’t realize what it even was, because the water was coming out from the showerhead clear. Then I knew that it must’ve been that I’d gotten covered in smoke and ash and...apparently that was the color it makes.”

It’s such an ugly, awful, dead shade that it’s no surprise Kip rarely has to encounter it. But when he does, his revulsion is insuppressible. 

“I got upset and really freaked out,” he continues levelly. “The whole night was like that. It was impossible to think of anything else but what had just happened, and I could scarcely even begin to process the grief, but it kept hitting me over and over all the same. And I was starting to be really scared again and...and Eno tried to get me to eat, and I was too stressed—I had a lot of water, because, you know, being in a fire, but I couldn’t eat. And pretty soon I was exhausted but I didn’t want to go to sleep. It felt completely wrong, and I felt like if I woke up the next morning I’d be leaving my family behind, and I...kept thinking about how the fire had happened while I was asleep. How maybe things would’ve been okay if I’d been awake...and that if I went to sleep again, I might wake up to something awful.”

Even though he’d had bad dreams on the night his family died, afterwards he hadn’t been afraid of nightmares—only of what might happen around him while he was unawares and unable to stop it.

“Eno gave me his bed, and for some reason I insisted that I’d try to go to sleep alone. I think I figured I might not fall asleep at all, so I didn’t want Eno to have to wait beside me all night. But after a while I did fall asleep—I didn’t really notice it coming on at all, and I don’t remember having any dreams, because I woke up later really confused for a minute. I’d never been in that bed before, and it took me a while to even recognize it as Eno’s place, and then...”

He bites his lip and breathes deeply.

“I remembered what had happened. ...I ended up having to go wake Eno up and ask him to help me. He sat up with me for a while, and this time I stayed with him until I just fell asleep from exhaustion again.”

Clinging to him the whole time. Saying things he can’t remember through his sobs—probably incoherent, but seeming desperately important in the moment.

“Eno stayed there all night. He was in the same spot when I woke up. It was so strange for it to be morning, but knowing my family was dead, that I was just...kind of numb about everything. I even ate a little bit. But then I got worried about Roy and Molly and Pascal, and Eno said that if I wanted he could tell them they could come over to the apartment with us, and I said yes, because I knew I was a mess but I wanted to have them in front of me, so I could know they were safe. But at first it was just Pascal, because Molly and Roy had gone back to C for a while. And that was okay, because I...wanted to just hold him again for a while.”

He doesn’t think he can lend description to the quiet sublimity in being held so close by someone you love so much while in such a terrible state that you feel like you shouldn’t exist.

“When the five of us were together, we tried to talk about things to do next, but...I wasn’t much help. The concept of there even BEING a future was bad enough, but any amount of detail just...overwhelmed me. But what we all eventually settled on was that...I had to live somewhere, and I-I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to C. So, D was the only real option, but...I was the only person connected to my siblings, so there was some things I’d...still have to deal with. What ended up being decided was that Molly and Roy would go on ahead to D in a few days, and they could stay with Pascal and he could help them look for a place I could rent, and I’d meet up with them when I was done with...things.”

He silently fidgets with the towel for a minute.

“Those first few days especially, I was such a wreck. Everything I saw and did made me think of them, and it was impossible to think that they were just gone, because I—I had no idea how I could exist without them. They were such a big part of me, and if they were gone, what was that part of me anymore? What was I supposed to do with it? I...”

...Sort of still haven’t figured it out.

He sighs.

“I was a wreck,” he repeats. “I’d have these flashbacks and these sudden...bursts of grief. I’m seriously lucky I had Eno there with me. He helped me through all of it. And the whole time, he was working on getting things together, he was figuring out what I’d need to do, he was even... He was dealing with what had happened himself, and looking after me, and dealing with all my stuff, and he was working on helping Ben, too, calling and making sure he was safe and that someone was with him, and sending him things, and just...”

He heaves a longer, slower sigh, leaning in over the desk, head bowed.

“Eno was always fantastic, long before that. And it was also lucky because he’d just gotten his degree that spring and was already starting up his practice there, so I was literally with a professional. I think I easily might’ve been a lot worse off if I didn’t have him with me those first couple weeks. There would be things like—well, you know, the official finding was that the fire was an accident even though we all knew it wasn’t, and I knew it wasn’t an accident, but I STILL started getting more and more hung up on trying to keep things as...fire-safety friendly as possible, you know? I’d want everything around me away pulled away from outlets, and things unplugged, and I didn’t like being around anything tall like bookshelves or fridges, and I...I’d always keep this shifting plan in my head about where the exits and windows were and how I might manage to get myself and everyone else out of any building, and...things like that.”

He glances over at the window a few feet beside him. That would be easy—just the first floor.

“Anyways, I think Eno caught on to stuff like that pretty quick, and he helped me kind of...rein it in before it had the chance to get any worse. And between the flashbacks and nightmares and...panic attacks and everything, Eno helped me and showed me the best ways I could manage to get through all of it. He...”

Kip pauses, trying to decide if there’s things too private to admit to Wallace. But he trusts him, and he isn’t ashamed, and it’s feeling kind of nice to just be finally talking aloud about some of these details.

“...I actually haven’t ever told anyone about this,” he starts quietly. “Only Eno and Pascal really know. But...I did, uh, want to kill myself.”

He bites the tip of his tongue and spreads the towel out on the desk, slowly rotating it in place.

“I didn’t ever try it,” he murmurs. “Not exactly, anyway. I was just thinking about it a lot and sort of...the same way I’d been paying attention to what I could do if a place suddenly erupted into flames, I’d be...looking at things around me and trying to figure out what I could do to kill myself. Sometimes I’d pick up something and kind of imagine using it. That was really all, but...feeling that way made it so frustrating and exhausting just to be...well, alive.”

There’s the muted sound of conversation as people walk past Wallace’s door. Kip waits until the voices and footsteps fade.

“Eno was really the one who got things together for me,” he continues slowly. “I had to sometimes answer questions about the fire, and luckily it was all really simple and straightforward, but it still...I needed to be with someone I was close to. And then there was the fact that...all the assets the family had went to me. It was really only a bit of money. We’d had insurance that covered fire damage, actually, so...dealing with that was surprisingly easy, because there’d already been an official investigation. We hadn’t been rich at all, but...it was enough that I knew I could at least rent a place for a while. And buy some clothes, since I only had the pajamas. ...What was hardest to deal with was the funeral.”

His voice drops a little just to mention it.

“I... Even beginning to think about it was so, so hard. I didn’t even consider it at first. When Eno first mentioned it, I remember feeling like it just...filled up my head with smoke. A-and after a minute I panicked, because I thought that I—I’d have to identify the bodies before we could do anything like bury them. I—that really, really upset me. But when I finally got calmed down enough to listen, Eno told me I wouldn’t have to. That they’d already done it, with dental records and...all those kinds of methods. I didn’t ask for the details of it. I was just so relieved. I...I didn’t feel like I needed to see the bodies for closure or anything. I guess I was just scared, but I didn’t want to see.”

He still can’t find any regret in the decision. He’s glad he didn’t have to look.

“...I decided to have the bodies cremated. Maybe that sounds strange, but...I didn’t want them buried the way they were. I didn’t want to bury them with what was done to them. There was a public cemetery nearby, and they had a plot, and I just...I had to bury my family, you know? I just took the first good options that came to me. I...I didn’t even decide on having any kind of...official funeral, really. I mean, it was really just a burial. I was the only family, and there was Eno, and a few other close friends of theirs we invited. I...knew that there were a lot of people who were affected, but I couldn’t...I wanted things to be as small and simple as possible. That was just for my own sake. I could barely handle even that. Pascal had to help me get dressed that morning—“

He huffs a laugh. 

“He was better at buttoning up my shirt than I was. My hands were too cold and shaking too much. He stayed behind—and so did all my friends from C. I wanted to be there alone. It...went a lot more smoothly than I thought it would. Really because it just...it was strange. It didn’t exactly feel real. And it really only took about twenty minutes, and...it was all really informal, but some people wanted to say something, so they did. But I...couldn’t talk. I tried to. It was part that I couldn’t think of a thing to say in front of all those people, and part that...I just couldn’t speak at all. I couldn’t even cry. I could only stand there.”

He remembers staring at the horizon as people around him spoke. Breathing in the scent of the grass and earth. Feeling detached from everything that was happening, like he was watching himself from behind glass.

“I don’t really feel bad that I didn’t have anything to say, though. I knew they were gone. Burying them wasn’t really...it was just something I had to do. It was over soon enough. Some of the people who came wanted to go out somewhere afterwards to just...get some food and talk for a while, but I just...I didn’t really want to do anything. I went with them for a little while, and then Pascal came to meet me, and took me back to Eno’s apartment. The rest of the day was just...really quiet.”

He stops for a bit. Like he has to decide what else there is to say, now that he’s talked about burying his family.

“...Like I said, it was a really big deal to a lot of people that Kent died. And it was a really big deal that suddenly, a lot of people’s last hope of seeing somebody they loved was gone. And that...the fire was basically being sent a message that anybody who tried to do what Kent did would get the same. So...there was a lot of things going on in C in reaction to the fire. It turned out that some people got these donations together to cover the cost of the plot and headstone. Which...I’d had enough money for it, but it was still a lot. And I...think there was a lot more going on in the community around Berkley. Kent was important to everybody. Even people who didn’t have someone who was missing still loved him.”

He has to pause again after that. It’s not something he can explain to someone who hadn’t lived in C at the time, much less a human who’d been in A until just the last year.

“...I appreciated how much everyone was affected, but I just...couldn’t deal with being a part of it. It was bad enough that the news was everywhere, and everyone was talking about it for ages afterwards. And...being in B for the first two weeks didn’t help anything. ...Actually, there was this time the day after the burial that I went out with Eno, just to—to be outside for a minute, and we...heard some humans talking about it. About what had happened. And I tried to walk past as fast as I could, I tried not to hear, but—right as I went by, one of them made a joke about how my family had...died in a fire, and then were cremated.”

He still remembers the exact phrasing, the voice, the flippant tone, the laughter. He doesn’t want to repeat it. And Wallace isn’t asking.

“I turned and hit him across the face before I knew what I was doing,” he says. “I hadn’t ever lost my temper that way. But Eno got between us before I could get in another hit, and—I was so mad I don’t remember what he said, but he told me later he sorted it out. I mean, anyone can tell by looking at me that I’m Kent’s brother, and even for humans and people in B who didn’t give a shit, I think that...saying something like that in front of me was something to be ashamed of. And Eno’s always been good at dealing with other humans from that district. So, it was lucky, because being a monster in B is risky enough, and making trouble like hitting a human...isn’t really safe. But obviously the guy I hit kept his mouth shut after that.”

He exhales through his nose in kind of a sighing laugh.

“I heard other shit that...wasn’t as bad, but...hearing anybody discuss it like it was just some fucking point of conversation was always miserable. Hearing people talk in C and D wasn’t exactly fun, but at least there was a kind of respect in those districts. But there was a downside, too, because...monsters knew who I was, and people knew that I’d made it out of the fire holding a folder, so I...so there was sort of this idea that I was representing proof that they really hadn’t stopped Kent. Because his brother made it out alive, with some of his files. People were hoping that I would be another version of him. And, really, so was I. I wanted to be like him, and help everyone the way he’d been doing, and continue what he’d done. But, obviously, I couldn’t. I couldn’t just jump into his place. I couldn’t do anything after the fire. Like I’d told you earlier, I ended up in D with Roy and Molly, and we stayed with Pascal while we looked for places. And after a week or so, Pascal just offered for us to stay with him. And we did, and then the four of us ended up finding an apartment nearby for us all to move to together. And once that happened, I sort of just completely collapsed again.”

And for the first time, felt guilty about it.

“And I felt bad about it then. Because it was about a month and a half after the fire. I thought I should only be getting better, especially with a new place to live, and people I loved there with me. But...I might as well have made no progress at all. I was so depressed and I could only think of my family and how they weren’t there with me, and never would be again. Everything was just a new way to miss them. Things they liked were everywhere, things they did and said, I’d be replaying memories of them all the time, and having morning after morning where I woke up from nightmares forgetting where I was and what had happened, and I’d have to remember all over again. I’d feel like I had it together and then suddenly just start crying really hard. I’d have these moments where, whatever I was doing, I’d just stop. I would feel like I didn’t have any reason or any energy to keep going and I’d just pause, in the middle of walking or picking something up or getting dressed, and it would take a second for me to push myself forward again. I couldn’t even get up out of bed some days, not even sit up. I’m sure it was miserable to be around me, and the others were already having a hard enough time. They were so strong about everything, though.”

They were the ones who actually WERE like his brother. And Kip was the one who was laughable in comparison.

“Pascal was amazing. I can’t overstate how much he did for me, and all the sacrifices he made every single day. It was hard to be around me, but he stayed right with me. Honestly, after the fire, I had sort of...I hadn’t assumed that Pascal would still want to be with me. I knew he loved me, but we had only been together about a year, and I knew that...this was more than anyone should ever have to handle. And then I knew that I was never going to be the same as I used to. I was never even going to be the same person, really. It felt like a hundred thousand versions of me had died with my family, and I told him so. I knew there was this...this part of me that was never going to be okay. And I knew I’d gotten really difficult to deal with, and for pretty much no reward. I was miserable and it was totally unpredictable when I’d have a breakdown, and I’d have days I just cried, and days I was frustrated, and I...woke him and everyone up with nightmares, and I couldn’t hardly do anything useful. I got better at cooking then because it was something I tried to do to help the others. But sometimes even that was too much. And I was scared and angry and completely confused about...who I was anymore and what I would do, and I was grieving, and...nobody would’ve ever wanted to be my boyfriend if they’d met me then. But...Pascal didn’t leave me, or stop telling me he loved me, or anything. And...of course I still loved him, but I couldn’t be fun or in a good mood like I’d used to, I couldn’t have sex, I couldn’t go out and do stuff, I...was really difficult. I didn’t expect him to still want to be with me. But it turned out that he did.”

For five whole years.

“Molly and Roy did so much for me, too,” he murmurs. “And Eno would call me and write to me and sometimes even visit all the way from B. I was lucky to be so looked after, because if all of them hadn’t stepped up and given me so much...I have no idea what would’ve happened to me. It took months and months before I was...not even okay, just...a bit steadier. And I was never...well, I was more like this.”

He shrugs, gesturing vaguely.

“More like who you know me as. Things didn’t just go away, of course. I was terrified that the people who tried to kill my whole family before would want to finish the job, and that just like before, the people around me would get taken out too. I was too afraid to even open up Kent’s folder, as if they would just know, somehow. Like it was a step I could never take back. I was afraid to go to sleep sometimes because the nightmares were so bad, and because I was afraid of waking up to fire, or waking up and forgetting for a second that my family was dead. And I...was afraid of fire, of course. Fire and smoke and...and meat or anything else burning...even really bright lights...it could be bad. Just the idea of something being on fire could make me really, really uncomfortable. And every now and then there’d be a...bad incident. One of the worst was that, like, Pascal and I had just gone out to a movie on kind of a whim, because we hadn’t been doing that kind of thing for a while. And, well, there...actually was a scene about a house burning down. And I don’t know how to describe sitting there with no idea it’s coming, around all these people, and all of a sudden there’s this smash cut to a burning building taking up the whole screen and you’re getting the fire in surround sound and you—“

Almost literally freeze up.

“I couldn’t react at first, but my pulse shot way up, and I bet I made the temperature of the whole room drop about twenty degrees. I only saw for a second because Pascal just put himself across me and held on to me, and...somehow he got me to stand up and led me out. I remember being outside and just struggling to even stay on my feet. I’d try to be really careful about stuff like that afterwards. But it’s kind of surprising how hard it is to avoid the concept of things burning down—or even of burning to death. It just...shows up. Even now, I have to be careful. I can cope with it better than I did then, but...still.”

He supposes that Wallace might’ve guessed he has a phobia of fire from what happened in E alone. 

“There’s a lot of stuff that never went away. Having to feel the pain and confusion and grief of having a part of you that’s still missing and always will be. I still have bad dreams, including nightmares about that fire. Every now and then I wake up and still think for just a moment that they’re alive. I miss them just like I have for these past six years. I...still don’t feel like I know I’m okay, or that I even know who I am. I’ve been in therapy for about four years now...it took a little while before I could build myself up to the task. And it’s helped a lot. But there’s things I’ll talk about even now that I was talking about at the very beginning. I’ll still cry over the same things. ...As you can tell for yourself, I guess. Heh.”

He glances at his discarded tissues in the trash. His face still feels a little sticky with tearstains.

“Like I told you, we lived with Pascal until a few months before you came to C. I’d started to feel too guilty about keeping Molly and Roy away from C, and about hiding from C myself when I’d always wanted to help the people that Kent had tried to help, and I was finally accepting that I didn’t feel as though we could all continue to live indefinitely in D and be happy. But, of course, I was still more than scared. I knew I’d be really visible there. I’d never moved back to C since the fire. I...couldn’t ignore how the people who killed my brother were fine with killing everyone in his family right along with him. I knew that Molly and Roy were their own team, they were fantastic at looking out for each other, but...if Pascal came, he would always be with me. And I...I felt like I couldn’t keep Roy and Molly with me in D, and I couldn’t make Pascal come to C with us. I...still don’t know what the right thing to do would’ve been. If I was a braver person, I wouldn’t’ve had to make that choice—I wouldn’t’ve even been in that situation. But I wasn’t. So I told Pascal he had to stay in D, and I broke his heart, and I know that couldn’t be the right thing to do, but—I couldn’t—I don’t know. The day I went with you was the first time I’d seen him since we moved—I didn’t even know he was in C till then. And I had a lot of conflicting thoughts and feelings about it. But part of it was I...had to think of how hard it had been to stop living with him and being with him and even talking to him. I’d thought I was done breaking down after the first couple of years after the fire. But when we moved here...the stress and...being back in C, and worrying about how being part of this community again might—might get more people killed even—that was bad enough. But I was broken up about Pascal, too, and I felt so stupid because I knew it had all been my choice. So I tried to be strong, but that never really works out. I was having anxiety attacks out of nowhere for the first time in years, and bad dreams like I hadn’t had in almost as long, and...it was embarrassing and I didn’t want Molly and Roy to feel like they had to take care of me. The whole point was wanting to show them that they didn’t have to hold back from their own lives anymore. But, of course, I always WISH that I’ll stop being so scared, and I let myself down. At least it took me a couple of months to settle down this time, instead of a couple of years. Until you came here, anyways.”

He bites his lip.

“The way I felt when I saw you was—basically fear turning right into anger. Walking past you felt the same way it had to turn around and hit that human from B. My temper just...went off.”

“...Sorry,” Wallace almost whispers.

It makes Kip laugh to hear.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “Now you know it was because I was afraid you were there to kill us all. Ha.”

He shakes his head with a twitch of a smile.

“I’m more glad than I can say that none of us died. And I’m glad that you weren’t the one who wanted to hurt us, Wallace.”

For the moment, he wishes he and Wallace were facing each other. But it’s okay.

“And...I already knew from the start that the fire wasn’t an accident. Everybody knew it was murder. But...I wasn’t expecting I’d ever get to actually confirm it. Or have to deal directly with the people who did it. I guess, ultimately, I’m glad of that too. But only because nobody was killed. I...I can’t tell you how scared I was when...I can’t tell how it felt to think I was seeing people I loved so much for the last time, and that...they might have to suffer as much as my family had to suffer, and...”

He exhales roughly.

“I was never over Pascal, even when I decided that I HAD to be. I was always still in love with him. And when I though that they were going to...to...”

He cuts himself off with a hollow laugh and another small shake of the head.

“They always knew that I...that I knew exactly how afraid I ought to be for the safety of everybody I love. I’m sure I was so easy to push around, when you knew how fucking terrified I was of everything. When you knew that I wanted to be someone who helped people, and I’d always try to do what Kent would do so that...so that I wouldn’t let him down, but that above all, you just have to scare me about what happened and I’ll—I’d do whatever I could to try to keep everyone close to me safe. They knew you’d scare me, but that I—I ought to feel obligated to help you, for my brother’s sake. Five years later I never expected I’d get another signal from them.”

He sighs and rests his chin in his hand.

“I was still afraid, half a decade later—I never stopped being afraid. In all those years, it took so much work, it took everything I had to feel like my grief wasn’t going to kill me. And you know what? I still wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t. Even by the time we moved over here, I felt like I could easily be crushed by—just by a bad day. I never felt strong. I never even felt like I was okay. I always felt afraid. And it was all because of me that everything happened. You weren’t sent out here until we settled in at C. Nothing would’ve been able to go forward if I wasn’t so fucking terrified of things that it made me the most predictable person in the world. And I don’t know if—if I could’ve done better, or been different. I thought that I was trying to do my best. I-I’m not like my brother. He didn’t know how to let his fear hold him back, and I don’t know how to do anything BUT that. Yeah, so I can do what it takes only when I’ve been backed into a fucking corner. Because otherwise, I just run and hide. That’s what I did right from the start, and that’s what I kept doing, up until they used that so they could flush me right into their trap. And...it’s only thanks to everybody else being so strong and brave and incredible that I had the chance to get out of it. And even now, I...I keep running from things. I feel like I’ve done the impossible, I’ve done what should’ve been impossible for me, but I’m still as weak as I’ve ever been. I’m still shaken up by these...things that should be easy, I still avoid everything even when I know I shouldn’t, I’m still creating my own problems just because there’s things I refuse to face, I’m still upset over ridiculous things and...still disappointing and hurting people and feeling like I’m always going to be useless, and I—I—“

He curls a hand around the hem of his sweater and digs his heels into the carpet.

“You know what?” His voice rises. “I’m not half as good as my brother, and I didn’t manage to become at all stronger in the past six years, and maybe I’m just as weak as I was after the fire, and maybe I’m pathetic and always will be. Maybe I’m just a coward and everyone should know it. But—you know what? That doesn’t fucking matter. All that can be true, and I STILL didn’t deserve any of that. I don’t CARE if I was easy to take advantage of because of how afraid I was. I don’t care if—if being so ridiculous and passive and avoidant and weak made me easy to use. I don’t give a shit. I might be disgusting and pathetic, I might be a—a fucking selfish, terrible person, and I didn’t deserve it. I never deserved that. I don’t care if I’ve failed in a hundred ways. It shouldn’t have been done to me. I-it wasn’t my fault.”

His voice shifts almost into a growl, emphatic and fierce.

“And I’m not saying that I’m sorry that we got to stop them. Of course I can’t regret that at all.”

“N-no, I understand what you’re saying,” Wallace says. “You...should never have been put in that position. Even if it worked out in the end.”

Kip is quiet for a moment.

“A-and...” Wallace starts hesitantly again. Kip lifts his head in surprise and turns his head just slightly in Wallace’s direction. “You know...it’s also not fair that you were expected by anybody to be like your brother.”

Kip parts his lips and breathes in to speak, only to find that he has nothing to say.

“...I’m sorry, I know it’s complicated, and I know...you looked up to him and wanted to be like him. And I know that...it’s understandable why people would want to believe that you were the same person as Kent. But it must hurt to feel like everyone wishes that...Kent was here instead.”

Kip lets his breath out in a rush.

“I’ve wished that, too,” he confesses quietly. 

“...I’m sorry.”

Neither speaks for a minute.

“You know...” Kip breaks the silence softly, playing with a corner of the towel. “...There was lots of times in the past year that I was worried about being killed, on top of being scared for everyone else. Especially in E, obviously. And maybe you’d guess that, during times like that, I would’ve been thinking about the fire. And I definitely did think about that day a lot. But...there was that time I was stuck in that room, just...sure that I was about to die. And...there was this one night I kept thinking of.”

“...What was it?” Wallace asks, seemingly emboldened by the successes of his recent input.

“...I’ve always hated winter bad enough,” Kip murmurs. “But there was this one where I caught the flu. I think I was eight—so it wasn’t like it was all that dangerous, but I was still pretty young, and it really laid me out. It was kicking my ass, and I was miserable, and everything hurt so much I could scarcely move. My siblings really stepped up to take care of me, as always. As horrible as I felt, I knew I was okay—because they were there, looking after me. But I didn’t exactly recover quickly. It’s...not always easy to tell how sick I am or not, because my body temperature isn’t as regular as a human’s. So...getting chills or a fever isn’t exactly as straightforward with me. And I had...a lot of shit going on. Plus these aches that would come on, and...sometimes sharper pain. That was a lot of fun.”

He remembers it. Covered in sweat and clenching his hands in the sheets and trying not to cry out.

“...I know that they were starting to get worried,” Kip says. “I could see it on Kent’s face every time he checked on me. And I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t hurting really bad. I would keep shaking from being cold. And getting short of breath from all the...shivering and being tense all over and trying to keep quiet when I hurt.”

He draws a long, slow breath through his nose, as if to appreciate that he can.

“But it got to the point this one evening when I...sort of couldn’t catch my breath. I hurt worse than ever and—and I had these pains in the chest, and I just...it was like suddenly, instead of coming in waves, the awfulness was constant. I hated the thought of spending all night like that, and I...I think Kent was worried I was getting worse, because he stayed with me. At first he was in a chair next to me, but then he ended up sitting on the floor beside the bed, to hold my hand because the pain was getting so bad, and to hear how my breathing was doing. Things kind of calmed down for me, and I could eat and drink a little, and...I think we were both relieved. But he stayed next to my bed anyways. He actually fell asleep after a little while, holding my wrist, and I started to drift off a little, too. But then I got a little short of breath again, and it woke me up a little more. And then it got a little worse. And then it...got really worse.”

“Like...?” Wallace prompts gently.

“Like I went from feeling like I couldn’t catch my breath to feeling like I couldn’t hardly breathe at all.”

“Oh.”

“All at once I was wide awake and struggling for air and...it was so bad I could hardly speak. I remember reaching over and trying to wake Kent up, and trying to explain what was wrong, but I couldn’t get any complete words out. But I think it was obvious what was happening. I was just...gasping for air but I was hardly getting any. It felt like I was suffocating.”

He can vividly remember the shift in Kent’s expression—the instant his tired bemusement turned into urgent alarm. It might’ve scared Kip if he hadn’t known it meant that Kent was going to do whatever it took to help him.

“Things got a little confusing after that. I remember Kent lifting me out of bed, and he carried me downstairs onto the couch, and...I’m not sure how long I was lying there or what else was going on, because I was just staring up at the ceiling, fighting to breathe. And then they were both there, saying something to me, and Kent picked me up again, and the next thing I knew we were all in a car. And I was lying there in the back seat, with Kent holding my head in his lap, and I...felt like I was drowning. I thought I was going to die. But...I wasn’t really that scared. The panic was mostly gone, and I could hear my family’s voices, I could hear them talking to each other, and talking to me, like from underwater. And I could feel Kent’s hand on my chest, and the other petting my hair, and...I was hurting and of course part of me was afraid—but I felt like I could be okay with dying like this. And I thought that I WAS dying—like, I felt really certain. But I knew they were there with me, so it was okay.”

He has to pause so he can dwell on the memory himself. The strange, quiet comfort of that moment is something he might only have encountered again when Pascal held him the night of the fire. The distance between him and the rest of existence, yet the closeness and warmth of all this love for him. 

“...Obviously, I didn’t. It turned out that the flu had given me pneumonia. The symptoms had just sort of...blended into each other so that the shift was pretty invisible. Until, of course, the pneumonia got so bad that it wasn’t invisible anymore. They got me to the hospital, and I was treated overnight for the worst of it, so that at least I could breathe again. Then they took me home and we waited the rest of it out. I was mostly better after about another week. But they both kept such a close eye on me.”

He almost laughs to think about it. It hits him unexpectedly—the sweetness of that recovery, his family’s quietly subdued joy, the happiness he gave them simply by continuing to exist, by simply being free of the pain he’d been suffering.

Being loved that much.

“I...I haven’t talked about that memory in years,” he murmurs. “But...when I thought I was about to be killed, I kept thinking of that car ride. How it felt to be there, back when they were alive, so sure that I was dying, but...what had felt most important in that moment was that they were there, trying to take care of me. I-in the fire, I’m sure that the fear of dying was part of why I was reminded of it, and probably...how I felt like I was suffocating in the smoke, the same way I couldn’t breathe ten years before. But I think—I think that part of it was because...I felt so close to them in those moments. I...had been feeling how important they were to me. And thinking about...”

Even more unexpectedly, in a matter of seconds his eyes are brimming with tears and his nose is running again.

“...How much they love me,” he continues. Then corrects himself: “Loved me. Thinking about—how much I loved them. H-how much I still love them. I...I...”

He sniffles as quietly as he can manage.

“...I miss them. I’ve missed them every single day and I know I always will. I loved them so much. I still love them, but I don’t know what that even is, because how can you love someone who’s not there? I don’t understand it but I do still love them, but I—I should be able to love them because they’re actually here. They should still be alive. I-I hate that they took such care of me and—protected me, and kept me alive, a-and I—and I—and I didn’t protect THEM. I was the one with the ice, and I c-couldn’t do anything to save them—o-only myself—“

“You couldn’t do anything,” Wallace echoes back at him. “Y-you told me yourself, the first time I saw you make ice—you told me you’d never been able to control it.”

“I should’ve learned,” Kip argues. “I-if I’d just learned, maybe...”

“You said the whole fire upstairs was already too strong to even get up there. No matter what, it was too late. And it wouldn’t have been your fault whether you could control your ice or not!”

Having someone trying to comfort him only seems to be making it harder to stop crying.

“I loved them so much,” he gasps. Tears fall down his cheeks again. “I wanted to save them more than anything. I would’ve died if it would’ve saved them.”

“You couldn’t,” Wallace insists. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I kn—I know,” Kip outright sobs. “I just always want them here.”

He lets himself drop his head, squeezing his eyes closed, gritting his teeth. He feels out the pack of tissues and draws a new one out, crumpling it against his nose. His shoulders are starting to twitch with each stifled sob.

“Th-they were so important to me,” he says unsteadily. “They were incredible—not just be-because they were my f-family, and not just because of what—what Kent did—they w-were SO loving and fun and kind a-and special and—and they—knew me so well and still loved me so much...”

His voice crumbles at the end and he scrubs the tissue under his nose, a grating inhale hitching in his throat.

“I was—never the same person as the me that they loved,” he sobs. “I don’t feel like they—they still exist or can see me, but i-if they did, maybe they’d...b-be disappointed. I think about how, w-w-when they died, there was nobody else who knew me a-as well as they did, and they loved all of it, and I think how...I hope if they kn-knew me now, they’d s-still love me as much...even though...”

“Of course they would.” Wallace speaks firmly and clearly, but his voice is strangely lowered. “Kip, they would still love you as much as ever.”

Kip gives a weak laugh.

“I hope so,” he says quietly. “I’m not like I was. You h-had to meet me last year. You know what I’m like now. Y-you know I’m not always worth liking. I ch—I changed after the fire. It’s been years. I’m n-not...I’ve never been who I was when they w-were alive.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wallace insists. “Of course something like that would change you. But you’re not a bad person now. You’re AMAZING. And don’t say I know you’re not worth something, because I DON’T know that. I love you, Kip.”

Kip only cries harder—his sobs break through him as if through a crack in the dam, jerking at his back and shoulders. He grabs a fresh tissue, holding on to it as though that alone will help.

“It’s like I e-exist less without them—they knew me before a-anyone else—all those years, they knew me be-better than anyone—all those years together a-and all the time w-we spent together—now I’m the only one who remembers any of it, l-like it never even ha-happened—I-I—there’s nobody left who knew me a-all that time—who knew everything about me and—loved me that much—“

He sobs, coarse and strained.

“I-I know it sounds selfish to talk about them like—like the o-only reason it’s sad they’re gone is because I—I miss them, but it’s more than that—a-anyone could tell you how great they were. You would’ve loved them, they were—Kent w-was always so—“

His teary laugh is barely distinguishable from a sob.

“He was SO determined to help everyone he c-could, you couldn’t keep him fr-from helping people, he was s-so dedicated to it...like Yumi, a-and Eno, and like you—I-I looked up to him so much—but that wasn’t the—the only thing that made him amazing, there was a million things about them both th-that—I loved them for everything, it was—s-so amazing to get to be their brother—“

Suddenly his voice catches and breaks into a sharp whine. At once he cuts himself off, but his sobs are too much to stifle—they’re surprisingly strong, sounding almost like there’s small cries embedded in their harsh, coughing bursts—he wipes his snot away as he cries, teardrops freckled across the lenses of his glasses and the surface of the desk alike.

He has several false starts before he can manage to get his voice out again—it’s warbly and weak, but he’s well past the point of trying to disguise what a mess this is making of him.

“I could go on and on about them,” he whimpers. “It would take all day to—tell who they were, and I still wouldn’t be done, and I-I could never be done, because even I didn’t know everything about them, and they—they should be here to tell you themselves. They should’ve had SO many more years, they should’ve had their entire lives, they—they—were s-so good—I love them so, so much—it killed me when they—“

He has to pause to blow his nose and let out a small wave of sobs.

“I—it was so good Pascal was here a-and Molly and Roy knew I—I wouldn’t be okay without people l-looking out for me, and I know I w-wouldn’t even be here without their help, just like I would be dead all o-over again if it wasn’t for everyone else a-and—I told you that p-people think I’m as good as Kent, I-I tried to be, and they wanted me to be, but I’m not like that. Maybe I am just...w-weak and pathetic and selfish, maybe I am, but I don’t care—I don’t care if everyone deserves t-to think I’m disgusting or b-be disappointed by what I’m—I’m like and everything I can’t do o-or be. It doesn’t make me de-deserve what happened. It doesn’t make me—d-deserve to be killed because I-I can’t be like Kent. If—if they hadn’t killed him in the first place, it never w-would’ve mattered how weak or s-strong I was. It never would’ve mattered who I was—nobody ever would’ve h-had to rely on what I c-could do—nobody would’ve even had t-to care who I was—all my friends w-wouldn’t’ve—you would’ve gotten to ha-have your old life—a-and never—had to go through this—“

How many people got dragged into trying to help him all these years. All the trouble and suffering that came of all these ideas that, somehow, he was important. Maybe even strong. Like he might be worth something, if he could be pushed to act a certain way. For monsters in C. For humans in E.

“It’s been six years, and I—sometimes I still f-feel like I can’t handle it at all,” he says quietly, folding the towel in half with a heavy sniff. “I-I guess having to deal with E was some closure. It had to be. I’m glad it’s over with, I’m glad of what we managed to do, but it...it doesn’t make it any better when I think about them. My family. A-and all the people who we weren’t able to help. Well—who I didn’t help—you weren’t even involved back then—“

He laughs flatly and wipes up some tears on his face with his sleeve.

“I feel like I still haven’t learned how to deal w-with them being gone,” he murmurs. “I know I’ll always feel like this. But sometimes I—some days I just still suddenly get upset about it and—and now that the actual an-anniversary is just a couple weeks away, I never know how I’ll react... Some years I haven’t been able to feel anything about it, and other years it’s like—I’m reliving it. A-and now that I’m back in C, I’m...afraid of what it’ll be like. I don’t wanna see stuff about it. I don’t want anybody to talk to me about it. I don’t want to have to—“

He hiccups a sob.

“W-when I’m in this district, everyone around me always—pays attention t-to what I do and say and—whenever I’m somewhere people can see me, I’m not just me, I-I’m Kent’s brother, it’s s-somehow important what I do...” He sniffs. “I don’t want to have to let everyone s-see my grief—but I don’t want it to be like, if I don’t give some public announcement about it, i-if I don’t even mention it on my blog, it’ll be like I’m acting like I—don’t care—“

“Of course people know you care,” Wallace interrupts. “Th-they’re jerks if they think you have to say something to prove it!”

There’s this little fiery rise in his voice that draws a helpless laugh out of Kip. 

“Thanks,” he breathes. “I...feel like I’ll let people down if I don’t do anything. I didn’t even like, let there be this public funeral or anything—“

“You didn’t have to!” Wallace still sounds passionate. “It was YOUR family. What you want to do is most important.”

“But I can’t change the fact that...Kent was kind of this public figure, in a way,” he says tremulously. “And that made ME sort of this public figure. I-I can’t undo that just by ignoring it. Even though—heh—even though that’s what I’ve always done.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Wallace huffs. “You don’t owe anybody anything.”

“I try to be that person sometimes, though. And sometimes I HAVE to be, because people have just—assumed something I do means something, a-and I have to go and do or say something else to make it seem like I mean another thing...”

He sighs.

“Of course I’ve always wanted to avoid it, because it’s me. I-I’m always wanting to avoid everything. But I’m not always able to. I mean, look how well I avoided dealing with the shit that got my family killed, huh? And it was the fact that I was trying to avoid it that helped me get so involved...”

He sighs again, propping his forehead up on his hand.

“It wasn’t your fault at all,” Wallace insists. 

“...Thanks,” Kip says quietly.

“Seriously. I’m not just saying that to be nice. None of this was your fault.”

Kip smiles softly, rubbing a tissue across his cheeks. 

“Thanks,” Kip repeats. “I...I know it’s not. I try not to think about things like...what might’ve happened if other things went differently, because...it doesn’t really matter, I know it just means I-I miss them and wish they were still here. And...it’s just shit I don’t know, and neither does anybody else. And it can be a mess to think about that stuff. Just a little while ago I got upset because I was talking about...how I don’t know how my family died, really, because like I said, they might’ve died before the fire—or maybe Kent did. Because it’s...”

He draws a little sniff and looks at the wall cloud.

“It’s...really hard to think of them dying in the fire,” he mumbles. “And I don’t know for certain, but I know that might’ve been what happened to them. And I-I have to hope they didn’t have to suffer like that and die like that—and hope that they never even had to realize there was any danger, because they would’ve been scared for each other. They—they never got to know I would make it out alive.”

It makes his eyes well up again.

“I know they might’ve been that scared and in that much pain,” he continues softly. “But even if they were, I can’t do anything about it now. A-and it’s—heh—it’s like Pascal told me—even if they were suffering that much, it’s over now. If it happened, it only lasted seconds, or a minute, and I—they weren’t around to feel that pain anymore as soon as it was over. It’s only in my head that it feels like it was infinite.”

He laughs flatly.

“I try not to think about if I could’ve done anything to save them, because I didn’t. It doesn’t matter now even if I could figure out something I could’ve done differently. I didn’t know anything was going on until it was too late. I hadn’t known how to use my ice. I didn’t do anything that could help them.”

“You couldn’t...”

Kip nods vaguely.

“I try to think that way about pretty much everything now. You know—that things are the way they are, and they happened the way they happened, and there’s no use getting hung up on trying to imagine all the possibilities of how things could’ve gone different, what you could’ve done better, or whatever.”

“Yeah,” Wallace says, voice softened from its previous forcefulness.

“You know, I’ve never been back to where they’re buried, or where our house used to be.”

Kip says it without thinking, and then it occurs to him that maybe that’s too much. Or maybe not. The topic is confusing enough without his additional confusion about Wallace.

“Oh...really?” Wallace responds neutrally.

“Uh—yeah.” Kip shrugs. “It’s never really...felt like something I wanted to do, even if it...seems like something I ought to do. I was sort of thinking of trying it this year. But maybe I just feel like it’s what I’m supposed to want, you know? Like, how weird would it be for me to go up to their grave and just...feel nothing. Or not feel the way I think I should—I really doubt I’ll feel NOTHING.”

He laughs a bit more freely.

“But I’ll deal with that when I get to it,” he sighs. “...I guess that’s pretty much everything I have to tell you about what happened—and then some. I sort of went into extra detail, huh.”

He laughs again, and crumples up a tissue to blow his nose.

“It’s alright,” Wallace says. “I wanted you to talk about it the way you wanted to.”

Kip smiles faintly.

Now he can confirm that he doesn’t regret telling Wallace about this—he’s even sort of glad he has, at least for the moment.

He’s not even all that embarrassed about noticeably crying so many times. Certainly, it helps that he made sure he and Wallace weren’t sitting face-to-face, or even looking at each other. But it’s not as though he’s hasn’t broken down right in front of Wallace plenty of times, in plenty of different ways and to different degrees—this particular iteration scarcely compares to some of the others.

Kip sits there for a few moments, weighing out how he feels. It sort of seems like he’s steadier. He at least should be able to return upstairs without bursting into tears again.

“Well,” he begins calmly. “Thank you for listening to all of it. I know it’s not exactly...the easiest subject. And I’m not the easiest to talk to, even if you don’t have to talk back.”

He takes the half-empty tissue pack and slips it back into his pocket, then turns in the seat, hoping the worst of the flush has mostly cleared from his face. 

Wallace is still sitting away from him as he had been at the start; Kip stands up and walks over, dishtowel in hand. Wallace flinches softly in surprise and turns his head quickly, looking up at him.

He’s got an impressive blush, and his eyes are bright, and Kip has to wonder—

“Here’s this,” Kip says, passing the towel back. “It just helps me sometimes to mess with something while I talk. Thanks again for listening this whole time.”

“Oh, absolutely—“ Wallace hurriedly turns himself so that he’s sitting forwards on the couch, feet back on the floor. Then, after half a beat, he stands up just as quickly. “I—should be thanking you. I know that must all be really hard to talk about. So—you know—thank you.”

He laughs somewhat breathlessly; Kip smiles back.

“You’re welcome,” he replies. “I knew it would be difficult, so...don’t worry about that. It really wasn’t too bad. And...I’m glad to got to share it with you.”

“Really?” Wallace’s expression opens with slight surprise. 

“Yeah.”

“Oh...” Wallace glances down with the bloom of a small smile and blush. “Well, I...I’m glad I got to listen.”

With the slight tilt of Wallace’s head, there’s a little glint on his left cheek. Kip glances at it; his suspicion is confirmed by the light caught by an unmistakeable tear track—Wallace had been crying.

Kip feels more at ease at that; he smiles a little more freely up at Wallace. If he could do whatever he liked, he’d like to reach up and cup that side of Wallace’s face, and stroke the tearstain away with his thumb.

And gently pull him down into a tender kiss—but, whatever.

“So,” he laughs instead. “Now you know the details of my family’s murder. A fire. I could tell you all about my life before that, but I think that’s for another day. It’d take a while, and honestly, it’s not that interesting.”

“Well...actually...” Wallace draws his shoulders up and rubs at one, looking off to the side with an-almost shy smile. “I...think it would be cool to listen to you talk about your family and stuff. You know, your life before the fire, and before all that stuff with the disappearances and all.”

“Oh...” Kip knows he’s blushing. “Uh, yeah. Sometimes I like to talk about that kind of thing, actually.”

He looks up to see Wallace already looking back and offering him a smile. Kip’s own smile flickers on in response. 

“You, um, want some tea?” Wallace asks.

Kip blinks.

“I figure you could use something relaxing after all that,” Wallace continues. “And since I was the one who asked you to do it, it’s the least I can do...”

“Uh...sure,” Kip says slowly. He’s ducked out on Wallace enough times recently to warrant finally sticking around for a minute.

“I even have a few teas from Pa—from Briggs,” Wallace says.

Kip can’t help a small giggle.

“You can call him Pascal, you know.”

“Heh, yeah—I just—“ Wallace shrugs helplessly, again blushing afresh. 

“So...what’ve you got?” 

“O-oh, um, there’s a peach blend, and an apricot one, and this blackberry and honey one...P-Pascal said I might like fruit blends,” he laughs.

Kip smiles to himself.

“I like the sound of blackberry and honey,” he says. “I don’t think I’ve gotten to try that blend of his yet.”

Wallace seems to light up at the chance to make the tea, and Kip waits patiently in the blue and white armchair while Wallace bustles around his kitchen, apparently getting choosy with his selection of mugs, moving them around in the cabinets until the kettle whistles at him. Kip plays with the seam of his jeans, breathing deeply and evenly, until Wallace pops into the doorway to ask if Kip wants some sugar or honey—Kip accepts a small spoonful of honey stirred into his tea.

A minute later Wallace hands Kip a tall, plum-colored mug, and sits down across from him on the couch, his own floral-printed cup in hand.

“Thank you,” Kip says, breathing in some wisps of steam. “It smells amazing.”

“Thank Pascal for that,” Wallace laughs. “I didn’t really use to drink tea that much, you know, but I went into his shop that one time on my day off just to look around and maybe buy just some regular black tea or whatever, and the way he talked about it really convinced me to try some new stuff. Plus, the flavors he makes are so good and surprising—kinda like your coffees.”

Kip shrugs at the compliment.

“He’s really enthusiastic about how good tea is,” he laughs. “I loved it already, so the fact that he’s so passionate and makes such amazing blends has just been a bonus for me.”

“Heh, yeah, it must be...”

Kip sort of wants to ask how Ben’s doing, to be polite, but he doesn’t really want to imply he thinks it’s any of his business or that he thinks their relationship can be brought up in casual conversation when he knows very well that Ben—and maybe Wallace, too—might not want that, and he doesn’t want Wallace to have to have to awkwardly sidestep the subject or feign sincerity, and Kip’s still turning over the issue in his mind when Wallace speaks up again.

“...You’ve got a picture of your family in your room, right?”

Kip blushes at once.

“Yeah. That’s them.”

“Where’d it come from? If—sorry, if you don’t mind my asking. We don’t have to talk any more about them if you don’t want—I just figured, if your house burned down...you said you didn’t have anything but your glasses and the pajamas you were wearing and Kent’s folder...”

“Um, yeah...” Kip glances down at the tiny bubbles where his opaquely dark tea meets the porcelain of the mug. “We had a bunch of pictures of ourselves. All of us...kinda liked having photographs of stuff. But they all burned, obviously. The fire spread so fast that nothing was recovered.”

“Oh,” Wallace murmurs. “I’m sorry.”

“Eno had that picture,” Kip explains. “He gave it to me. It’s the only picture I have of them. I actually worry about forgetting their faces and stuff, as my memories get older and all, so I’m really happy to have it. I have, like, a bunch of copies that were made in case something happens to it.”

He laughs softly and takes a sip of his drink. The heat is invigorating.

“I’d love to have had video of them...” He laughs again. “So I could like, hear them and see them just...doing stuff, moving around, all their mannerisms and everything...”

He takes another sip and gazes at the wall, imagining it. 

“We didn’t have all that many home videos, but still. I bet I’d cry all over myself if I saw a video of them again. Or heard a recording of their voices. Or even just saw a new picture, y’know?”

He shrugs and again lifts his mug to his face, this time to hide the blush that the warmth rising in his face must surely be generating.

“Yeah,” Wallace says. “I mean, I’m sure that your family’s deaths would’ve eclipsed everything else, but...the fact that the fire took your home, and everything that any of you had...that alone is more than awful.”

Kip nods slowly.

“...I sort of accepted having nothing really fast,” he says. “I guess it felt natural, because...I felt like I couldn’t possibly have a life anymore, without my family. Of course I had to buy some clothes and stuff like that pretty soon...but I kept it sort of bare minimum. My...sense of style changed a little too, as well as my personality.”

He laughs a little at himself.

“I don’t own very much, even now,” he continues. “I’m not exactly that minimalist, but I just...never felt like I wanted to have a lot of stuff again. I’ve got a decent amount of clothes, and I’ll kind of...try to decorate a little bit, but...I guess I haven’t gotten over how quickly everything can vanish. I only have a handful of sentimental items. And it’s kind of funny, because it put me off having my picture taken, but I’ve made sure to have pictures of everybody else. I have this little album with a bunch of photos from all over in it. Which I guess is kind of morbid, because it’s like I expect any of my friends to die at any time, but...hey. Look what we all went through, huh?”

He shrugs it off.

“I mean, I think it’s worth doing stuff that comforts you, even if you think it’s technically pointless anyway,” Wallace says. “That really sucks only having one photo of your family. I can totally see why you’d want to keep a collection of photos of people you love around.”

Kip gives him a soft smile.

“You can’t help picking up SOME weird habits and aversions and tendencies from something like that,” Kip murmurs. “No matter how well we cope...there’s scars, y’know?”

Now Wallace sends a small smile.

“Yeah.”

“...I’m already...a little more sensitive to certain things, thanks to E,” Kip says, looking down at the carpet. “I’m not new enough to trauma that I’ve noticed THAT many changes, but...well...I’m sure you know what I mean. Even if you feel okay, and like, your moods are alright and all...you can’t just walk out of something like that unscathed. The point of healing from something terrible isn’t to end up unchanged by it.”

He pauses, then gives something between a scoff and a laugh.

“That’s therapy talking—sorry.”

“Oh, man, no—don’t worry about it,” Wallace assures him, shaking his head. “I don’t think stuff that’s talked about in therapy is silly, or anything. It’s part of my job to take it seriously. And, you know, ANYONE could benefit from therapy. It’s for everybody who wants it.”

Kip laughs quietly.

“Yeah...I got over being embarrassed about it ages ago. I mean, I’ve known Eno for ages, so I never thought it was anything to be ashamed of, but it’s different when you’re just thinking about it in theory versus when all the stigma and judgment actually applies directly to YOU, right? But I just decided, hey, fuck everybody who wants to look down on me or decide they know anything about me just because I have a therapist. Still, it feels shitty when that kind of things treated as a joke or an insult, and it’s great to hear people talk about it with actual respect. Like you do.”

“Heh—“

Kip glances up to see Wallace sporting a light blush and a quietly pleased expression.

“That’s cool to hear,” he says, lifting his head to look at Kip. “I really value your opinion, you know. And how much you know about things that...I know I really don’t.”

“Hey...learning how much you don’t know is half the battle, right?”

Wallace grins.

“I guess it is.”

Kip takes a longer drink of his tea.

“And...I know you already know, but...obviously I’m not the only person who lost family to E. Or close friends, or people you rely on. It was...nearly common, actually. I mean, you saw how many monsters had files. It...” He pauses and winces slightly. “...I already knew how prevalent the disappearances were, because everyone did, but...actually seeing all the records of them really did—make me sick, to understate it.”

“O-oh... Yeah.” Wallace says quietly.

“Like, I had some acquaintances who vanished. And a bunch of friends who were dealing with someone who’d disappeared. It affected...all but literally everyone, really. All monsters, anyway. Not to mention how afraid we had to be for ourselves and everyone else we knew. I was well aware that Kent might be in extra danger, and, you know, I was fairly terrified about it. I knew it was so bad that even Eno and Yumi were in danger. For humans from A and B to have cause to be afraid?”

He exhales a laugh through his teeth.

“You KNOW monsters from C and D especially are fucked if that’s the case. And we were. Anytime you see a monster, you might as well assume they had to deal with losing someone, because the odds are very, very good that they did. And...even being a monster in this kind of environment, when you knew it COULD be you suffering like that next—that’s its own form of trauma, really, that we all went through.”

Wallace nods silently, face solemn.

“...I definitely understand a lot better why sending a human from A to do house calls for monsters in C was, like, foolproof self-sabotage,” he says, almost bitterly. “I felt like everyone was being ridiculous about it at first, when I was trying to seem so friendly. Ha.”

Kip shakes his head.

“Yeah, I appreciate that you’d been set up to fail, but, to be...brutally honest, you were really ignorant back then. So would ANY human have been, out of A especially. But, man. You had NO clue. It drove me up the wall sometimes.”

Wallace almost giggles at that, surprising Kip.

“Y-yeah, I understand a lot better than I did then why you and practically everybody else were so...not the biggest fan of mine,” he says. “It’s pretty embarrassing to think back on some of the stuff I said and did—I’m sorry you had to put up with me...”

Kip has to smile, too.

“I don’t mind that they sent you,” he murmurs. “I mean, yeah, the reason was worse than even I could’ve guessed, but...that’s not your fault. And even back then, it was...nice how much you wanted to try, even if it was not very...well-informed.”

“Ignorant,” Wallace supplies, and Kip shrugs with a half-stifled smile. “It’s okay. Hell, I know I still am. I’m lucky that I didn’t get hit across the face every day for the whole...first...”

He trails off, getting this suddenly focused look as though he’s trying hard to recollect something. And then his expression shifts to one almost of concern, looking right over at Kip with a spread of pink across the middle of his face.

“Uh...” Kip raises his eyebrows, nonplussed. “Y-yeah?”

“I...may have just remembered I made a...really, really bad comment back then...”

“...You could be a touch tactless,” Kip assents.

“Yeah, but...that first day I talked to you about helping me with work? I’d talked to Louise, obviously, and—I just remembered, because they’d said ‘You’re really ignorant’—when I was talking to them, I was just being sarcastic, but I said that, uh...people were treating me like I...burned their houses down.”

“Ah.” Kip blushes at once, ears twitching back. “Yyyeah. That would’ve been...quite an uninformed phrasing.”

“Y-yeah.” Wallace’s own blush is fierce. “I DEFINITELY get why they said that was ignorant now...”

“Heh. That’s bad luck—nobody would be happy to hear a crack like that. I certainly wouldn’t have been thrilled if you’d said anything like it in front of me. And it was hard enough talking with you about things when you were so...well, naïve about the whole situation, and while I was shaking in my boots about it AND about you.”

Wallace flashes a little smile.

“Sorry—I know why you were nervous about me, and...I guess in a way you were right to be, but it’s still kinda funny to think of you actually being scared of me. Not like it doesn’t make sense, with how tense and impatient you could be...”

“Well, part of that was just me being myself—“ Kip laughs quietly. “But, yeah. I was ready to hate your guts and be completely panicked about what you might do to us. It made it weird to try to keep pretending things were normal. Especially since you could come off so...nice.”

“Aw, I try,” Wallace jokes.

“I figured you were either a terrible actor or the best in the world,” Kip laughs. “Turned out it’s the former, then.”

“Hey—“

“But I’m glad you suck,” Kip continues, undeterred. “Because now I know the times you seemed so sweet were real. AND I didn’t have to kill you.”

Wallace shrugs humbly again, raising his tea to his lips.

Kip looks down at his own drink and takes a long sip—the tea’s easing more towards room temperature, so he takes another drink, tilting the mug up.

“...I don’t have any pictures of you, though,” he says slowly.

“Huh?”

“The photo album I have?” Kip explains. “I don’t have any pictures of you.”

“...Oh...” Wallace says softly. He stares at Kip for a moment, making them both blush. “...Oh, well, I...”

“You don’t have to,” Kip says quickly, giving him a casual smile and a shrug. “I know we haven’t exactly, uh, been hanging out where people are taking a bunch of photos. And it’s not like you have to give me a high school yearbook photo, you know? ...I guess that would be funny, but don’t. I’m just thinking, if the chance comes up—not that I’m thinking you’re about to be murdered and so I need your picture ASAP—“ he flusters slightly.

“No, I get you.” Wallace laughs a little. “Yeah, I’d like a picture of you, too.”

“Heh—well—actually, Kate took some pictures of me a little while ago to use her new camera, she was gonna email them to me when she got done trying out editing stuff, though they’re more like artistic glamour shots or something, I doubt they’d be great for framing or putting in a scrapbook or whatever...”

He cuts himself off with an attempt at a casual laugh; Wallace saying he’d want Kip’s picture too did nothing to help him recover his composure.

“Ha, well, we could have another get-together and have Kate be the designated photographer,” Wallace says. “Really, has anyone around here been getting their picture taken lately?”

“The people who like to do it themselves,” Kip says. “But otherwise, no, it’s been a pretty tough year for photo opportunities.”

“Mm...”

“Well, don’t worry about it or anything. Just something to keep in mind, I guess.”

“Yeah, totally.”

There’s a slight pause.

“I should go upstairs before I take up your whole afternoon,” Kip says to his tea. “I don’t want you to have to spend your evening doing the paperwork you could’ve gotten out of the way if I wasn’t keeping you from it this whole time.”

“I like talking,” Wallace says. “You’re not in the way.”

Kip doesn’t feel he quite manages to keep all his fondness out of the smile he sends Wallace.

“Thanks,” he says. “Talking’s been good. But I know you still have some work to finish up with. You’ve given me plenty of your time already—thank you for that.”

“It’s nothing,” Wallace says. “I can do this kind of paperwork pretty much anywhere at any hour, don’t worry.”

“It’s alright,” Kip says. He drinks the last of his tea, getting a little flood of honey from what was clinging to the bottom of the mug. “Thank you for listening to everything. You were really good about all of it.”

He stands up, smoothing out the thighs of his jeans and offering Wallace another smile. 

“Oh—you’re welcome,” Wallace says, slowly rising to his feet as well. “Thank you for talking about it. I know it’s not easy, to say the least. Actually—you’re feeling okay? I don’t want to send you back to your apartment feeling terrible, or something. Is Roy or Molly home?”

“Uh, not for about an hour, probably.”

“Man, I can’t send you back to an empty apartment after all this,” Wallace huffs.

“It’s fine, Wallace...”

“Just make you talk about things like this and then kick you to the curb—“

Kip scoffs.

“I’m FINE, Wallace, seriously.”

Wallace shakes his head.

“C’mon, you gotta promise me you’ll stay until Molly walks Roy home.”

“I don’t need supervision, thanks.”

“I know, I just don’t want you to be stuck by yourself if you start feeling worse. I mean, even if you’re feeling okay now, all this must’ve been exhausting. And I know Pascal must still be at work too, so, you know, just hand out with me for a minute.”

Kip frowns stubbornly at him.

“Come on, we can compromise—I’ll make us some more tea, and work on these forms, and you can...do whatever you want. Almost like old times, yeah?” He grins at Kip.

Almost like old times, hopefully with a lot less horror and dread, but surely with a bit more sexual tension for Kip to endure—on top of the lingering tension from crying and spilling his heart out about his dead loved ones.

“...How exactly is that a compromise?” Kip crosses his arms.

“Uh...because I’ll be getting work done, and you’ll be...leaving a little later than you otherwise would’ve?”

He shrugs, smiling gamely.

Kip narrows his eyes.

“...That’s a pretty crappy compromise.”

Wallace slowly raises the shrug a bit higher.

Kip sabotages himself by breaking into a snort of a laugh. Wallace beams, laughing back.

—

Wallace keeps his promise and steadily works on the forms, writing and glancing at his phone and eventually getting his laptop out. Kip keeps his promise to himself and does his best not to take advantage of his chance to stare at Wallace too much, even though Wallace’s capability in this situation is outright fascinating. There’s no awkwardness, no painful missteps, no blustering nervousness—just this focus and unhesitating confidence and—

Kip thinks of his attraction to the sight of Pascal working with the clay. Maybe concentration and competence is a turn-on for him, or something.

He and Wallace do occasionally have a brief chat about some topic of interest that arises, but Kip largely occupies himself with messing around on his phone—texting Pascal, writing a few emails, fucking around online, but mostly distracting himself by playing games as he leans back in the chair.

He also insists on being the one to make them new cups of tea, so that Wallace wouldn’t have to neglect his paperwork any longer—though mostly to give himself something to do for the moment. Wallace compliments Kip’s tea-steeping abilities, and Kip says that Pascal is owed all the credit.

Unsurprisingly, Kip has to pee a couple of times, and realizes it’s been ages since he used Wallace’s bathroom. It really is kind of like old times.

Except it doesn’t feel that way at all, now that it finally seems like life, for all of them, is going to be okay. 

And now that he’s sat down and told Wallace all about the fire that killed his family. It really does feel like things are slightly different between them—like their relationship has shifted, just a little. Like maybe this unmentioned subject really had been sitting between them this whole time—not exactly a barrier, but a tangible yet off-limits presence nonetheless.

Maybe Wallace looks up when Kip reenters the room and brightens a little more than he would before. Or maybe it’s Kip who’s seeing Wallace a little more brightly.

—

Kip sort of stops remembering to even pay attention to the time, so Roy and Molly’s arrival in the lobby is announced by the sound of their conversation, managing to be both muffled and distinct.

“No—“ Kip extends a hand towards Wallace as the other stands to go to the door. Wallace looks back to him, bemused. “Don’t say anything to them—they’ll...”

He pauses.

“They’ll tease me about being here,” he finishes, blushing slightly. “And I’d rather not have to talk about why I’m actually here right now.”

Wallace stares for a moment, then shrugs with a good-natured smile and sits back down.

“Alright—you’re the boss.”

“Er...I am?” Kip cocks his head.

“Uh-huh. I know we’re not talking about your family anymore, but the fact that you’re in charge is still in effect, in my opinion.”

“Oh, well...cool.”

Then Kip fixes him with a suspicious glare.

“...So how were you in a position to compromise if I was supposed to be the boss, huh?” 

Wallace pretends not to hear him, but smiles openly as he leafs through the pages of a file. Kip frowns hard to make up for his own desire to smile.

“You’re the worst, Wallace.”

Wallace giggles before stifling it, and Kip laughs under his breath too.

“Well...if you’re satisfied I won’t be alone, I can get out your hair now,” he says, standing up again.

Wallace looks up at that.

“Hey, whatever you want. You’re in charge.”

Kip flips him off with an attempted scowl that’s mostly a smile and a slightly wrinkled nose—Wallace blinks and then laughs, rising to his feet as well.

Kip steps forward and holds out his hand.

“Well, thank you for being so good about all this. You were a great listener. And I’m glad I told you about everything.”

Wallace’s responding smile is luminous in its genuine delight. He takes Kip’s hand and pulls him into a close, one-armed hug.

Kip needs a second to process the situation, but when he does, he returns the embrace. But only for a moment. Wallace lets him pull away.

“Thank you for letting me listen,” Wallace says.

Kip nods, giving him a soft smile.

“I’ll see you later, Wallace.”

“Yeah. Bye, Kip. Have a good rest of the day.”

“You too.”

Kip goes to the door and looks back to share one more parting smile with Wallace before exiting.

Once inside the stairwell, he pauses for a few seconds and drops his head, letting his small smile grow a little bigger, and the stirring flutter in his chest indulge itself into a vivid blue flush.

—

It’s not exactly that he’s in a great mood for the rest of the day, but the surprising success of his interaction with Wallace has buoyed his spirits, and he feels a little lighter at having spoken aloud the story of his family’s deaths. It isn’t as though he thinks it’s made him feel better about the subject itself—just about his ability to acknowledge and express the distress it causes him without being overwhelmed by fear and shame. It’s a small kind of strength, but he wouldn’t always have assumed he’d be brave enough to do something like this.

After all, Wallace is the only one who’d had no idea the condition he’d been in just under six years ago. Even complete strangers must’ve been able to imagine his state, or at least put it together from the thankfully-scarce but still too frequent mentions of him in the press coverings. The little brother who fled the entire district, rarely showing himself in public, speaking to no one, always gripping the arm of a friend. The small figure at the simple, private burial, unmoving, silent, too shaken for tears. The sole survivor, covered in soot and smoke, palms raw from the friction of being dragged down a metal signpole, piercing the horrible quiet of that night with the kind of screaming that only comes from an absolute, soul-shattering despair.

Wallace only knew who he met almost a year ago. He may have learned soon enough that Kip must’ve suffered something, that he’d had family who were gone now, but there was no possible way he could’ve imagined what it was like to be there for the Kaizer fire. To have known Kip then. To have seen nothing of coldness or distance or defensiveness—only a scared, crumbling, heartbroken monster, crying too hard to breathe, drowning in grief, unable to lift his head, barely able to keep living.

Even knowing that Kip’s family had been killed, Wallace couldn’t’ve known how Kip reacted. After all, many other monsters had friends and relatives who were taken and eventually killed. There’d be no reason to assume it hadn’t been another disappearance. 

Not as though grief isn’t grief—as though the particulars surrounding a murder changed the fact that you had to deal with the death, the absence, the loss. 

But there’s something about having that moment, waiting for your family’s faces to finally appear in front of you and light up as you all rush together and embrace and cry with relief, that universe-rending instant where you realize that those are their bodies and that means they’re dead and your heart breaks so completely that it shatters you apart into a million pieces smashing to the ground, and you cry a million tears, and you die a million deaths.

Even hearing about it in Kip’s own words, hearing Kip cry about it all these years later, even being crying himself as he listened—Wallace can’t know what it was like to see Kip then. 

But he can have a better understanding of who Kip is right now, as he knows him.

Because Kip is no less real now than he was then. And there’s the smallest chance that he managed to get a little stronger for his younger self’s sake.

And he let his younger self voice some of his experiences for the first time, all these years later, to a human sent by the people who killed his family. A human who he loves. Who said he loves him.

Things could’ve turned out worse.

—

Kip does find himself a little exhausted later on in the evening. He can’t really focus on much of everything, including writing texts, so instead he lies in bed and has a sleepy phonecall with Pascal, explaining how things went, asking how Pascal’s day and night have gone.

Pascal gently expresses admiration for Kip, which makes Kip blush and laugh softly. Then he says his day has been alright, except that he wishes he was there to cuddle Kip asleep, and Kip says that he’ll be off work tomorrow at noon and won’t have to be back for over twenty-four hours, so how about that dinner and a night in the same bed? And Pascal accepts the offer with a contented sigh.

Kip takes a hot bath, gets himself ready for bed, bids Roy and Molly goodnight, and goes into his bedroom to set his alarm and lay out his clothes for the morning. 

He stands in front of the picture for a minute. He doesn’t say anything to it, either aloud or in his thoughts. But he looks at them and lets it stir memories in the back of his mind. He rests his fingertips on the frame a moment, and then turns out his light, and gets into bed.

He turns the day over in his head—it was unusual, definitely, but not bad. A lot better than he would’ve guessed it could be. And as he lies there, half-asleep, it occurs to him that he can even feel sort of proud of himself.

—

The next morning, Kip takes care to treat himself gently, indulging in any small comfort that comes to him, reminding himself that things are okay, trying to appreciate the details around him, focusing on keeping steady, ignoring minor hindrances, remembering that later on he’ll be off from work and enjoying the afternoon and maybe seeing his friends before heading over to spend the evening and night with Pascal.

It’s the sort of self-directed kindness he tries to muster when he wakes up feeling awful or dreads some upcoming event—but nothing of the kind is currently the case. He doesn’t feel especially depressed and doesn’t even remember having bad dreams—rather, his mood is calm, even good. 

It’s just that he can’t stop thinking about what he did yesterday. Spilling that story out to Wallace, and actually doing so deliberately, and actually feeling as if he made a good choice to do so. It’s a little unbelievable, and he wants his day to go as smoothly and comfortably as possible to cement the idea that this slightly new reality is as okay as he suspects it is.

It’s a rare day at the café where he and Molly’s shifts end at the same time, which gives him something else to look forward to. Even when they’re hit with an unusually-timed rush a little before ten, it doesn’t faze Kip at all; if anything, it amuses him slightly, the same way it does when a splash of cream lands right on his shoe and he has to go douse the foot in hot water before it sets in.

As if the whole world is trying to help him along, plenty of customers are outright friendly, and the sense they manage to get of the midday weather suggests it’s ridiculously pleasant outside—a deep blue sky with drifting castles of cumulus clouds, a low-humidity warmth, shifting air that stave off sweat and carry the scent of the trees along the street and windowboxes of flowers. Kip imagines himself in Pascal’s kitchen, listening to music and enjoying the breeze and view from the small window as he prepares a dinner for the two of them.

He’s maybe enjoying himself a bit too much, as Molly laughs at his slight restlessness and asks what’s got him so chipper today? Cuddy happens to walk in behind them at that precise moment, but Kip isn’t at all tense or flustered enough to be moved by any amount of friendly teasing.

As he and Molly set out for home, he tells her of his afternoon’s plans to go shopping for some ingredients to make Pascal a nice dinner.

“I figure, he works the shop open to close most weekdays, and who wants to spend that long making a bunch of fancy recipes on your days off, especially if it’s just dinner for yourself? So I’m gonna head over before he’s off and treat him to some nice dishes, y’know?”

“You’re a sweet boyfriend,” Molly laughs.

“Aw, thanks—I should be a boyfriend all the time, right? But it’s all Pascal’s good influence, you know. He brings it out in me.”

She elbows him lightly.

“Well, how about this: I was gonna meet up with Kate to have lunch and hang out for a bit until she goes in for work—you should come too, and then we could tag along with you for your whole shopping trip, and it’ll be more fun for everybody.”

“Yeah, sure,” he says at once.

Funny that a couple months ago—maybe even just weeks ago—he easily could’ve second-guessed this proposition, worrying over his ability to be passable company for a few hours, or to be confident he won’t feel like an intrusion amongst friends, or to handle a minor shake-up to his plans without the little dose of anxiety reverberating self-sabotagingly through his day.

It’s not like he thinks this good mood is all thanks to himself—life seems to be treating him nicely right now. But he knows to try to take hold of happiness whenever it alights upon him, and just enjoy it without too much question. 

—

He doesn’t think he’s being exceptionally funny during lunch, but Kate keeps punching him on the shoulder, making it a little difficult at times to keep hold of his sandwich. But he doesn’t notice himself being all that quiet, either—about halfway through the meal he surprises himself with the realization that he’s conversationally keeping up with Molly. 

Maybe it’s not the success of his talk with Wallace that’s got him so bolstered and uplifted—it can’t possibly be. It has to just be...things. Everything. Maybe yesterday was a boost that’s let him finally catch up with the idea that things are okay. Maybe he can know it’s okay AND feel it. 

Or maybe this is just one good day. But if so, it’s so good that even he, Kip Kaizer, is kind of in the mood to be optimistic.

—

Kate provides plenty of suggestions for what to make Pascal, and it only takes Kip a few minutes to realize she’s not just messing with him. He adopts her idea for a salad with cut fruit sweet vinaigrette, and orange and cranberry muffins. Molly takes on the role of carrying most of the bags and shopping baskets.

Kip enjoys the company greatly—even thrives in it.

There’s only one little hitch, when he’s carefully examining a stand of green apples, and hears a loud, tense exclamation from close by. He turns reflexively to see Molly, blushing, stepping away from a human who’s fixing her with a scowl and irritated glare.

“Sorry,” she says quickly.

“Watch where you’re going!” snaps the reply.

Kip doesn’t wait another moment to see how this is going to play out. If he was protective of Molly BEFORE all the mess with E, god knows what level of guardian instinct is now directed towards all his friends.

He doesn’t even have to move. In an unhesitating burst, a miasma of cold floods outward from somewhere around his chest. It’s not a chill—it’s a frigid wave, and from the way even the person twenty feet away glances around in confusion, it’s apparently got a significant radius of effect. 

Kate immediately hugs herself with a swear under her clouding breath—Kip peripherally sees Molly look over at him, but he’s staring right at the now-bewildered human.

Unhesitatingly, he clenches his fist. The temperature plummets further, enough to make his breath freeze in the air with a tiny crackling noise. He knows that means it’s painfully cold, so to further ensure the human’s immediate departure he draws his shoulders back regally and severely shifts his foot one inch forward. 

It’s too subtle to see, but he feels his own influence in the air around him, and sees the human’s additional flinch as the microscopic crystals of ice he shoves towards them make stinging contact.

The moment the human retreats, Kip draws a breath of piercingly cold air and smooths himself over as best as he can. For a second he relaxes his hold on the area around them, letting go of the cold, reining most of it back in, dispersing the rest.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as soon as it’s just the other two in earshot. “Sorry, Molly, I kind of—jumped right in there, but...”

He tries to shrug, but drawing the majority of that generated cold back into himself has his body tensed up and shivering head-to-toe.

“S-sorry, Kate.” His teeth are chattering slightly now. She’s covered in goosebumps and shuddering in intervals, rubbing at her arms.

“Jeez, Kip,” she breathes. “I’ve never been that cold in my LIFE. That was like—top of a mountain range on the winter solstice cold.”

“I...maybe did a little more than was necessary,” Kip admits. “I’m still getting the hang of this, and I...kind of just acted on instinct there. Are, uh, you doing okay, Molly? I’m sorry.”

“...I’m okay,” she says, offering him a small smile. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Sorry,” he repeats. “I-I’m not very patient with that kind of thing lately, and kind of—jumpy about it—“

“No, it’s alright. I doubt I would’ve been murdered, and I doubt that guy could handle me even on my worst day—“ She clenches her fist demonstratively. “But I know what you’re talking about. Not like you haven’t done this for me before plenty of times.”

“Not like YOU haven’t done it for me a thousand times, either,” Kip laughs, trying to rub some warmth back into his ears. “Still—sorry for making it THAT cold—usually about half that drop is enough to take the fight out of those kinds of people—“

“Half?!” Kate fires at him; he offers a shrug and a smile. She swats him on the arm and then swears again at the freezing temperature of his skin.

“It’s just good to be able to control it this much now,” he says. “I don’t have to threaten anybody or even move—I can just make the space around me too cold for anybody to tolerate. And then hope I warm up again soon enough—“

“Yeah, no kidding,” Kate grouses.

“I do sort of try to take advantage of it to deal with...stuff like this. Even when maybe I don’t have to. I just...don’t want anybody messing with you guys.”

He looks at Molly as he says it—he means “especially everyone I love who’s a monster,” and her small nod suggests she knows it.

“Yeah...I wouldn’t let anybody bother you, either, now more than ever,” she says.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m not about to let people mess with either of you guys either—I can usually scare people off pretty decently,” Kate says. “I just can’t quite intimidate anybody as fast as Kip here can freeze our asses off.”

“Yeah, sorry I have to make EVERYBODY cold,” Kip murmurs. “That’s the downside, but the upshot is that, yeah, it’s really fast. And it usually ends things right away.”

“True. Also, can we get out of here? Because I’d like to not have to go into work with frostbite.”

“Plus, I think you might’ve flash-frozen some of the produce,” Molly says, looking down at a few frosted apples.

“Oh. Oops.”

Kip quickly picks one and they stifle their laughter as he quickly pays for his produce and leads them back outside into the warm sunlight, to their collective relief.

—

After dropping Kate off at her building, Molly and Kip carry all the ingredients back to the apartment, setting the bags inside the fridge. Kip accompanies Molly to meet Roy at his work, and Kip grants her permission to relay the story of their previous exploits in the grocery. Roy is thrilled to see them both, and deeply impressed with Kip’s use of his abilities.

“I shouldn’t’ve interfered right off without asking,” Kip reiterates. “It was self-interest really, because if they’d said anything else to Molly I would’ve been mad about it all day.”

“Nah, it was fine,” Molly laughs. “I was just about to lose my temper myself—and you know Kate would’ve too.”

“Okay, cool,” Kip says. “Because I’m really liking how I can make people go away without, like, moving or saying anything.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty fantastic. I’m surprised you don’t use it all the time,” teases Molly.

“I might, if I didn’t hate being cold.”

“Would you do it if someone was bothering ME?” Roy asks.

“Absolutely,” Kip answers. “Nobody messes with us.”

“Aw...” Roy slings an arm around Kip’s  
shoulder, pulling him in against his side. 

Kip grins and squeezes Roy around the waist.

—

“Hey, Pasc.” 

Kip leans in against the counter with a smile. Pascal turns around at his voice and immediately lights up at the sight of him.

“Kip, hey!”

“D’you have a key for me?” He holds up a palm.

“Actually...” Pascal digs into his back pocket with a momentary look of focus. “Ah. Here we go.”

He tries to drop a silver key into Kip’s hand—then Kip takes hold of it so Pascal can pull his suckers off.

“Heh—thanks. That’s yours, though. I finally had the copy made, so you can just keep that one.”

“Oh...” Kip blushes and looks up at Pascal. “Thanks.”

“Hey, Briggs—“ Louise appears in the doorway behind the counter. “Did I leave the clipboard with my list up there?”

“Oh, yeah, I saw it somewhere. Just a second.”

He turns back to Kip.

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” Kip laughs. “I’ll head to your apartment then, and see you back there in a couple hours, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pascal says. His warm smile becomes That Look. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

Kip lifts his chin up and glances at Pascal’s lips, and tries to stifle his own smile as Pascal leans in—he fails at the last moment with a small giggle, but Pascal presses a kiss to his bottom lip regardless, giving a soft hum before pulling away.

“Well...see you in a little bit, then,” Kip says, reaching out and giving Pascal’s arm a squeeze. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

—

Cooking in Pascal’s apartment is as pleasant and peaceful as Kip guessed it would be. It’s the first time in a while he’s made so many dishes from scratch, and he takes his time and gives his attention to the details, cutting precisely, mixing evenly, stirring steadily. Soon the room is filled with the scent of his cooking and baking mixed with the fresh summer air. 

—

Kip heads right over as soon as he hears Pascal unlock and open the front door, and his bright greeting is met with Pascal’s arms swept around him, lifting him into the air.

“Hello again,” Pascal laughs, pushing a kiss beneath Kip’s ear. “It’s so good to see you, as usual...”

Kip grins as Pascal kisses his cheek, then grabs hold of either side of his jaw to bring their mouths together a moment.

“Mm...you too, of course. How was the shop today?”

Pascal lets him slip back to the ground, though his arms still rest on Kip’s waist.

“A little busy, but in a good way,” Pascal says. “I’m getting recommended around, apparently. And my regulars are bringing in people who are becoming new regulars, recently.” 

Kip beams and slides a hand from Pascal’s shoulder to the side of his neck.

“That’s great, Pas,” he says. “Your tea is fantastic and you’re even better—anyone who visits should love it right away.”

Pascal blushes and leans a little into Kip’s touch.

“Congratulations on the business—“ Kip kisses his chest. “Things in the kitchen just need a few minutes, so if you like to take a post-work shower or lie down for a bit or whatever...”

“Alright—I could probably use a shower. It smells amazing even from right here, you know.”

“Thanks—I hope it’s good. I’ll have it all put together soon.”

“You’re wonderful.” Pascal smiles down at him. “Come let me know if you need me for anything, okay?”

“Okay.”

Kip lifts the end of Pascal’s arm to his lips and kisses his suckers.

—

Kip takes out Pascal’s set of wooden serving bowls and pours the pasta into one, quickly mixing in some olive oil, his homemade pesto, and then grated parmesan. Another bowl gets the salad, tossed through with slivers of chilled, honey-infused green apple and strawberry, chopped walnuts, and crumbled feta. A smaller bowl holds the egg-fried rice. His vinaigrette is in a cup with a spoon. The orange cranberry muffins get wrapped up in a dishtowel for insulation and put on a plate, next to the butter he’s already set out to soften.

He’d made sure to clear off and polish up the little table and chairs, and takes care to arrange the dishes around the middle while keeping aesthetics in mind, but second-guesses the second-guessing that had held him back from buying flowers to set in the center—he hadn’t wanted to seem like he was spending extra on this, and make Pascal feel like he ought to be taking more chances to return the favor. 

He might even go for simply lighting a candle or two, if that might not seem too over-the-top in its own way.

If only forget-me-nots were at all impressive in a vase—he could’ve provided his own arrangement from home.

Oh.

He goes to the gap of the ajar bathroom door.

“Hey, Pascal?” He raises his voice slightly to make up for the interference from the shower.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Pascal pulls the curtain back enough to stick his head out.

“Should I put some of the lilac flowers in a vase on the table? To be fancy?”

Pascal smiles.

“Yeah, definitely.”

—

Pascal looks all but intimidatingly cute when he emerges from the bedroom, dressed in cuffed shorts snug around his upper thighs and a breezy, wide-necked yellow-orange tee, hair half drawn up into a ponytail. Kip finds himself absently fidgeting with his own clothes—hoping his simple outfit of jeans and an off-black v-neck can compare at all with how much Pascal’s look makes Kip want to climb on top of him and make out until he messes Pascal’s hair out of that updo and feels his cock through the front of those shorts.

But apparently Pascal is even more impressed with the dinner Kip’s put together for them—lilacs included. He praises the smell and look and variety and complexity and presentation several times over before Kip can even get him to sit down. And then he says Kip should get to explain each dish so he can properly anticipate and appreciate it as much as it deserves, so Kip obliges.

“I figured you don’t really ever get the chance to make a bunch of stuff like this,” Kip says, sitting down across from Pascal. “What with moving, and the shop, and living alone, and...everything else taking up time and energy...”

“Yeah...every now and then I’ll make the effort to cook something up, but it’s usually only one dish. I don’t think I’ve EVER done a meal like this since I moved here...”

“Well, that sucks. I’ll have to keep doing this for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Pascal laughs. “I do alright.”

“I know, but I like to. I don’t cook as much as I used to in D, either. And I kinda miss it sometimes. I even liked making the parfaits, and those were pretty simple. Doing this was nice—plus, none of it was TOO hard.”

“It’s wonderful,” Pascal says, pausing in the middle of drizzling some vinaigrette over his salad to give Kip a fond smile. “Thank you so much for doing this.”

Kip smiles back with a bit of a blush.

“You’re welcome. I’m glad we get to do stuff like this. I want things to be nice for you again. For both of us.”

“I’m with you again,” Pascal says unhesitatingly. “Everything’s perfect.”

Kip is so in love. 

And maybe, if he’s lucky, if this trend lasts, he’s even happy.

—

Kip is pleased that everything he made turned out well, and sitting and chatting while eating grape popsicles is a nice way to follow the meal. Pascal asks if he’s still feeling okay after having to tell such a difficult story the other day, and Kip assures him he is—that he’s even feeling kind of good. He asks Pascal if he’s finished the vase, and Pascal says that after putting on some finishing touches next class, it should be ready to go. Then Pascal says one of the people in his class might count as a new friend by now, or at least a friendly acquaintance. And Kip says that it’s good someone recognized how fantastic he is, or else he’d have to go back in there to yell at them all.

That starts Pascal laughing, and Kip relentlessly complimenting and praising him, and a few minutes and impulses later Kip is living his dream of straddling Pascal, sucking his tongue, sliding his hands up into his thick hair.

They start a slow grind as they feel each other up, and Kip soon gets heated and turned on enough to strip himself down right here and now—but instead he detaches his mouth from Pascal’s throat and sits back to look him in the face.

“Your demonstration,” he murmurs, still rolling his hips to rub their erections together. 

“My...” Pascal blinks, clearly lagging behind.

“You told me you’d had some kinda sex toy and you were gonna let me know what it is by trying it out,” Kip explains somewhat breathlessly. “Like I showed you the massager I bought. And by the way, shit, I gotta bring my new stuff to show you sometime.”

“Oh—right—yeah—“

Pascal hooks his arms under Kip’s thighs; Kip hugs him around the shoulders as Pascal stands up and carries him into the bedroom, lowering him carefully to the mattress.

“It might take a second to remember exactly where I put it,” Pascal says, opening a drawer and peering into it. “Just like I don’t remember exactly why I bought it, of all things—but now I’m kinda glad I did.”

“Wow, now I’m extra curious,” Kip says, standing up. “Lemme help you out.”

His assistance mainly consists of standing beside Pascal, cupping his dick through his pants and rubbing it with the heel of his palm, holding and squeezing Pascal’s ass with the other hand. But as counterproductive as it must be, Pascal doesn’t seem to mind.

“O-okay, I think it’s—“

Pascal cuts off with a heavy groan; as soon as he knelt down to open the bottom drawer, Kip got on his hands and knees and shoved his face against Pascal’s crotch, eagerly mouthing his cock through his pants, bathing it with hot exhales, licking hard at the fabric.

“FUCK me,” Pascal chokes, hips jerking forwards, arm grabbing at Kip’s back.

Kip hums happily, breathing in the heady scent of Pascal’s sweat and pubes, grabbing at his waist with one hand and bringing the other up between his thighs to rub his balls.

Pascal whines and gives a few more helpless thrusts before seeming to recover some restraint.

“Kip, I gotta... Let me get this out...so I can...”

Kip nuzzles his face against Pascal’s erection and gives it a parting kiss before sitting back, thoroughly flushed and just as satisfied.

Pascal stares at him a moment before recalling himself and opening the drawer, pushing aside socks and underwear until he pulls out a middling-sized box in the back. Kip glimpses the label, but not well enough to discern what it contains—it seems too short to be a dildo or anything larger, and sounds somehow as though there’s multiple pieces moving around inside the packaging.

“Hang on, I only tried this on myself a couple times—it’ll take a minute to check I’ve got it together.”

“Well, alright then.”

Kip perches on the edge of the bed, palming himself through his jeans as he waits.

“Okay, hang on—“ Pascal repeats, and grabs his phone from the top of his dresser.

Kip might’ve been impatient with curiosity, but for the most part he’s already too aroused to be bothered by much of anything. But just a half minute later, Pascal stands and goes around to his nightstand to get out his lube.

“Okay,” he says, turning to Kip with a smile. “The demonstration.”

“Okay,” Kip echoes, sitting up a bit straighter. “What’s step one?”

“Take your pants off.”

“Nice.” Kip undoes his belt and strips off his jeans with ease, almost sighing with relief at the comparative freedom of his briefs. “And then?”

“Lie on your stomach.”

Kip grins and compliantly flops over facedown against the mattress.

“Open your legs a little.” 

Kip can hear Pascal walking around to stand behind him at the foot of the bed.

“Well, okay, close them again just a second—“

Kip does, and Pascal takes the waistband of his underpants; Kip lifts his hips, then feet to help Pascal pull them down and off. He moves his feet apart again once he’s naked from the hips down.

“I’m gonna help stretch you a little, okay?”

“Okay,” Kip mumbles contentedly, head lying on his hands as if at a spa.

He can hear Pascal open the lube, and moments later the tip of his arm is nudging against, then slipping inside him.

Pascal doesn’t quite seem to work him as long or as far as he usually would if he was going to fuck him. As Pascal draws his arm out and steps away, Kip figures it must mean that something’s going inside him, but it won’t be as thick as Pascal’s erection. 

“I’m gonna need both arms in a second, so I gotta wash up real quick,” Pascal says, leaning in to kiss Kip’s temple.

“Okay,” Kip murmurs. “I’ll be here.”

He simply lies there for the minute Pascal’s gone, enjoying his body being warm, relaxed, and quietly aglow with pleasure. 

He opens his eyes when Pascal returns, giving him a small smile. 

“So,” Pascal says, pushing some hair behind his ear. “Do you wanna see what this is before I put it in you, or do you wanna be surprised?”

Kip laughs.

“Well, it’s not gonna hurt, is it?”

“No.”

“Alright, surprise me. I definitely want you to be the first person to put something up my ass where I don’t even know what it is.”

Pascal laughs too.

“Okay, cool.”

Kip closes his eyes again, and for a bit nothing happens, and then—

“Ready?” Pascal asks from behind him.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay. This isn’t gonna be that hard, just, y’know, be ready to relax a little bit, it’s a little wide at the top. I’m gonna put the tip up against you.”

Kip feels a cool, smooth touch, slicked up with lube, pressing gently.

“Push it in,” he tells Pascal.

“Alright. I’m gonna go a little slow. Three, two, one—“

Kip focuses on opening for the penetration, and an inch or two slides easily into him. And then suddenly the thickness drops off, narrowing into a girth that can’t be much wider than taking his own middle finger. And then he’s surprised again that the length seems to be slightly curved, and then again when the length also turns out to really not be that long—the width shrinks again and Kip feels the base pressing against his ass. 

“You good?” Pascal asks. 

“Yeah. What do I do now?”

“Hold still a second, and I’ll see if the position’s good...”

It shifts inside him slightly, making him realize that the curve is pressing the thicker end in towards his stomach, and it’s—

“Oh—y-yeah, it’s good,” Kip confirms. “Right there’s good—“

“Okay. Try standing up.”

“Uh, okay...”

Kip opens his eyes and gets up onto his hands and knees, then slides his legs off the bed and stands upright. It’s kind of an unfamiliar feeling to him, but he’s tried out his plug enough times to know what it’s like having something held in place up inside him with no exertion on his part. But this one’s base is a bit thicker than he’s used to, and it’s obviously meant to be pressed to his prostate like this—maybe somehow the motion of walking is going to generate a rhythmic fluctuation in pressure?

He’s about to ask when Pascal lifts his phone with a slight smile.

“Now, check THIS out.”

There’s no mistaking the feeling of vibration inside him, not even as subtle as it is, or as brief.

“O-oh—“

Only a second after stopping, it starts again at least twice as strong, and he grabs at the dresser behind him, tilting his hips to make it push just a bit harder against his prostate. He exhales as the vibration fades off, then gasps as it returns at that same strength, giving him a steady flow of several-second pulses.

“How are you...” Kip breathes, clutching the edge of the dresser for support. “How does...”

Pascal turns his phone around to show him the screen, places the tip of his arm near the bottom, then drags it up to the top. The vibration shoots up to an overwhelmingly intensity, making Kip cry out and twitch in the knees, and only when Pascal takes his arm off the screen does the vibration suddenly stop.

“Holy SHIT,” Kip laughs shakily. “That’s—it—it’s different, but it’s...like, whoa.”

Pascal smiles at him.

“Can I get it, like...” Kip lets go of the dresser and plants his feet. “Around half-power, but hold it there for a little bit?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Pascal drags it up to that level, and maintains it, and Kip shivers and starts slowly rolling his hips, making it feel like the pressure waxes and wanes along with the motion.

“I can adjust, like, the baseline,” Pascal says. “Like, right now it’s at zero, so if I’m not touching the screen, it won’t vibrate. But I can make it so that it’ll default to any certain level whenever I’m not touching the phone.”

“Oh,” Kip responds, now holding his dick as he continues rolling his hips. “That’s neat.”

Pascal suddenly spikes the vibration way up and Kip actually stumbles with a yelp.

“Sorry,” Pascal stifles a laugh. “Was that too much?”

Kip shakes his head hard.

“It just—landed really well,” he explains. He reaches behind himself to grab hold of the base and tilt it in. “Do that again.”

Pascal complies, and Kip sways slightly to the side with a loud whine, immediately pumping at his erection. After a couple more seconds of it, Pascal brings the level back down. Kip pants quietly, letting go of the base to slide the hand up into his own shirt, thumbing at his nipple.

“This’s—is—it’s good, Pas. ...I like this.”

“Take your shirt off,” Pascal murmurs. “I wanna look at you naked.”

Kip pulls it off unhesitatingly, tossing it aside on the floor. He’s immediately given another flood of vibration and he slumps forward onto the mattress and humps its surface, grasping at the blankets, laughing helplessly. As soon as it eases up, he rolls over onto his back to give Pascal a view of his cock and chest, arching his spine up, and the uptick in vibration feels even more amazing with his ass pressed against the bed like this—he outright moans, stroking his dick, tracing circles around his nipple.

“Pascal,” he groans slowly, looking over at him. “I miss you. Come touch me.”

Between the flush of Pascal’s face and the erection he’s squeezing, he’s less than surprised that Pascal instantly obliges.

—

Sucking Pascal’s dick while he sends pulses of vibration to Kip’s prostate is a beautiful new experience. Kip knows the vibration on its own is far from enough to bring him to orgasm, but it’s incredible in other ways—the waves of pleasure it’s giving him, the unexpected surges with only a flick of Pascal’s arm for warning, the way Pascal can respond to Kip without hardly needing to move, give him enthusiastic and all but immediate feedback, able to attend to Kip even when his coordination is in shambles, arching his back and throwing his head and crying out but still managing to reach over and touch his phone.

Kip has to be reminded of the time he was blowing Pascal, and Pascal was leaning across him and fucking him with his own dildo. A different sensation, but the same general idea. He wonders vaguely how feasible it would be for him to hold a position that’d let him be rimmed while sucking Pascal off.

A sharp pulse of the vibrator derails the train of thought. He makes up for his momentary inattentiveness with a push all the way down Pascal’s length and a hard swallow.

He neither rushes Pascal to climax nor holds back once he does decide to bring him to it. And he’s pleased that he gets Pascal so worked up he forgets to mess with the vibrator—or maybe isn’t even capable of it in the moment. Kip takes it in his throat as Pascal orgasms, then slides off to breathe freely, letting the last weakening shots of cum land across his face. 

It must have been good, because Pascal is quiet and still for a while, eyes closed, breathing heavily, shining with sweat. Kip sits back over his heels and patiently strokes himself while waiting for Pascal to recover.

“Mm...c’mere,” Pascal murmurs. He rotates his arms out invitingly.

Kip slowly eases forward. Pascal’s arms slip around his waist the moment they touch him, drawing him closer. Pascal leans in and kisses the top of his stomach.

“What would you like me to do?” he asks softly. Kisses his sternum. “Anything.”

“Hmm...” Kip pets Pascal’s hair, gazing down at him. “Let me sit in your lap.”

He turns around in Pascal’s embrace, then sits down with his back against his broad chest, opening his thighs just a bit wider than Pascal’s.

“Here,” he murmurs, taking Pascal’s right arm and pulling it to his dick. He curls his grip around Kip’s length at once; Kip shivers and pulls the other arm further up his torso. “Just like this.”

Pascal tucks his face in the crook of Kip’s neck to plant warm, scratchy kisses there, and jerks him off so brilliantly that it makes Kip’s mouth water.

—

Even after he’s came, Kip doesn’t mind that the vibrator’s still going low inside himself, especially for the sake of lying boneless in Pascal’s hold for a few more minutes, relishing the heights of his afterglow. Pascal slowly strokes Kip’s hair and cheek and jaw with the back of his arm, occasionally leaning in to brush a soft kiss against his face or neck or shoulder. It’s more than lovely, but eventually Kip rouses himself enough to move again, sitting up and twisting around to kiss the corner of Pascal’s lips. He helps Pascal pulls his arm from his chest, lightly rubbing at the trail of bright blue ovals left there by the suction as he sits up and eases off Pascal’s lap.

“That was fun,” he laughs quietly. “You can probably turn this off now, though.”

“Oh—shit, I forgot it was still on, sorry—“ Pascal leans over to his phone and Kip feels the gentle vibration stop.

“Nah, it was okay,” Kip assures him. “I’m just gonna...”

He puts a foot up on Pascal’s nightstand and reaches between his legs, getting a firm hold on the base, and slowly pulling it out. He has to focus a bit on withdrawing the head, but it all slides out painlessly.

He brings it up and looks at it for a moment, this matte purple color to its length, with a shinier, deeper shade to the plastic base. It’s definitely shorter than he’d expect and looks something like a cross between a dildo and a massager, with an almost sculptural appearance.

“Huh,” he says quietly. “Neat.”

“Yeah...you can just set it there for now,” Pascal says, gesturing to the dresser. “The one thing is that it’s kind of a pain washing something with batteries—having to take it apart each time and all. But it’s not too bad. I think I was interested it how you could use it without holding it—and I liked it the times I tried it out, but it really seems to have been extra good for you, eh?”

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “Man—and I just got this hands-free massager in the mail—I haven’t even tried it yet, but I bet it’ll be awesome. Like, what I did to you, but you get to do it yourself without even having to hold on to it or anything.”

“Ooh. I bet that’s gonna be fun to test out.” 

Kip sets the vibrator down and looks at himself in the tall mirror set up over the dresser. He lifts a thumb to brush over the light spattering of dried cum on his face; the still-shining traces on his chest and stomach from his own orgasm. He turns slightly to the side and slides a hand down his back with a sigh.

“I wish my butt was as good as yours,” he laughs quietly.

“Oh my god,” Pascal huffs. “You have the cutest butt, Kip. Just look at it.”

Kip twists his lip skeptically and slides his hand around his ass, holding its curve.

“Mm...it’s OKAY. But yours is so fuckin’ good, Pasc! Mine’s just like...an ass.”

“Well, yeah. But it’s perfectly beautiful. I’d be more than happy to fuck it right now if I didn’t need to rest up a few more minutes first.”

Kip smiles softly and gives his butt a small squeeze before letting go, looking at his waist instead. He lets the hand drift up just above his hip, watching the reflection in silence as he ghosts his fingertips over the slightly scarred patch floating on his lower back.

“Hey—“ Pascal’s gentle voice shocks him slightly. “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“Oh...” Kip sighs, letting his hand drop back to his side and facing the mirror directly again. “...How much fun it was waiting for that stupid burn to heal over.”

Pascal rises gracefully onto his feet and walks up behind Kip, arms sneaking around his chest, putting his chin on top of Kip’s head.

“Yeah,” Pascal says quietly. “You were tough as nails.”

“Hardly—it took like, a week before I could get through changing the bandages without yelling. And then another week before I could keep myself from crying.”

“Because it hurt like hell to have them pulled off when they kept sticking to you,” Pascal says. “Anybody would’ve had their asses kicked by it. I sure would’ve.”

Kip vividly remembers gripping the back of a chair with all his strength while Eno held the edge of the layers of gauze covering his fresh burn. Kip would grit his teeth, hold his breath, squeeze his eyes shut, and then, peeling it from him like a giant sticker, Eno would manage to pull just another half inch off before Kip gave a violent jerk and cried out loudly, head dropping forward and arms tensing up. Eno would murmur apologies, give him a tiny break to anticipate the next moment of agonizingly sharp pain, and Kip would go through it about a dozen more times, nearly letting out a scream by the last one, tears leaking down his face, arms and legs shuddering, burn stinging horribly. Until finally Eno held up the gauze, covered in dull blue and almost-green stains and speckles of blood from the raw skin and the oily secretions it tried to protect itself with—which all only served to adhere all the bandaging to him even worse.

Eno would carefully, carefully bathe the burn with room-temperature water, soft rags, and the gentlest presses, and Kip would still involuntarily wince and flinch at every other touch. He’d have to brace himself to be patted dry with paper towels, hoping they wouldn’t pull away harshly like the gauze. And then, when the wound was still too raw to even coat in any protective salve, the fresh gauze would have to be put right back against the skin, taped down, wrapped securely against him with a swath of bandages around his waist. And Kip would try not to dread the next changing, always promptly carried out six hours later, always breaking him down no matter how prepared, how resigned, how stoic he tried to be as he sat down to endure it all over again. 

Pascal had been present for almost all of the earliest, the worst. Sitting off to the side to keep out of the way but still try to lend comfort through his presence. He’d be a little shaky after each one. Most of his friends had witnessed it—tried vainly to help him through it—at least once. Wallace had helped with many, and had done the first alone, and that had been the worst of all—not only because the coverings had had to be left on so long, not only because the burn was at its freshest and most painful, but also because Wallace had been so timid about pulling off the clinging bandaging. He seemed to take things one millimeter at a time, and each one seemed to hurt worse than the burning itself had, the pain of it shooting through Kip’s whole body.

And then, of course, halfway through the job, Wallace’s frayed nerves decided to harden into this terrible dedication to the worst possible idea—to wrench the remainder of it off in one go and get it over with, rather than have to make Kip cry out and writhe in agony about seventy-three more times.

Kip remembers his panicked fury at Wallace’s announcement of this new plan—shoving himself up on weak, trembling arms and glaring down Wallace’s determination with bared fangs and a twitching lip, explicitly condemning and forbidding the idea and promising Wallace that if he dared to do it Kip was never speaking to him again, that Wallace was going to rip new wounds into his skin if he tried to yank it off too fast and Kip could only handle tiny pieces of the pain at a time and if Wallace didn’t swear not to try it he wasn’t going to let Wallace anywhere near him. He remembers hissing through his teeth in pain as he scooted himself away from Wallace till well out of arm’s reach, then taking hold of the gauze himself and slowly lifting it and finding he couldn’t even pull it that hard, much less away from his skin, without being blocked by the startling intensity of the pain. But it couldn’t be stuck to him forever, and they couldn’t stay here that much longer, and Wallace had apparently decided to try to finish E’s job and kill him, and so there was only one thing for it.

Kip had started crying out of the sheer stress of it all before pulling even the tiniest strip away from the wound—but he did start peeling it off, breaths shallow and heavy, every muscle in his body tensed. He maybe managed an inch before Wallace crawled over and promised he would keep pulling slowly if Kip would just let him do it again—and Kip, at this point all but immobilized from the pain, had grudgingly agreed to trust Wallace this time too, and shakily laid back to allow him to take over again. Crying seemed to make it easier to dampen his reactions just a little, and Wallace seemed a bit less hesitant, and when the human exhaled heavily and held up the messy, bloodflecked sheets of gauze, Kip had actually beamed at him and laughed out of relief.

He remembers Wallace politely turning away as Kip stripped down to pour water over the burn, again and again and again, until finally the pain resettled into something constant and he could hastily apply a new layer of gauze, trying not to think about what would have to happen later.

He remembers how he’d been surprised to hear that Lottie was offering to help with it, saying that she knew from her experience with a little bit of first aid training that she was good at things like this. And, while she had been just as sympathetic as any of the others to the pain Kip was enduring, she also seemed least intimidated by his levels of agony. She pulled it off a solid inch at a time, with only five-second pauses between, in which she squeezed his wrist and assured him she knew and he was doing great and there was only a little more. Without as long to steel himself between pulls, he was wrecked by the time she was through, sobbing weakly and trembling head to toe, but it was also always over much sooner and with no particularly significant increase in overall pain, and he was more gratefully relieved than anything. And Lottie would grasp his shoulder in a gesture of something like camaraderie, and grin at him as she congratulated him on getting through another one. And Kip would nod and laugh hoarsely and wipe sweat and tears from his face, trying his best to return something of a smile.

Eventually the burn had stopped being so fresh, started blistering and cracking instead, and finally was far enough along to allow them to stop bandaging it at all. 

And now, after all that, it’s painless, just some slight scarring neither especially more nor less sensitive than the unharmed skin around it—all but nothing, really.

“Kip—“ Pascal kisses the back of his ear; Kip jumps. “Sorry. You alright?”

“Y-yeah, sorry. I go off in my head sometimes...”

“I know. It’s okay. Just wanted to make sure it wasn’t anything that bad.”

Kip smiles and shakes his head, reaching back to put his hands on Pascal’s thighs.

“You know,” he sighs, resting his head back against Pascal’s chest. “It was the most ridiculous plan to even try to freak me out by burning me.”

“That’s one word for it.” Pascal drops a kiss in Kip’s hair and then keeps his chin there.

“Well, they’re thinking that they know how much the fire messed me up, right? And they know how scared I am of all my problems, and how much I try to avoid all of it. So then they go and think that it’d kill two birds with one stone to try to recreate something like the fire, because I’ll have to prove I can still make ice, and I’ll be so scared by the whole thing that I’d do anything if it meant I could avoid more of the same.”

Pascal nods against Kip’s hair to show he’s listening.

“But they had no idea,” Kip continues, a trace of bitterness in his voice as some heat rises in his chest. “Absolutely NO clue what I went through. They thought I must’ve wanted to never think about the fire again. Like I wasn’t thinking about it constantly for weeks. Months. Whether I wanted to or not. Dreaming about it. Flashing back.”

Pascal wraps his arms around Kip’s stomach.

“They thought that it was going to be the first time I was confronted with the fire since it’d happened,” Kip scoffs, staring at himself in the mirror. “As if it wasn’t about the millionth time. I lived it, and then I lived WITH it for every day and night of my life ever since. And they just had no idea. Thinking they knew exactly who and what I was.”

He exhales a laugh and strokes his hands down Pascal’s arms, closing his eyes.

“They really had no idea. As if I ran away to D to try to forget all about it. Ha—I had the complete opposite problem. I’m always afraid I’ll STOP remembering everything so vividly.”

Pascal drags his mouth over to kiss the cupped back of Kip’s other ear.

“I guess I can’t complain that they really had no clue who I am after all, huh. All they could manage to do was burn me and piss me off.”

“You kicked all their asses,” Pascal murmurs against the corner of his jaw. “Nobody was ready for what it means to try to handle you.”

A bit of an understatement, considering how they managed to burn that section of the facility down to the ground.

Pascal kisses Kip an inch below his ear.

“I still remember you punching that one guy right off of me...” He laughs warm against Kip’s skin. “It was the most badass thing I ever saw in my life. Really sexy, too.”

“Well, I was so furious that I couldn’t feel anything else—so it hardly counts. They could’ve aimed a shotgun at my chest and it wouldn’t’ve slowed me down even for a second. I wasn’t ever half as brave as some of the shit everyone else had to do,” Kip says, blushing nonetheless.

“You’re braver than a lion,” Pascal argues. “And nobody can ever convince me otherwise.”

Kip smiles at him via the mirror, then blinks when Pascal sinks to his knees.

“What—“

Pascal kisses his burn. Kip breathes in deeply as his boyfriend slowly places half a dozen more all over the small blue patch. And then slides an arm over to cup the underside of his ass with a small squeeze.

“Your butt is fuckin’ adorable,” he murmurs, and nips gently at it, planting a kiss there as well. 

“Th-thanks,” Kip laughs. 

“Seriously. I could sit here for an hour and appreciate it.”

“Well, after all it’s done for you, you should.”

“Right?” Pascal presses a kiss on the other side. “Thank you so much, Kip’s ass. I love you.” He nuzzles his face against its softness, scruff tickling slightly at the top of Kip’s thigh.

Kip huffs and twists around, grabbing Pascal by the shoulders and dragging them both down onto the floor, where Pascal climbs over him and kisses every inch he can reach. Until Kip tugs Pascal’s head against his chest, and Pascal acquiesces by slumping down and lying on top of Kip, making a terrible attempt to stifle his giggling.

—

“Am I getting any better at this?” Kip asks, pausing the back massage. “I’ve been trying to looking up tips and stuff...”

“Aw, thanks—“ Pascal’s voice is slightly muffled by his pillow. “But honestly I have no idea...it feels more and more perfect each time, but I don’t know if that’s because your skills are getting even more amazing, or just because it’s that good no matter what.”

“Well...sure,” Kip laughs, leaning his weight forward and continuing. “That works either way.”

—

After returning from an ambling walk during which they watched the sunset and the onset of twilight, Kip takes a long, hot bath, changes into pajamas, replies to a text from Kate, and accepts the cup of tea Pascal had made up for him in the meantime. They watch a movie together, and it makes Pascal cry a little, and Kip cheers him up by doing his best to braid parts of his hair, and then reheats a couple of the muffins, cut in half and buttered, for them to share.

Kip is growing tired as well by the time Pascal begins preparing for bed, and they climb in together, an extra blanket on Kip’s side, and talk softly. The conversation grows quieter, slower, and more intimate, and Kip finds himself staring sightlessly up at the ceiling as he listens to Pascal describe the fears he carried upon starting a new life in C—from somehow creating trouble for Kip and driving him away entirely to smaller things like the sense that he couldn’t fit in to the area around Kip when he’d always lived in quieter, poorer regions of D, or that he simply wouldn’t be good or lucky enough to successfully start a business, and would be forced to return to D anyways, still without Kip and worse off than before.

With the natural ability Pascal’s mere presence has to melt Kip into openness, the process of growing slightly sleep-drunk has the additional effect of further intensifying the emotion in the moment, so Kip feels nothing short of his undiluted adoration and pangs of deep appreciation for Pascal as he listens. He reaches out through the dark until his hand is on Pascal’s chest, petting it slowly with curls of his fingers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I moved here,” Pascal mumbles.

“I’m not even mad about it anymore,” Kip responds. “I’m just glad I’m with you again. I don’t care about the rest of it. You’re here.”

“...Y’know, I’m really happy my store is still doing okay and all, but...you know that you’re the most important part of my life, right? Everything else is nothing compared to this. I’ll be here for you, and I really don’t care what else happens.”

Kip rolls onto his side to face him, sliding the hand up to cup Pascal’s face.

“Pascal,” he whispers. “Even if nothing had gone wrong once in my whole life, getting to love you would still be the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Pascal breathes a laugh and wraps the end of his arm around Kip’s wrist, drawing it up to kiss it.

It feels like he has something to tell Pascal that he has no idea how to put into words. He supposes he’ll have to start with expressing whatever he can.

“...I love hearing your laugh,” he whispers.

“I missed your voice so much when we were apart,” Pascal replies. “Heh—when you came into my shop with Wallace, I kept trying to hear what you were saying to him and Maggie, just because it was so good that I got to hear you at all again.”

“...Sorry I couldn’t say anything to you,” Kip murmurs. “I knew I wanted to, I just...”

“It’s okay,” Pascal answers softly. “I know.”

“Sorry I was with Wallace,” Kip adds with a tiny giggle. “It was making me so nervous...I barely knew how to act in front of him at that point...”

“I can’t be sorry about that.” Pascal laughs too. “I knew it would’ve been easier to talk if it was just you, and that was killing me a little, but, I mean...I seriously owe him for bringing you in at all, don’t I?”

“Mm...I guess we both do.”

“Give him a kiss for me and then one from you, too.”

Kip groans.

“Don’t even talk about that...I’m still trying to get over this goddamn crush, can you believe that?”

“Ah, don’t worry, just give it as much time as it needs,” Pascal murmurs. “Who can blame you? He’s nice.”

“...I don’t know why I keep thinking that somebody like him would’ve ever been interested in me anyways,” Kip complains. “I mean, you know him. He’s wants to get along with everyone around him all the time, and tries to, and he’s so...open and straightforward and just...what, sunny-dispositioned? God, you should be around him when Roy’s influence is in play—they’d cheer each other on into anything.”

He closes his eyes and curves his hand against Pascal’s arm.

“I just don’t really...contribute anything to people who are as bright as that, y’know? My personality isn’t as...whatever. But...somebody like that, who wants so badly to be a light for everyone they meet...practically everybody loves that. Took me long enough to notice I had a crush. Why’d I act like there was even a chance I was the only one who did, y’know? It’d practically be cruel to tie Wallace down to me, anyway...to him and to everyone else who would be a way better match for him.”

He pauses a moment, then lightly squeezes Pascal’s arm.

“...Ugh, sorry. I know it’s kind of like...I’m insulting you by saying it’d be absurd for anybody good to like me. I’m just being all self-deprecating and...I don’t really know why I keep being so pissed about the fact I ever wished Wallace would like me back. Like that doesn’t happen with every single crush ever, right?”

He sighs softly.

“I guess it’s just me being frustrated about the whole thing and looking for somewhere to put it. I gotta hate myself for thinking Wallace would ever be interested in me when he and everybody else is so much better, because I’m the worst person in the world, and all that junk...”

He laughs and pulls the blankets closer up around him.

“Eno’s been trying to talk me out of it,” he mumbles. “I’m sort of getting there.”

“...Well, you wanna hear my theory for why you’re still mad about it?” Pascal asks, tone somewhat playful.

“Sure.”

“I think...you know as well as I do that it’d be just as right and make just as much sense for Wallace to be in love with you as it would for him to be in love with anyone else. And you know that, and it’s really hard to deal with, especially now that you know you can’t be with him, and so you’re really frustrated about it. And you’re...a little prone to blaming and looking down on yourself when things don’t turn out well. So when it’s something like this, where it really isn’t anybody’s fault you’re hurting, you know the only person you‘d direct any real anger at is yourself. So that’s what you do, and you decide it’s bad for you to think of yourself as someone Wallace might like just as much as he could like anybody. And it makes you even more frustrated if you ever slip up and start to think that’s not true, and so you try to believe it harder than ever. But you know that Wallace could just as easily like you back, because there’s a billion reasons he should, and that’s so frustrating that you almost WANT to think that it really is awful and ridiculous for you to believe he could love you. Because that’s better than thinking about how he could easily be with you, but he isn’t. Because that must really hurt. And being hurt makes you upset and angry. And since you didn’t do anything wrong it doesn’t make sense to be mad at yourself, which is why it doesn’t help, which is why you’re still mad at yourself.”

A pause.

“And I’m sorry you still have to deal with being upset,” Pascal murmurs. “And...that’s why I think you’re angry at yourself for believing Wallace could like you.”

Kip has opened his eyes again while listening to this. He draws a deep breath.

“...I...think you’re probably completely right,” he whispers finally. “But I feel so...selfish and conceited still.”

“You’re not. Trust me.”

“Well...but I’m so...different from the way Wallace always is,” Kip says softly. He absently traces shapes against Pascal’s arm with his fingertip. “And I spent so long being so...less than loving towards him, you know? I was suspicious and afraid of him and...he frustrated me all the time, and I was ready to actually hate him if it ever came to that. I was even...trying to accept the fact that I might have to kill him if he tried to hurt us.”

“But he didn’t, and you didn’t,” Pascal whispers. “You didn’t know if you could love him at all back then. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. You loved us all too much to accept him before you knew for certain he wasn’t here to hurt us.”

“But...there were times every now and then, even back before I knew I could trust him, even just after I first met him, when I...would kind of have feelings for him for a second. I mean, I didn’t exactly recognize it for what it was until a little later. But, still, even when I was afraid he was real trouble, I’d...sympathize with him, and even really like him sometimes.”

“Heh—I mean, so what? How could you not. He’s likeable, like you said, and you’re a good, caring person. I’d be surprised if that wasn’t one of the reasons he was sent over. Of COURSE you’d want to help him and stick with him, even if you were scared. Because he’s a good person, and so are you, so you want to help good people.”

“...But I didn’t want to help him,” Kip murmurs. “Wallace asked me to, after his very first day of work. I said I couldn’t. Then Molly found out and I...kind of got cornered into it. But I WAS too scared to want to help him. I didn’t even want to ever talk to him, if I thought I could help it. We just got...pushed together.”

“Aw, if your friends got you into trouble, we helped you back out of it,” Pascal says—Kip feels him shrug. “It’s okay. Nobody knew what you were getting involved in.”

“I was afraid it was going to be exactly as bad as it was,” Kip says. “I told them so. I told them I couldn’t help Wallace because I couldn’t risk something like that happening again if I got involved in—“

He cuts off with a frustrated sigh.

“...But I agreed to do it anyway,” he mumbles. “Because I thought I’d be letting everyone down if I decided I was too scared to try helping people after all. ...I thought I’d be letting my family down. And myself, somehow.”

Pascal’s arm brushes Kip’s cheek, then trails down it.

“...Anyway.” Kip snuggles in a little closer towards Pascal. He tries to exhale his frustration. “It doesn’t matter, because I DID get involved, and that’s all over with. And now my only problem is that I’m upset I got a crush on him. That’s not so bad, compared to what could’ve happened. It’s not half as upset as I felt when I thought he’d gone and turned me over to the people who killed my family. THAT was really great.”

Pascal rolls over and slips his arm around Kip’s waist and up his back.

“You’ve been through so much,” Pascal murmurs. “And I’m so, so glad you’re still here.”

He kisses Kip between the eyebrows.

“I’m so sorry for everything they did to you. But you’re here, and you’re wonderful, and I love you. Anyone and everyone should love you.”

Kip can’t help but giggle softly.

“Y’know, maybe I get why Wallace wouldn’t like me that way, and that’s another reason I’m mad, but I’m just...exaggerating it,” Kip murmurs. “I mean, the version of me I get to be when I’m with you is great, and the best one, and...I think maybe closest to feeling like it’s...the ‘real’ me, if there is one. But...you know what I’m usually like around people. I’m not very fun, and I can be...impatient, and short-tempered, and...always in a bad mood...”

He laughs at himself with a huff through his nose.

“I know I had to be especially like that around Wallace,” he continues. “I was scared of him, and that made me more pissed off more than usual, and...the first time I met him, I refused to even say hello to him, I hated the sight of him so much. And now I’m wondering why somebody as friendly and obliging as Wallace isn’t head over heels in love with me. Ha.”

Pascal nuzzles his face to Kip’s throat for a moment and then turns his head to put his cheek against Kip’s chest.

“Just because it takes a minute to get to know you now doesn’t mean you’re not worth it,” Pascal murmurs. “Same if they have to first prove they’re not going to hurt you or anybody else.”

“Aw...” Kip strokes Pascal’s hair. “I was a little more approachable back when you met me, huh. I bet that version of me would’ve gotten along with Wallace a lot easier.”

“Yeah, but he was about to have something horrible happen to him, and it makes sense why he’d then be more afraid of humans he didn’t know,” Pascal says. “And why he’d become a bit different than he’d been before. Because everyone changes. Especially when big changes happen to us.”

Kip smiles to himself and wonders if Pascal can feel his heart beating a little harder. He cradles Pascal’s head closer.

“Thank you,” he murmurs to him. “Thank you for always being so patient with me. I know it takes effort to cheer me up sometimes. And I really appreciate that you do put that effort in. And I know I’m a...bit stubborn sometimes about NOT letting myself be cheered up, and you do it anyways. I really appreciate it. ...You’re very thoughtful and...loving and forgiving, and I love you, and I’m so glad that you love me.”

“Aw, Kip—“ Pascal tilts his head to kiss him on the arm. “I like when I get to help you feel better. You’re more than welcome. And it’s very sweet of you every time you tell me how good you think I am.”

“How good I THINK you are?” Kip repeats, putting on a tone of incredulity. “If I don’t know for certain that you’re an objectively magnificent person, then I doubt I know anything.”

“I just care a lot about what you think of me,” Pascal says with a soft laugh.

Kip’s blush glows slightly.

“Well,” he says, “I think so well of you that I’m completely in love with you, and I’m pretty sure you’re so good that it rubs off on me. I always wanna be as good as I can for you.”

Pascal reaches up and brushes the side of Kip’s face.

“You know, Kip,” he starts. “There’s a lot I didn’t think I had in me until I met you. And until I got to be with you, and stay with you, and just...love you. There’s stuff I didn’t even know I had in me until I was...until one day, I needed to do something I’d never done before to help you, or to keep you safe, or to just..be with you again. And I’d find out that I could, before I was even sure I’d ever be good enough to be capable.”

Kip listens silently, absently petting Pascal’s hair.

“You’ve definitely made me better and stronger than I would’ve been otherwise,” Pascal says. “And I always think of YOU as a really good person who makes me wanna be the best that I can for him.”

Kip inhales deeply; the push of his stomach raises Pascal. He finds he can’t particularly think of how to reply, so he takes Pascal’s arm and pulls it over for a kiss.

“...And you really are very strong, you know,” Pascal murmurs after a moment. “You’re always thinking of how to protect everybody around you, and you love the people in your life so much, and you’d do anything for them and nobody could stop you. I know you don’t think it counts to be brave to protect someone else, but you only think that because you’re already that brave. It does count.”

He nuzzles Kip’s chest and cuddles up a little closer to him, settling their bodies comfortably together.

“You ARE brave,” he continues softly. “Especially since you’ve always known you have so much more to be afraid of. Like...I remember when you’d come out with me places after you guys moved in with me. And you’d never have a way of knowing when, you know, we’d be in the store and you’d see the brand of paper towels you’d last remembered having in the house, or your brother’s favorite flavor of juice, or...anything that reminded you of them, or just be reminded whether you saw something or not. And I know how much you hated it if it made you upset out in public, because you didn’t want the attention, and people would stare whether they knew who you were or not, and you didn’t get to be alone with it, and you were embarrassed, and just...a few days later you’d go somewhere with me all over again, not knowing whether the same thing would happen. You were really brave and really tough. And I know other people could do that sort of thing too, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t brave. I know that you never want special credit for surviving—that’s not how I mean it. I don’t mean that you’re strong because people want to think of you that way. I mean you’re strong because you are.”

“...Pasc,” Kip whispers. “C’mere so I can kiss you for a second.”

Pascal curls his arms beneath himself so he can push forwards a bit to bring their mouths together. Kip presses a sweet, deliberate kiss to his warm lips, then pulls away only enough to change the angle.

Pascal hums softly as Kip brings his own head back down to the pillow and Pascal’s back down to his chest.

“You’re too wonderful, Pascal,” Kip murmurs sleepily. “Thank you. God, but I love you...”

Pascal smiles against Kip’s chest and sighs a soft wash of warmth over his skin.

“I love when you come over,” Pascal mumbles. “I like getting to talk. It’s easier than it is on the phone...”

“Yeah,” Kip agrees. “It’s good like this.”

Like this—warm, close, safe, comfortable, loved.

They’re quiet for a minute, during which Kip finds himself dropping off with surprising rapidity. But he’s still conscious enough to pick up a faint “I love you” breathed by Pascal, and murmur it back  
to him.

—

On the train ride to his next appointment, Kip finds himself almost eager to tell Eno about how well he’s been doing and feeling lately. It seems like it’s been years since he had something like this to report—good moods, lowered anxiety, surprising accomplishments, maybe even something like an upbeat outlook—and all in a week’s work. The last time he remembers thinking he had only excitingly good things to tell Eno was actually literally two and a half years ago or so.

Though as steady and subdued as ever once the appointment officially begins, Eno seems to enjoy hearing Kip’s almost excited descriptions of what he’s been managing to do and think and feel, and patiently listens to each of Kip’s ideas about what it means for him overall that he’s been feeling so...okay. And theorizing about whether he’s ready to believe happiness can be part of his life again. And if this confirms his suspicions that the limit of his current wants and ambitions center around finding a kind of peace in his everyday existence, and regaining a shared domestic life with Pascal.

Eno presses him just a little about whether living with Pascal will make him feel closer to him, and Kip demands to know what that’s supposed to mean, and Eno says he’s just wondering if this feels like a Relationship Step to him this time around, and Kip says not really, it’s just a matter of convenience and preference in a close relationship where we’ve already lived together half a decade, thanks. And Eno says alright, so after this, you think your relationship will be exactly where you want it to be? And Kip asks where he’s going with this, and Eno innocently says he’s just asking, and Kip gives him a look.

Eno does give warning of one potential downside, though—with the rapid approach of the six-year anniversary, an expected stirring-up of grief might, by virtue of comparison with his recent unusually elevated mood, seem like worse of a crash than it would otherwise. Don’t, he tells Kip, be overly disappointed if he experiences a hitch in steadiness. Don’t jump to the conclusion that an interruption in this good period means it will never be resumed. And don’t try to stifle or ignore your grief, or feel you let yourself down by experiencing it.

Kip promises Eno to be prepared for any onset of intensified feelings of grief or depression, and to let himself express them if needbe, and to try to help himself cope before he ever tries to suppress or deny his feelings. And confesses he feels a bit worried and guilty over not having any specific idea what he’ll do on the actual day. And Eno tells him not to feel obligated to do any blessed thing in particular, and tells Kip that he himself  
rarely does anything special on the exact day, instead doing whatever feels appropriate whenever it comes to him. And that on the anniversary itself, he often feels most focused on Kip.

Which means Kip finds himself unexpectedly moved, and directs the feeling into seizing the chance to encourage Eno to nail down the dates of his visit.

—

Eno is quickly proven right. Upon waking up the morning one week before the anniversary, Kip feels a familiar sort of dread in his gut, and all day the awareness of his family’s absence not only in his present life, but also in every single instant of his entire future, weighs him down.

Fortunately, it’s not the sort of thing where he has to be constantly on edge from stress, or feel tensed and out of place in every single social interaction, or worry he’s casting a shadow over everyone around him, or wonder if any hopes of his are going to be thwarted or ruined by his dampened spirits. It’s just a cloud, just a small presence in the back of his mind. 

But when he goes into his room that night after sitting up a while finishing a post, just a glance at the picture makes him stop and pick it up to examine their faces, blinking out tears within the minute.

He’s pleasantly surprised that the slight elevation in his anxiety doesn’t yield any nightmares. His dreams aren’t exactly good or worry-free, but they’re still just ordinary dreams.

—

“Kip, did Molly tell you?”

“Tell me what? Because, no, I don’t think so, since I haven’t seen her yet today.”

Roy claps his hands to his face in what Kip recognizes is actually an attempt to rein in his excitement.

“Ohhh, that means I get to tell you BOTH THINGS,” Roy gasps, beaming luminously.

“Okay...” Kip dries his hands off and turns around. He tries to gauge Roy’s excitement level as a possible hint for what kind of news he’s sitting on, but there’s not much for it. “...What’s up?”

“Well—“ Roy begins eagerly, stepping forward. “You know how you were telling Molly and me that we should take a break from work so we can relax and do something fun and everything like that? And you know we had kinda picked out where we wanted to go, over in D, there’s that one little town that’s really quiet and pretty—remember, we all went through it that one time when we were traveling with Pascal, and we stopped for lunch and went in this one place where we sat at a table outside, and you said your stomach kind of hurt so you just had a drink, and Pascal kept giving you some of his chips, and Molly got this soup and the bowl had this cool design on it in green paint and—“

“I remember the place,” Kip says quickly. “What about it? Did you guys, like, make reservations somewhere?”

“Yeah!” Roy laughs. “But even better, we both also worked it out so that we already have the days off of work—we’re going around a weekend, so I’m taking that Thursday and Friday off, and then the next Monday and Tuesday, so we’ll have six days to spend there! And, well, I know the café is open on weekends so that means it’s probably gonna be more trouble covering all her shifts for that time, so, sorry about that if it means you have to work a bunch of hours while we’re off on vacation, but—“

“It’s fine,” Kip says. “There’s no way around that. We’ll manage. That’s really great that you’ve got the plans fixed down—when are you going?”

“In about three weeks,” Roy answers. “It’s gonna be the first full weekend of next month.”

“Oh, nice. I’m really glad you guys are doing this, you know. You ought to be able to relax a little and enjoy yourselves away from work and...have a bit of a change of pace and scenery and all that stuff.”

“Aw—“ In just three steps Roy is scooping Kip into a hug. “Thanks, Kip.”

“O-of course,” Kip says a bit breathlessly. “What’s the other thing you wanted to tell me?”

Roy squeezes him before letting go and straightening back up to his full height.

“Okay, so—“ He puts a hand on Kip’s shoulder. “The other day Molly and I were hanging out talking with Ben, and he said that by the end of next month there should be a couple smaller apartments here freed up, and we could just sort of...switch over into one if we wanted, and he’d be able to take care of the paperwork for us pretty easy. You know, if you talk to Pascal and that sounds like something you guys wanna do? Move in together then, I mean. Like, it’s no emergency and we didn’t swear we would or anything and it’s not like even if we decide to do it we’ll have to do it RIGHT AWAY on the very first day the other people move out, but, you know, so that’s an option, and it should be pretty convenient, but of course it’s only if it works for you too! So I guess you can talk to Pascal about it and see how you guys feel. But no pressure. But it’s just something that can happen if you want.”

“Oh...” Kip blushes. “Oh—thanks. Yeah, I’ll, uh, I’ll talk to Pascal about it next time I see him.”

“Cool!” Roy chirps. “I know moving is a lot of work, and I’m not the most helpful at carrying stuff—“ (given that his lift is only as strong as the stitches affixing his arms to his torso) “—but it’s pretty exciting thinking of getting to be in a new place, right? Getting to rearrange and redecorate and just change things up a little bit...”

“Yeah, definitely. I—I’ll be sure to find out what Pascal thinks and get back to you guys as soon as I do, okay?”

“Awesome! Thanks, Kip!”

They share another tight hug, and Kip spends the next twenty minutes or so listening to Roy jump from one topic to the next until he realizes he has to run out to meet up with Molly.

Kip dwells a bit on the idea of moving into Pascal’s even as soon as a month and a half from now. It’s not like it’s making him second-guess the idea, but it feels a touch more intimidating now that there’s a set date and potentially solid plans being discussed around.

He wonders if Ben’s relieved to hear he’s planning on moving out. He can’t find it in himself to be angry about it if he is. It’ll probably be a relief for both of them.

But no matter how stressful the details of the process might be, Kip can ultimately only feel excited about the idea of finally, actually living with Pascal. Again. But sort of for the first time, too.

He almost writes a text to Pascal to tell him about everything, but the thought of getting to see Pascal’s face when he hears the news is too tempting.

—

Kip sits down with his laptop and the intention to write, but finds himself unable to focus on it very well. Checking his email instead, he finds a few from Kate—with attachments, and the subjects “here you go” and “check this out” and “these too.”

Even knowing how long Kate’s been saving up for her new camera, Kip is surprised by the heightened quality of the photos. The resolution, the subtleties of lighting and color, the sharp focus—combined with Kate’s eye for composition and framing and the simple element of what makes a good picture, somehow these shots of him standing around in the park look like artistic, professional portraits. Some have muted tones and unfocused backgrounds, others have vivid colors and high contrast between the shadows and bright sunlight.

In some closer views he can count every hair on his head, distinguish individual eyelashes, spot tiny freckles on his shoulders and ears. Most of the pictures of him are from the chest up, off-center, often without even his whole face in the shot. Some only show the side of his head and one shoulder, in some the focus is simply his arm from the elbow down. 

One picture makes him pause—a closeup from the collarbones up and the nose down, head turned slightly away from the camera, chin lifted, lips parted, the tips of his fangs visible. The blue of his skin seems to tint even the grass and trees in the background, and the sunlight touching him seems to render him almost aglow. It’s surprisingly elegant, and Kip needs a few seconds to process that it’s him.

The string of photos she’d taken of his neck have a similar kind of look—like there’s this beauty conferred upon him simply by the way she chose to frame the bruises. The subtle differences in blues are all picked up, and they look almost like splashes of paint, watercolor stains.

And it’s nice to be able to admire the aesthetic of the bruises while remembering exactly how they came to appear.

He replies to Kate’s emails with generous amounts of comments and compliments, insisting that she could take fantastic pictures for any purpose and that anyone would be smart and totally justified to want to pay her for it. Then he reiterates a condensed version that he sends to her via text.

He makes another attempt at writing something for his blog, but his focus is more thrown than ever.

He decides to not only go along with his distraction but also take full advantage of his solitude. Pushing his chair back, he closes his laptop, sets his glasses down on top, and undoes his belt, starts pulling off his shirt. Moments later all his clothes are draped across the back of his chair and he’s lying against against his mattress, thinking of Pascal.

All the memories he draws on are intimate—a bit of the sweeter and quieter variety, but mostly the heated and physical kind. He doesn’t bother moving as he basks in their influence, just lets himself grow more relaxed, contented, and turned on with every breath.

And when he’s itching to touch himself, he gets to his feet and takes out the hands-free massager, lubes it up nicely, and lies back on his bed again, feet apart, holding the end up against himself. It’s easy enough to push in the first inch, but he takes it slow—he’s not used to putting something inside himself that has as strong a curve like this one, and he tries to feel out how it ought to fit up in him. Despite a bit of uncertainty, by the time he gets down to the last couple inches he feels guided by both ends—maneuvering one so that it brushes his prostate and the other so that it sits snug up against his taint. And as soon as the whole thing seems perfectly in place, he sinks back down to lie flat against the mattress again, closing his eyes with a sigh.

Even just the steady, unchanging pressure inside him is enough to make Kip feel something. A little flow of arousal that comes from the contact, rather than from the increasingly indulgent thoughts still running through his mind. After a few moments he draws his feet up, and the movement generates a nudge that makes him bring his hands to his chest and inhale deeply, eyes sliding closed.

It’s strange not to be holding on to anything, but the push of the flattened base against him, right behind his sack, feels way too nice to even think about messing with anyways. He moves experimentally, shifting his hips in a slow roll, in a side-to-side rock. But it’s when he pulls his knees back to his chest that he’s rewarded with such a solid, satisfying push that he groans and clutches at the bedsheets.

He eventually switches from steadily bringing his knees up to instead keeping his feet against the mattress and pushing his torso up instead. It’s not long at all before it starts drawing nearly involuntary moans from him, though he lets them be a bit louder than they otherwise might’ve been. The now-constant pleasure makes him warm all over, and soon each time he sits up makes his knees and abs twitch, starts to feel more and more like a small piece of an orgasm in itself. 

He’s aching to be touched. He does what he can, stroking and rubbing his own chest and stomach and sides, gripping his thighs and ass, bringing his arm to his mouth to bite and kiss his own skin, but as he gets more and more worked up its inadequacy becomes more obvious—it’s harder to maintain the coordination required even for touching himself, and he longs for Pascal to lean over him and pin him down to the mattress with kisses and the heavy strength of his arms against his body.

He feels shaken up and undone in multiple ways—his throaty moans start to be jerked up into sharp whines and loud whimpers, and its impossible to keep his arms steady, and he’s trying desperately to get even more of this feeling, make it even stronger, harder, more overwhelming.

His fantasizing is ricocheting from one idea to another with the speed of his waves and jolts of pleasure—he’s aware of Wallace’s image slipping in now and then, but there’s no way he’s going to let himself get bothered and abandon what he’s building up, what’s making him cry out like this and shiver with tense arousal and laugh breathlessly as he kicks out at a burst of brilliant intensity.

When he finally reaches the heights of his peak, it lays him out. He might’ve been going for half an hour or something more like a third of the day for all he’d been paying attention to time, and maybe another half a day slips by as he soaks in this feeling, breathing steady and heavy, eyes closed, body relaxed. He feels totally exhausted, but forces himself to retrieve the half-used pack of tissues and clean up his stomach from how he’s gotten drained in that way as well. Some of his spill has already reached the sheet underneath him, so as soon as he can walk again he drags it off and into his hamper, then sinks right back onto the bed.

He lies there in the quiet, half-asleep, satisfaction reverberating and swirling through his whole body, feeling warm despite his bare skin, relaxed despite his shivering limbs.

He dozes off and comes back around about half a dozen times, having strange but pleasant dreams that bleed into his waking moments. A text from Pascal pulls him back into alertness in time to see the clouds outside starting to catch the first glowing colors of sunset. He takes a cool shower, thinking of how deeply he’s loved by someone so stunningly good.

—

Kip has the day before the anniversary off from work, too.

He isn’t sure how he feels, much less how he should. It’s like he can’t quite pin down what’s there—like he’s either not letting himself face the emotions that are there, or they haven’t even hit him yet. He can’t even begin to guess how he might be affected tomorrow. It could be quiet and smooth, more like just another day than not. But he might be hit worse than that. He has to be prepared for that, and let himself weather it as well as he can.

He spends the day on cleaning and errands—things he doesn’t want to have to worry about or bother with tomorrow. He listens to music, takes frequent breaks, goes for a couple of walks for some sun and fresh air.

They’re pushing at his thoughts more and more as the hours go by. So he lets himself think about them. He knows that it’s grief. It can only ever be grief, whether it makes him appreciate the beauty of things around him, whether it crushes him until he can’t even draw breath.

Today is something in between. It’s bittersweet, and it’s quiet, but he can feel the power of it. He knows well exactly how strongly it can hit him, with warning or without. He can only wait and see how it unfolds moment by moment.

He does find himself growing quieter as the afternoon comes on. He puts away the cleaning and takes a shower, putting on a deep blue sweater and soft grey pants, comfortable shoes. He sets out on another walk, this time going all the way out to a park on the far corner of town, passing through it until he comes to sit on the wall of the large fountain encircled with benches and tall trees. A few other people are around, but he doesn’t particularly mind.

He hadn’t really planned to sit there for a while, but he does. He listens to the bubble of the water, watches silently as birds flit down to drink, as people walk by chatting and laughing, as the shadows of the branches shift and reach across the ground. An occasional breeze mists him with cool droplets against his shoulders and hands and face. He breathes in the smell of water and grass and fresh summer air, deep and even.

It’s there that he first feels something like being hit with it. It only makes him quieter, makes him lower his head and gaze at his knees, pick up a leaf beside him, turn its stem between his fingers, taking it its color, the subtle latticework, the tiny ridges along the edge. He sets it afloat in the fountain and watches it drift around.

It’s lonely. To sit here by himself, to be without his family, to grieve. But he doesn’t know yet whether he wants company or whether he wants to stay like this a while longer. But he doesn’t feel inclined to move or do anything else, so he doesn’t.

There’s one drawback to his recent okayness-almost-happiness that he hadn’t thought about yet, and now seems to be revealing itself to him. It hurts to think about how nice it would be if his family was here to share it with, to think about them getting to know that he’s doing well, that he has things in his life that comfort him, spark his passion, even bring him something like that. They always ought to be here for this. And his heart aches whenever he thinks of how they didn’t even know he’d still be alive, much less get to know that he’d be alive six years later, feeling for the first time that he might actually have a future, a good one, a real one.

And even after six years of missing them, he still gets a little ripple of guilt over feeling that, like he must not have really loved them if he can dare to be happy without them.

He knows it’s not true, that he shouldn’t feel that way, doesn’t deserve to. But he always knows things before he can manage to feel them.

—

He gets a text from Roy a couple hours later, asking where he is.

Kip replies he went out for a walk, apologizes for not leaving a note, says he didn’t think he’d still be gone past Roy’s return from work.

“its totally ok!! are you staying out? do uou know when you’ll be back?”

“idk yet”

He slips his phone away and lifts his head to look at the trees.

He could sit with these thoughts from morning to midnight and still not be done with them. But he still doesn’t want to walk away before he’s ready. 

The grief doesn’t feel like it’s pressing in anymore, but it still sits on him. 

About ten minutes later, his phone buzzes again. This time it’s Molly.

“Where are you”

“out on a walk, sorry i didn’t leave a note”

A minute later: “Ok but where are you actually at”

“the fountain in catshel park”

“Ok stay there and we’ll meet you”

He does, and a quarter of an hour later, she and Molly appear, talking with each other, waving at him as they spot him, and perching next to him as though they’d all planned this out from the start.

“Hey,” Kip says.

“What’s up?” Roy leans over his knees and smiles brightly.

“You almost had me worried, wandering off without letting us know,” Molly chides him.

“I’M the one who’s supposed to be mad if I don’t know where everyone is,” Kip says.

“Yeah, well, that’s why we always expect you to leave a note, isn’t it?”

But they sit there and talk and laugh as if being with Kip is as much fun as anywhere else. And now he’s like anybody else out in the park today, relaxing, hanging out with friends. And it doesn’t exactly feel wrong. It’s not as though the way it’s affecting him today is causing very outwardly noticeable reactions, and he finds that being with them is nice, even if he’s being a little quiet, letting them do most of the talking.

After a little while Molly suggests walking around some more, and he and Roy agree, and they eventually end up along the water, by which point Kip is actually chatting with the others too. Molly points out a restaurant and says she’s been there before, and that she got a lot of tips at work today and wants to buy dinner for all three of them. Roy is in raptures over her generosity, and Kip doesn’t put up much of a fight, knowing that Molly would refuse to let him get out of being treated to the meal.

It’s a nice place, and Kip is glad for the distance between tables and the high backs separating the booths, all affording a decent amount of privacy.

Partway through the meal, Molly’s phone lights up with a text from Kate.

“She says she’s planning to go out tonight after she closes,” she relays. “I guess that works, since she doesn’t have to come in tomorrow until one...”

“I dunno, she likes to stay out pretty late sometimes,” Kip says, taking hold of his glass. “Having to get up at noon still might be a bit of a stretch, depending.”

Roy laughs.

“What are YOUR plans, Kip?” he asks. “You could go along and make sure you guys leave by, like, two in the morning at least.”

“Heh—well, I haven’t gone out in a whole, but I dunno about doing that tonight...”

He’s actually not that sure what he wants to do. He’s surprised to find that the idea of going out for the night doesn’t seem completely ridiculous—but it does seem like a tall order for him tonight. Maybe it WOULD shake him out of his slight withdrawal, but maybe it would only intensify it, make him feel completely out of place, frustrate him with the demands of an overstimulating environment and really hammer his depression home.

Half a minute after thinking of Pascal, he gets a text from him, saying that Kip is welcome to spend the night—or not, and Pascal is completely willing to come over to their apartment—or not. But he’s ready to do anything Kip needs him to do at a moment’s notice.

Kip sends a quick reply, thanking him, saying he’s not sure yet but he could easily decide that spending the night with him in his small, quiet apartment feels most appealing. 

After dinner, the three head back to their apartment. It’s a comfort to Kip to get to close the door behind them; he asks right off if the other two want a cup of tea.

“I might head over to Pascal’s for the night,” he says as he slides the kettle onto the stovetop. “I’m not sure yet, but...”

He shrugs and turns on the burner.

“Okay,” Molly says.

“That makes sense,” Roy adds. “I bet he’d be happy about that.”

Kip smiles as he leans back against the counter.

“Yeah,” he says. “I don’t really have any reason against it—I’ll probably head over soon, I’ve just been wanting to give myself time to decide...”

“Whatever you wanna do is cool, just let us know if you go off somewhere this time, yeah?”

“Okay,” Kip laughs.

—

Maybe it’s thanks to the fact he’s drinking the blend Pascal made personally for him, but by the time Kip finishes his tea, he’s made up his mind to head over to Pascal’s apartment. He sends a text to Pascal, lets Molly and Roy know, and goes into his room to pack an overnight bag. He hitches it onto his shoulder and stands in front of the picture a moment, gazing down at it.

He feels quieted down again.

When he steps out of his room, Molly and Roy are on the couch, and as soon as he moves towards the door they get up and approach him with outstretched arms. He laughs and accepts the hug, which is even closer and longer than usual.

He descends the stairs slowly, listening to the slight echoing of his footsteps. The lobby is empty, and when he pushes through the front door, the evening air has acquired a cool breeze. He shivers slightly, but isn’t moved to speed his pace; it takes him a bit longer than usual to reach Pascal’s building. He unlocks the front door, enters the stairwell, and climbs up to Pascal’s floor. It’s quiet and dim—only once or twice does he hear muted voices behind the doors. 

He pauses in front of Pascal’s door, then unlocks it and gently pushes it open. The right side of the tiny entrance hallway is slightly lit up from the lamp in the living room, the left side illuminated from the glow of the dusk sky through the kitchen window.

“Hey, Pascal,” he calls softly, closing the door behind him. He steps out of his shoes. “You here?”

“Yeah, I’m here—“ The sound of Pascal standing up out of the armchair, and a second later he appears in front of Kip, wearing loose sweatpants and a tank stretched across his torso, smiling at the sight of him. “Good to see you.”

He steps closer and lifts Kip up into an encompassing hug; Kip wraps his arms around Pascal at once and turns his face to press against the side of his head, kissing him behind the ear.

“How was things at the shop?” Kip mumbles into his hair.

“Everything went okay.”

Pascal lowers him smoothly back to his feet.

“How are you?” he asks softly. “You’re a little cold...”

“I’m alright,” Kip says quietly. “You don’t have to look after me that closely or anything. I just figured, you know...I like being here with you. It’s always nice.”

He looks over to give Pascal a smile and finds him already looking back with attentive focus.

“I’m always happy to have you here for any reason you wanna come over,” Pascal says, brushing his arm against the side of Kip’s face. “Wanna sit down? I’ll bring you a blanket and you can warm up a little.”

Kip settles on the couch, and Pascal brings him a comforter from his closet, draping it across his lap.

“Thanks,” Kip murmurs. He pulls Pascal’s arm over to press a kiss to his suckers, then lets his head sink back against the pillows with a silent sigh, looking up at the meeting of the wall and ceiling.

“Have you eaten dinner already?” Pascal asks, sitting back in the armchair again. 

“Yeah, what about you?”

“Mmhm. I bought some ice cream yesterday, though. You want some? I know you’re still warming up, but...”

His broad shoulders rise with a shrug.

“...Yeah, sure,” Kip says.

“Alright, one sec.”

Pascal goes into the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with a couple bowls of chocolate chip ice cream, passing one to Kip. 

“Aw, thanks.”

“No problem.”

Kip carves out a spoonful, then—

“Oh, hey...” He sits up. “So, there’s some news about moving in together.”

“Yeah?”

“Roy said Ben told him and Molly that after the end of next month, there’ll be a few apartments in that building that they could just transfer over into. So I guess if that time frame sounds good to you, I can let them know that could work. Or tell them to wait on it. Either’s fine—I’m really just interested in what works best for all you guys.”

“Oh—yeah, I’ll double-check, but that should be fine.”

“Okay, I’ll let them know.”

There’s a slight pause.

“That’s only, like, a month and a half from now,” Pascal murmurs.

“...Yeah.”

Kip looks over at Pascal to find him staring down at his lap with a flickering smile. Kip feels a smile tug at the corner of his own mouth as well.

“That’s really cool.” Pascal looks back at Kip—when their eyes meet, Pascal’s smile grows into an affectionate beam and he colors with a luminous blush. 

“Y-yeah,” Kip laughs softly. “I thought it’s exciting, too.”

“Aw—“ Pascal sets his bowl aside and pushes himself up out of the chair, kneels by the couch, and kisses Kip’s cheek. “Gosh, to know I get to see you all the time...”

He sighs happily and presses a lingering kiss beneath the corner of Kip’s jaw.

Kip giggles, sliding his hands up to either side of Pascal’s face and gently angling him for a kiss on the lips. He pulls back to meet Pascal’s gaze, and the unflinchingly earnest happiness there makes him light up in return. He tangles his hands in Pascal’s hair and brings their foreheads together, nodding his head slightly to rub his nose up and down against Pascal’s.

“Can I sit on the other side here?” Pascal asks, sliding his arms around Kip’s back. 

“Yeah.”

Pascal picks up his ice cream and leans back against the other arm of the couch, slipping his legs under the blanket with Kip’s.

“...Hey,” Kip begins again. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Those flowers in my room have been growing really well, and I was thinking I should transplant them into something bigger soon. And...I was wondering if I could ask if you’d want to make a pot for them? I know you only have so many weeks left in class, so I could buy it from you, so you can get the supplies and tools and everything. I’d be proud to be your first customer for your sculptures.”

He traces shapes in his ice cream with his spoon while he speaks.

“Of course, you totally don’t have to. I was just thinking I could offer it if you’re looking for an excuse to use clay some more after the class is done.”

“Oh, I could totally make something for you, Kip. It could be, like, a really late birthday present. Or an even earlier one.”

“It’d be cool to buy it from you, though,” Kip says. “Then you could tell people you’ve sold pieces before, y’know?”

Pascal laughs softly, blushing.

“Anyway, that’s no emergency. Just an idea I wanted to put out there.” Kip lifts half a spoonful of ice cream. “Your stuff is so beautiful...I’m really looking forward to getting to see everything you’ve been making these past few months.”

“Aw, thanks...” Pascal blushes deeper, bowing his head with a flattered smile. “I’m glad you like my stuff.”

“I love it,” Kip says. He puts his feet overtop Pascal’s. “And I love that you found something you’re enjoying like this. You should definitely keep doing it if you want to.”

Pascal puts his arm on Kip’s knee and smiles at him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “I think I’d love to make something for you especially.”

“Aw...” Kip leans back with a grin. “I’d...well, you know, I keep those flowers by the picture, and I think it would be great to have them in something you made.”

Pascal looks at him a moment, then scoots forward, takes Kip’s free hand, and kisses his palm.

—

Their conversation all that evening is quiet yet casual, and although neither directly mentions anything about the anniversary, their talking feels natural—not at all like there’s anything hanging in the air, weighing them down. Kip supposes it’s just that he has nothing he really needs to say about it, and Pascal senses that.

For the sake of doing something with his hands, Kip asks Pascal to bring him a sewing kit and any clothes of his that have holes or torn seams or detaching threads—Kip is decent enough at simple stitching, and knows its vastly easier for him than it is for someone without fingers like Pascal. In turn, Pascal sits with a clipboard and what seems like paperwork, though after a few minutes he shows Kip that he’s made copies of the layout of his shop, and has been using them to sketch out rough ideas of additions and alterations he might eventually want to make.

“It’s nothing at all official...I’m not really worrying about exact measurements or being as realistic as possible right now...but I just like to keep this stuff in mind, you know? So if it ever starts to feel more relevant to consider what changes I might be able to make, I’ll at least already have been thinking about it for a while.”

“What’s this say here?” Kip asks, pointing at the vague label for what looks like a messy grid. 

Pascal leans in to look.

“Oh...a hanging garden.”

“A—“ Kip turns to look at him. “What, like, wisteria? You want your shop to be a new world wonder?”

“I said these weren’t exactly about being realistic,” Pascal laughs.

But Kip likes seeing his unfiltered ideas, and leafs through the couple dozen he’s made, asking about more inscrutable labels and trying to visualize everything the way Pascal might. 

He imagines Pascal happily working in a shop laid out exactly as he likes, with the most open, welcoming design, filled with plants and windows and gentle, dappled lighting, pleasantly muted colors, textured floors, the soft sound of trickling fountains—an ambience nearly as warm and pleasant as Pascal himself. 

“What’s this here?”

“Umm...” Pascal cocks his head at the paper Kip tilts towards him. “I think that was...uh...”

Kip turns his head to look at Pascal’s expression of bemused focus, only three inches away. Suddenly it blooms with a smile.

“Oh, that was like, circular shelves—heh.”

Kip plants a kiss smartly on Pascal’s cheek. Pascal looks over with subdued delight; Kip leans over against Pascal’s side, sliding his arms around him. Pascal puts his arm around Kip’s back.

They stay like that as Pascal leafs through the last few copies, giving a summarized explanation of each design. Kip puts his head on Pascal’s shoulder and rests his hand on Pascal’s thigh, absently stroking it with his fingertips. 

“And that’s what I’ve got so far,” Pascal says, putting the papers back into a pile. “...Are you tired?”

“Oh, no...I’m just comfortable,” Kip says, snuggling up closer against Pascal. “Besides, I still have that one pair of pants and your t-shirt to finish fixing up.”

“You don’t have to do all of them,” Pascal laughs, squeezing Kip in by the waist. “I really appreciate everything you’ve done already, by the way.”

“I don’t mind,” Kip says. “I always kind of like stuff like this. Stuff that’s quiet and holds a little of my focus.”

“Mm...” Pascal kisses his ear. 

Kip slumps more of his weight against Pascal, closing his eyes.

“But let me sit here like this for just a few minutes more.”

—

“Hey, Pasc,” Kip says softly, voice low.

Pascal lifts his head to look up at him. Kip reaches out and slowly, deliberately brushes some of Pascal’s hair to the side. Pascal’s gaze flickers but doesn’t waver from Kip’s; his lips part slightly as he draws a deep breath.

Kip gives him a small smile, then trails the backs of his fingers along the side of Pascal’s face, eyes drifting down to Pascal’s mouth—jaw—throat—chest—stomach—crotch—thighs—back up to his slightly flushed face.

Their gazes meet again. Pascal looks steadily back, then looks down at Kip’s lips for several seconds, then back up. He’s asking; Kip answers by slipping his fingertips down to Pascal’s chest.

Kip leans in, Pascal tilts his head, and they kiss. Kip pushes in, climbs into Pascal’s lap. Pascal brings an arm to the small of Kip’s back, dragging his sweater up, and wraps the other arm around Kip’s butt. Kip starts a slow shift of his hips, rubbing himself against Pascal’s thighs, softly grinding his ass back against his arm. Pascal licks Kip’s top lip; Kip opens his mouth further and hums in his throat as Pascal slips his tongue inside.

Kip gropes at Pascal’s chest through his shirt and sucks on his tongue, takes Pascal’s bottom lip between his teeth when they draw back for air. And then he notices that Pascal isn’t exactly moving to reinitiate the kiss, and his touch at Kip’s back seems hesitant. Kip opens his eyes and leans a little more upright.

“Pas?” he murmurs. Pascal’s face is nicely red and looks relaxed enough, but Kip scans every feature carefully. “Are you okay?”

Pascal blinks his eyes open as well.

“Uh-huh.” His voice is huskier too.

Kip pauses, and offers him a small smile.

“We don’t have to, if you’re not in the mood,” he tells him.

“Oh—sorry,” Pascal says. “It’s...well...” He glances aside.

“What is it?” Kip puts his hands on Pascal’s shoulders.

“...I was just kind of thinking that YOU might not want to,” Pascal mumbles with a blush and a quirk of a smile, looking back over at Kip.

Kip blinks. 

“Did I seem like I didn’t want to? ...I felt like I was acting like the opposite.” 

Pascal laughs softly.

“I was sort of just...worried that you might not feel up for everything tonight,” he murmurs. “Sorry.”

Kip shrugs, smiling gently.

“I was the one who started it,” he says. “And I didn’t feel like I was making myself. I feel alright.”

“Yeah?” Pascal brushes his arm up Kip’s spine.

“Uh-huh. And, y’know, I’ll let you know if I change my mind at any point.”

Pascal nods at him with a smile and a blush.

“...But let’s just try again later, maybe,” Kip murmurs. He kisses Pascal and stands up.

“Heh...sorry.”

“It’s okay. I just know you too well—I can tell when you’re holding back.”

Pascal laughs, and Kip smooths his clothes back into place.

—

Their second try comes just a couple of hours later, when they’re settling into bed. Kip takes the same approach as before—quietly but pointedly seductive, all held in light, lingering touches, steady looks, the subtlest leans and shifts of his body. Pascal sinks back against the mattress, arms laid out beside him, a subtle, inviting arch to his back, gaze fixed on Kip. Kip gets a knee up on the edge of the bed and sinks forward into Pascal’s arms.

Pascal isn’t hesitant this time, nor does he seem to be trying to rush to compensate for before—they build a slow, heavy pace, dragging their bodies together, sliding their touch all over each other to stroke and grip and pull closer. Kip kisses him softly but deeply, and twitches at the first small moan Pascal sighs into his mouth. 

It takes a while before they’ve both gotten each other naked, but when Kip finally gets Pascal’s underpants down his legs and off his feet, he wastes no time in straddling him and pressing their dicks together. He fights to maintain a steady grind while reaching across Pascal to the drawer to put a little bit of lube in his palm—he exhales against it a few times in an attempt to warm it up, then wraps the hand around Pascal’s cock, twisting his wrist to spread the lube over every inch of his length. He rubs what remains onto his own erection, then lines them up again and wraps his grip as far around them both as he can manage.

They end up lying on their sides, face to face. Pascal has his arm snug around their cocks, working them with a spiraling pump. Kip rocks his hips with increasing energy, thrusting into the soft, coiling warmth of his suckers and the slick rub of his hot, hard cock, digging his fingers into Pascal’s shoulder and side. Soon enough Pascal puts his free arm around Kip’s back, drawing him in tight against his chest, then slides his arm down to his Kip’s butt to strengthen each thrust of his hips.

Kip is just getting worked into a more fevered level of arousal when Pascal leans against him and unspools his arm—Kip can’t help letting out a whine. He pulls out of their kiss with a small gasp.

“Pasc—“ he breathes.

“Hang on,” Pascal murmurs. He pushes Kip onto his back and presses a kiss to his throat. “Just hang on...”

He plants kisses all over Kip’s chest and shoulders and stomach while rubbing steadily at his dick; Kip shifts underneath him, growing more and more restless as Pascal drifts further down. He groans as the tip of his cock slides past Pascal’s lips, burying a hand in Pascal’s hair, digging his heels against the mattress and arching up.

Pascal sucks him eagerly, pushing the end of his arm up the center of Kip’s ass, rippling it against his skin, nudging the tip almost inside him. It’s easy for Kip to lose himself in it all.

Kip cries out loudly as he cums; Pascal softly moans as he swallows around him. And then sucks gently at Kip even after his orgasm has ebbed—Kip whimpers and covers his face, biting his lip.

“Mm...” Pascal slides him out of his mouth with one last suck to the tip. 

“C-c’mere,” Kip murmurs, pushing himself up on slightly shaky arms. “Lemme kiss you...”

Pascal catches him up in his arms and draws him in. Kip cups Pascal’s jaw and slowly caresses his chest and shoulder as he kisses him, warmly, lazily. 

“Let me...” Kip breathes, leaning into Pascal. “Lie down, babe.”

He lies down alongside him, kissing him while smoothly jerking him off. Pascal moans softly, body moving with his touch like a steady wave. Kip knows he could prolong this as much as he wants—but for tonight, he takes only a few minutes more bringing Pascal to orgasm.

Pascal gasps as his climax floods through him, body tense in Kip’s arms. Kip nuzzles his forehead against Pascal’s shoulder as he feels him slowly relax back to the mattress.

“Pasc,” he whispers. “You’re so warm.”

“Mmn...” 

Pascal slips his arm around Kip’s back, latches all the suckers on, and pulls him up to lie on top. Kip giggles and rests a hand on Pascal’s chest, puts his chin on it, and gazes fondly at Pascal’s face, softly petting his jaw. A quiet minute later, Pascal takes the hand away from his face and slides the end of his arm around its palm and fingers, holding it gently.

Kip closes his eyes and turns his head to rest his cheek against Pascal’s chest, nose and lips brushing its soft, red hair. Minute by minute, Pascal’s breathing evens and deepens, every inhale pressing against Kip’s stomach. Kip relaxes until he feels like he might start to drift off, then sighs deeply, kisses Pascal’s skin, and pushes himself up.

Their sweat, the cum between their stomachs, and Pascal’s arm on Kip’s back all have them stuck together to one degree or another, but Kip pulls away from Pascal’s body and slides his feet to the floor. Pascal whines softly, reaching towards him.

“C’mon—“ Kip laughs gently, letting Pascal’s arm corkscrew around his. “We should probably shower.”

“Okay,” Pascal says weakly. He rolls onto his side and follows Kip up.

Kip’s shower is first, steaming hot; when he gets out, Pascal offers him a cup of hot tea. When Pascal finishes his own shower, Kip lies him out on the bed again to give him a slow backscratch that melts into a lengthy massage.

—

“Kip?” Pascal’s voice floats over to Kip’s ears, soft and low.

Kip shifts under the covers, stretching his legs.

“Mmhm?” he hums.

“...I love you,” Pascal murmurs. 

He puts his arm on Kip’s chest.

Kip inhales deeply, curling his arm around Pascal’s. He pulls it closer and bows his head all the way down to kiss it.

“I love you, Pascal,” he mumbles. 

Pascal starts to slowly, softly pet Kip’s shoulder. The limb feels warmer and heavier as time goes on, until Kip is half-asleep, still faintly registering Pascal’s touch.

When he begins to dream, the first thing he imagines is being held in Pascal’s arms.

—

Kip wakes at Pascal’s alarm.

The first thing he’s aware of is where he is, and who he’s with. Then he realizes what day it is.

He stares up at the ceiling for a few seconds, then rolls over and touches Pascal’s shoulder.

“Pas,” he murmurs, shaking him gently. “Hey.”

Pascal grunts quietly and nuzzles his face against his pillow. He squeezes his eyes shut and then blinks them open.

“Hey,” Kip repeats, smiling down at him. 

“Hey,” Pascal murmurs back. He inhales deeply and rolls over, picking up his phone and shutting off the alarm.

Both of them are still and quiet for a moment.

Pascal sits up and touches Kip’s side.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks.

“Mm...I’m okay so far,” Kip answers, pushing himself upright as well.

“You don’t have to get up,” Pascal says softly. 

Kip shrugs.

“I wanna be up with you while you’re getting ready to go,” he says. “I might sleep a little while after that—I’ll see how I feel, I guess.”

“Y’know...” Pascal shifts his weight, pushing some hair behind his ear. “If...at any time today you want me to be with you, Louise agreed to be on call, so they can come in and cover for me whenever, for as long as we need.”

Kip looks at him with a soft smile.

“Thank you.”

“...I would’ve taken the day off, but I don’t want to make you feel like you HAVE to be with me.” Pascal laughs softly, dropping his head slightly. “But if you ever do want some company, just let me know and I promise I’ll be there, okay?”

“Okay. Thanks, Pascal. I really appreciate it.”

“Of course—I want to be with you whenever you want me to be.”

Kip blushes and puts his hand on Pascal’s knee, stroking it with his thumb. Then he turns the hand over to rest it there palm-up. Pascal glances down, then curls his arm around it, around the wrist, halfway up the forearm. He squeezes softly.

After a minute Pascal gently pulls Kip towards him; Kip leans over and puts his head on Pascal’s shoulder, his side against his torso.

They’re quiet and still for over ten minutes.

—

Kip stops Pascal at the door, kissing him three separate times, then holding his arm and holding his gaze in silence for a stretch of heartbeats.

He promises Pascal to let him know if he ever even wishes he could leave work to be there; not to feel guilty about it if he needs to summon him to his side.

“Let any of us know if you need us,” Pascal murmurs to him. “You know how much we all love you. Everyone would be glad to help however we can.”

Kip nods. Pascal touches his shoulder.

“If you want to be alone, that’s okay,” Pascal continues. “Just make sure to take care of yourself however you might need to. Don’t be afraid to be as kind to yourself as you can.”

“I’ll do my best, Pasc.” Kip smiles up at him. “You too, okay? Don’t stop yourself from letting me know if YOU need anything, either.”

Pascal leans in and kisses him between the eyebrows. Kip lifts his head and Pascal kisses his mouth.

“Go ahead,” Kip murmurs to him. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“I’ll be happy to see you again.” Pascal kisses him once more. “Later, Kip.”

“Bye, Pascal.”

They share a soft smile before the door closes behind Pascal, and Kip is alone.

—

He slips back into bed and lies where Pascal had slept. When he breathes deeply, he can smell Pascal. Once or twice he catches lilac in the air.

—

Kip dozes off dreamlessly, rousing half an hour later, feeling fully alert in mere moments.

For half a minute or so, he’s almost afraid—scared that something woke him up, that he’s awake because he sensed something wrong. But it’s quiet; everything seems normal. He gets up and walks around the whole apartment.

Everything’s okay.

Except his family’s been dead for almost exactly six years now. And even now, after this long, he’s figuring out how to feel.

—

It’s a scorching day. There’s few clouds providing any relief from the sunlight, which feels heavy and direct even before noon. And the humidity makes it all even less tolerable. Even with Kip’s natural additional chill, he feels hot. He rolls up the sleeves of his sweater as he walks back to the other apartment, and by the time he reaches the front door he feels a few drops of sweat trickling down his arms, chest, the back of his neck.

The air-conditioning in the lobby is like a cleansing wash of relief. He stands in it a minute before even heading for the stairs. 

He looks over at the door to Ben’s apartment. He wonders if he’s home. He wonders how he’s feeling about today.

A door opens somewhere down the hall, startling him. He hurries to the stairs and up into the apartment. It’s as still and quiet as Pascal’s—Kip strips out of his clothes without bothering to close his bedroom door, and walks into the bathroom, getting into the shower—with cool water, this time.

He cuts and files his nails as he waits for himself to dry off, shaves, rubs some of the lotion from Pascal into his arms and legs, washing his face an extra time. His face looks flushed in the mirror—he supposes he may have scrubbed a little harder than usual. He rubs some balm on his lips, mint-scented and smooth, and fixes his hair.

He brings some water to his room for his plants, then slides on a pair of shorts and a peach-orange tee, loose and thin and open-necked. He straps a pair of sandals onto his feet. He wraps Molly’s bracelet around his wrist.

He picks up his family’s picture and wraps it carefully in one of his heaviest sweaters, puts it into his bag, hefting it onto his shoulder. He puts his phone and wallet and keys into his pockets. He picks up his pot of forget-me-nots, draws a deep breath, and steps out of his room.

—

Kip keeps one arm around the plant in his lap, trying to steady it against every jolt and sway of the bus. His other hand is pressed protectively against his bag. He keeps his head down, sitting towards the back, but the stifling heat seems to distract everyone well enough from anything else.

It’s an unfamiliar bus route. It cuts through Berkley often enough, and Kip finds himself turning away from the windows as the bus passes through areas a little too close to home. 

Kip isn’t sure if anyone who gets on the bus notices him, but he isn’t looking or listening for it.

A few more miles and Kip’s stop comes up. He cradles the flowerpot to his chest as he stands, still holding his bag close to his side, and walks up the aisle with his eyes fixed straight forward. Stepping out onto the sidewalk is a breath of fresh air.

He walks slowly. He was rarely in this exact area when growing up—and never while alone, and never heading to this destination. He’s not worried about getting lost, but he’s not exactly in the mood to rush. 

The cemetery seems even more impossible to miss than he thought; apparently it had shrunk somewhat in his memory. The buildings and streets just fall away to either side of the huge, open expanse. Kip starts walking along its chest-high wall, feeling a bit of fluttering nervousness. 

He remembers which side to go to, which entrance to take. It’s definitely familiar stepping onto that first wide path—he remembers this view from the one other time, the time he made this walk with legs too tense even to shake, Eno right at his side. He felt an element of disbelief and detachment then, and wonders vaguely if he’s repeating that reaction.

He’s always had the specific location of the plot memorized. It’s made a bit easier, as it’s a section specifically for cremation burials—the space between the rows is noticeably shortened, each plot smaller. Kip comes to a stop once he sees it, no longer feeling that slight sense of detachment. He walks over instead to a large nearby tree and the shelter of its shade, looking out over the headstones.

After a minute he walks over to the grave marker closest to him. It’s a bit weathered, just an engraved name and a pair of birth and death years. He sits down and gazes at it. Wondering who they were, what they did and felt and lived, who came to visit this grave before him. He turns and looks at how many countless other people have their acknowledgment here, how many more people’s lives and stories are entangled with the ones that have been buried here, this one unremarkable cemetery in this one corner of this one town.

After a few minutes, he gets up again and continues towards their section. He goes to the northeasternmost corner, the same way he did years ago. He goes to the fourth row down. 

And stands there for a long time before he decides he might as well keep moving, because he’s never going to feel like he’s ready for this.

They’re twelve headstones in. He slowly steps past the first, then falters. 

With just a glance down the row, he thinks he already knows which is theirs. He walks slowly, slowly towards the headstone, heart beginning to pound.

As soon as the word “KAIZER” angles into view, tears spill from the corners of his eyes. He laughs at himself with a quiet huff, and takes the last few strides a bit faster, coming to kneel down in front of the several offerings of flowers laid at the foot of the stone. He sets his own flowers down within the cast of his shadow, and looks up to stare at their names, their birthdays, and the same date beneath each.

It’s hard to feel that much of a reaction to the simplicity of what the headstone bears. But having this in front of him feels significant nonetheless. The only physical remnant of what happened that he’s encountered since the funeral, save for Kent’s folder, the picture Eno later gave him, and, just earlier this year, the old documentation they uncovered in E. But none of that is quite like this—this is something that the fire itself created. The folder, the photo, the files—they’d all exist with or without the fire. But this grave wouldn’t be here.

He stares at it in silence for a minute or two, tearstains drying on his cheeks, before opening his bag and uncovering their photo. He rests its base against his lap, holding the back up, tilting the face towards himself. He looks between the headstone and the picture for a few more minutes, unmoving, unspeaking.

“...So,” he begins hesitantly. His voice sounds so much quieter out here. “I guess if you could ever hear me talking, you’d have heard me all the times I already talked to you in my room. But, I dunno. In case there’s something special about being here, I guess it’d be alright to repeat myself.”

As he speaks, he finds himself still looking between their photo and their names on the headstone—and, at times, the grass in front of it.

“...I hope you aren’t disappointed that this is the first time I’ve been back here,” he says. “It’s not because I’m not always thinking of you. I just...never really wanted to. It felt like...sort of a formal thing. I never really felt any kind of emotional connection to any of this stuff. I didn’t feel like it was that important that I be able to give you an inspiring eulogy, or pick the perfect inscription for your grave, or make this beautiful thing out of having to bury you—and so I didn’t really do any of those things. Heh. I guess maybe it might’ve seemed selfish, but...I guess it was. I couldn’t not think of myself and how I felt about it. I knew that there was no such thing as doing anything for you at that point, and I knew you weren’t here anymore, and I knew I couldn’t offer anyone closure or comfort, and I couldn’t make anything nice out of this, because...it was awful that I had to bury you at all.”

He pauses, and smiles slightly at the grave.

“I’m glad it wasn’t as hot back then as it was today,” he laughs. “That was the last thing I would’ve needed—all of us having to be miserable in the weather, too.”

His smile fades. He looks down at the flowers, and wonders who placed them there. People who’d come to Kent for help years and years ago, remembering his death all these years later, the death of the one person who listened, who offered them any real form of hope? People who’d never met either of them, but who remembers what Kent and the fire had each meant to the whole area? People who’d actually known them well?

“Sorry I never really kept in touch with your guys’ friends,” he says softly. “They came to the funeral and all, and I talked to them then, and I know sometimes people would ask Eno about me. I guess it’s okay; I never really knew any of them too well myself. I mean—heh—I’m not even in touch with most of MY friends from back then. Oh well.”

Turns out that most casual friendships—and even some closer ones—can’t quite survive your family being murdered, your sudden inheritance of the weight of your brother’s legacy, your move to another district for half a decade, your crushing grief and trauma and all the ways it changes you.

“Well, anyways, here I am now. I just felt like I didn’t have a reason not to come this year. I guess I also kind of wanted to see how I’d feel. I think I feel how you’d expect. Sad. But I’m okay. Because, like I said, I’ve always been thinking about you.”

A beautifully refreshing breeze caresses him; he glances up to see more clouds than there’d been earlier, gathering into towering heaps, yet still a ways off.

“Maybe it’s supposed to rain today,” he murmurs. “That’d be nice. It’s way too humid.”

Then he laughs quietly at himself for saying something so conversational. 

“Well...anyways. Like I said, if you can know about it you already know about it, and if you can hear me you’ve already heard me—but, well, we took care of the whole organization that killed you guys. And we found out where everyone was going missing, Kent, and why. I’m kind of glad you never had to know. But it’ll never be okay that they killed you. And...well...I don’t want to make you hear what they did to me, and what they tried to do to me...if you know, then you know. But all of that’s in the past. I’m okay. They can’t do anything like that anymore.”

He offers the picture a weak smile.

“You would’ve been really impressed with everything everyone did to help. Because, well...I’d always known I could never handle it on my own, and I’m pretty sure I was right. And...like I said, you never got to meet Wallace. I told him earlier that he would’ve liked you guys, and I bet you’d’ve got a kick out of him too. And I’ve said how...I like him, and how much he helped me, and...I’m glad I know him. I really have ended up loving him. It was only supposed to hurt me that he was sent here, but...they miscalculated about a bunch of important things. So that worked out for us, I guess.”

He looks at Kent’s face in the photo. 

“...There was this one time I heard you talking with Eno and Yumi about what you thought might be happening,” he says. “I know you didn’t ever want me to hear, but I did a lot...sorry. Anyway—you said that you thought that since there were no, like, bodies turning up anywhere, even though the disappearances where happening all over the place, you said you thought that might mean they were all being taken somewhere, and were all either still being held there or...the bodies were being disposed of in secret. And you said that maybe they were being used for something, since nobody was being blackmailed or anything. You said that was your worst-case scenario idea—that maybe humans somewhere might be taking monsters to use their bodies for some purpose they had in mind, something too horrible and cruel and ugly even for the humans in the other districts to know about. And you said it’d probably have to be a lot of humans involved, who were really, really organized, who must have had a lot of resources to keep taking and hiding so many monsters.”

He laughs flatly.

“It was scary to imagine that all back then...I knew what it must mean. And, well, I’m not exactly...glad to be able to tell you that the last theory you’d want to be true was the right one. But, still...you were right. At least I can tell you that...when you’re actually over there, they’re so sure that nobody will ever get in or out that they keep all their own evidence there on them. So we were able to get what we needed to get to show what they’d done, and burn the rest.”

He looks back at the headstone.

“I was pretty terrified to set a fire. Just because the idea of...seeing flames in front of me again, and being in a building that was on fire...I took ages before I could even strike a match. Wallace was really patient about it...I know I was just standing there and standing there, staring at the room. But I couldn’t bring myself to move until he took my hand. How about that, huh?” He laughs quietly. “Anyways...I WAS really terrified to see all that fire again. But we got out of there. Obviously.”

A cloud passes before the sun; Kip closes his eyes and sighs at the small dose of relief. He sits quietly for a minute as a breeze shifts the air, rustling quietly in the leaves and petals of the flowers.

“But that isn’t the only thing there is to my life,” he murmurs. “And it wasn’t the only thing about yours. So...the best thing I can tell you about is Pascal. We’re moving in together—maybe in just a couple months. I’m really excited, actually. I know that might seem kind of weird, since I already lived with him for nearly five years, right? But, still. And this’d be the first time we lived together when it was just the two of us. So that’ll be different. It’s already been different, just visiting him over at his apartment.”

Another cooling breeze, momentarily pushing the away the clinging humidity.

“I think Eno was teasing me about wanting to marry him the other day,” he says. “I mean, I guess he’s right. I know I want that, you know? To stay with him. And just...always be dealing with shit together, right? But I guess I feel like it’s still kind of early for that, even though we’ve been together like, most of the last seven years. I don’t want to move in with him and then propose one week later...I want things to just be like they are for a while, to give us a chance to actually settle into things and relax. And it’s not actually all that important to me whether we’re technically married or not, as long as we can be together. But I know it makes a lot of things a lot simpler. And it’s not like I’d say no if he asked me, y’know?”

He blushes and smiles a bit even to say it.

“And, you know, I guess I’m not one for elaborate formal events, because I’ve never really been interested in a whole orchestrated wedding. I don’t think I’d just want to walk in and sign the documents and walk out, but...I don’t know. I’d want it to be small and comfortable and easy. Just...us, you know? I like how relaxed and simple things feel when I’m with him. I’d want it to still feel like that. I dunno. I guess we’ll figure it out if it ever comes up, right?”

The flowers by the headstone.

“...Maybe I can’t imagine having a fancy wedding because I know you guys won’t be there,” he says with a small smile. “I know that...if it was this huge, significant thing, it’d just make it even more obvious how...I wouldn’t have any family to be there. It’d feel even more obvious that you guys are supposed be here, but aren’t. I mean, of course I’d be too happy no matter what to sit there crying for TOO long...maybe just a nice half an hour.”

He laughs a bit shakily.

“I’d love to get to reintroduce you to him now. He’s even better than I knew he was back then and I love him so much I can’t really describe it anymore. I wish you’d been able to know him for longer, at least. Having him over once or twice a month for about a year wasn’t nearly enough. And you were so busy, Kent. But the times you DID get to hang out with us—it felt really great even then, and those are some of my favorite memories from that last year.”

He gets to at least know that his family really was earnestly happy for him—that they knew how good this was for him—it was something he’d never presumed he would get to share with them, even while completely ignorant of what was about to happen.

“Well...it’s the nice stuff that makes me most upset that you’re not here, you know? That’s what I wish I could share with you. Fuck all that shit in E—you guys should be alive because you should still get to be alive. I should be the one who’s getting to hear about the fuckin’ awesome shit going on in YOUR lives. You deserved so much more—you and everyone else they killed—and I deserved more, and so does everybody who had someone taken from them.”

He feels the tense heat in his throat and sits quietly for a moment while waiting for it to subside.

“...I still feel like there really isn’t anything to say. Like, I can’t ever fit what I wanna say in any one speech, you know? There’s no way to...manage to just say everything I’d wanna say to you if you were here. I can’t even say everything you mean to me. I can’t describe you. I can’t...ever figure out what I want to say. I’m sorry.”

He offers a weak smile.

“I just...want to say that I loved you so much. ...I still love you. I miss you so much. I think of you every day.”

He laughs quietly and scratches his arm.

“I guess that’s what I came here to say. I love you.”

He stares at the photo a moment more before carefully wrapping it up again and returning it to the bag. He looks down at the forget-me-nots in front of him, and carefully plucks off two small sprigs from the edges. He leans in carefully and lays them right at the foot of the stone beneath the other collections of flowers, nestling them amidst the soft blades of grass. He sits back and gazes at the tiny flowers for a minute. A heavier breeze lifts his hair and slips under his shirt to caress his stomach and back. 

He bites his lip and tentatively lifts a hand. It hovers between his chest and the headstone a moment before he closes the distance and touches the surprisingly cool surface for the first time. He slowly runs his fingertips across the engraved letters. He slides his hand up to rest on the smoothed top.

After some hesitation, he crawls forward and sits beside the stone, leaning across it, head resting against his hands, staring at the flat, grey surface. 

“...I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I’m so sorry.”

He sighs and puts his forehead to his knuckles, nose brushing stone.

“Sorry,” he whispers again. “I love you.”

With a deep breath, he can almost smell the flowers, sweet and fresh. Tears wet his lashes with the exhale.

He stays bowed across the headstone in silent and immobile mourning for forty minutes. The heat doesn’t bother him.

—

Kip’s skin still feels warm when he returns to the apartment; he knows he’s likely to have new freckles by the end of the day. He places the flowers back on top of his dresser, then returns the picture to its place beside them. 

He washes his face and puts on a fresh layer of deodorant, then heads right back out.

He takes a route that lets him walk only a few dozen feet along Berkley before slipping inside the door to Pascal’s shop. Pascal is talking with someone at the register; Kip hangs back a moment, surveying this week’s window display. 

He flinches to hear the customer walking towards him—he quickly steps further inside and around towards the counter.

Pascal has already spotted him, sending him a bright grin.

“Hey, Kip.”

“Hey.” Kip smiles brightly back. “I’m actually here to buy something today.”

“Oh—well, then.”

“And I’m here to say hi, and ask how you’re doing, of course,” Kip laughs.

“I’ve been doing pretty okay here,” Pascal answers. “It was hot this morning, huh? It’s a little better now, but still...”

“Heh, yeah...I took another shower just because I got covered in sweat walking home.”

“Oh god, and you’d had that sweater, hadn’t you?”

“Yeah. That wasn’t helpful. I’m in my fun summery outfit now, do you like it?”

“You look really hot. I mean—hot like, gorgeous and super sexy, not hot like you seem uncomfortable—“

Kip laughs again.

“I got you. Thanks. YOU look plenty handsome in that shirt.”

“Oh...” Pascal adjusts the neckline with a pleased blush. “Heh—“

He beams at Kip and brushes some of his hair behind his ear.

“You know,” he says, glancing down. “I was wondering if you think you’d want to go out somewhere tonight? If you wanna stay home, that’s fine. And—obviously, you don’t have to say right now, but if you think you might be interested...”

“Oh....yeah, I might be,” Kip answers. “I don’t really have anything planned, and it kinda feels like, well, that going out would be as good as anything else, really. Did you have anything in mind?”

“Mm...maybe a surprise, if you’re up for it,” Pascal says. “I promise it wouldn’t be anything too, like, loud or demanding or anything like that kind of stuff.”

“Hmm.” Kip tilts his head with a slight smile. “Interesting proposal.”

Pascal giggles, bringing an arm up to his mouth.

“Well, while I’m considering it...” Kip continues, putting his hand on his hip. “I don’t suppose you know a place I could find a honey lemon and lavender blend, and a hibiscus tea? Because I’d love two of each.”

“Oh, wow, I specifically have both,” Pascal laughs. “Want me to show you?”

“Yes, please.”

Pascal leads him over to one shelf, then another, gathering up four containers in his arm.

“Perfect, thank you.” Kip slips his hands onto Pascal’s butt and rises up onto his toes to kiss him; he feels Pascal’s smile.

He counts as close to exact change as he can manage while Pascal puts the tins into a paper handlebag for him. Kip takes the teas and says he’ll text Pascal if any updates about the evening arise. Pascal squeezes Kip’s hand and offers him a soft smile. Kip returns the gestures.

—

Kip stands in the middle of lobby, heart beating a touch harder than usual, staring at Ben’s door again. 

He might want to chide himself for being so pathetic and cowardly as to avoid talking to Ben—except he’s also trying to be kind and gentle to himself today.

But he has to talk to Ben at least today, the first anniversary during which they’re actually living in the same district. The same building, actually. And he WANTS to let Ben know he’s at least aware of him—he’s rarely felt bold enough, rarely thought the situation was private and appropriate enough, to mention this intensely personal, traumatic connection they have. He might always be awkward and inadequate about expressing simple concepts like “I like you even though I don’t think I’ve ever shown it that well” or “I care about you, actually, and always have” or “I wish I’d ever done anything helpful for you,” but at the very least he has to come through on this one issue. He needs to be capable of looking Ben in the face on this one day of the year and managing to express something that approximates consideration and concern.

And what does he have to be nervous about, anyhow? 

Ben doesn’t seem to feel a need to respond to Kip liking Wallace, or any of the complications he’s generated because of his crush. And Kip is glad to leave the matter alone if Ben is.

And lately Ben hasn’t exactly seemed to be displaying those signals of aversion to Kip. It’s kind of hard to forget about the months and months in which he did, or about the time when Kip tried to reach out and Ben not only shut him down but made it clear that he didn’t have much interest in Kip one way or another.

And maybe Kip’s still a little bitter about that, even if it IS preferable that Ben feel indifferent towards Kip rather than hurt by him.

Maybe Kip’s only ever been a reminder of Yumi’s death to Ben, but there’s no way that Ben hasn’t already been thinking of her all day. If he’s ever going to have immunity from any unpleasantness Ben associates with him, it’s now.

And what can it hurt to let Ben know he’s thinking of him. Short and simple.

There’s a fair chance Ben isn’t even in his apartment right now, and Kip can simply leave a note. Even simpler.

But even if it is a little awkward, he has to do this. This isn’t about being best friends, or even getting along. It’s a basic acknowledgement that he owes him.

Kip bites his lower lip and tightens the fist holding the bag. He drops his gaze to the carpet, frowning a little.

There’s nothing to be afraid of. Despite everything, he’s always liked Ben. And Ben is a deeply thoughtful, caring person—Kip’s always known that. Ben knows what this day means for Kip, too, and even if he doesn’t want to see Kip, even if somehow Kip actually manages to make Ben’s day worse, Ben isn’t likely to say anything about that, and will politely weather the encounter.

Kip isn’t exactly going to let this be drawn-out and painful for either of them. 

...Okay. 

He takes a deep breath, lets it out.

He walks down the hall to Ben’s door. He knocks, not-too-loud, not-too-quiet, three times.

He goes to slip the handle of the bag onto the doorknob, and it swings away from him.

Kip looks up at Ben. Before he can stop himself, he glances over and sees Wallace looking back at him from the couch on the other side of the room. 

Kip blushes ferociously and looks back to Ben, immediately resolved not to take notice of Wallace again.

“Hello,” Ben says quietly.

He looks as well as can be expected—there’s a little extra weariness to his typically stoic expression, the kind that comes from something beyond tiredness. For a moment, Kip can do nothing more than wordlessly blink up at him.

He draws himself up a bit, trying to recover himself.

“U-um...” He sinks his voice to a murmur. “Sorry to just show up like this, but...I...”

He lifts the bag to his chest.

“I brought you some tea from Pascal’s,” he says. “It’s...um, Molly mentioned your favorites before, so I hope they haven’t changed, or you won’t get sick of them.”

Ben glances down at the bag, then back up at Kip, expression opened a bit towards something like bemusement.

“I know you—probably already have plenty of your own,” Kip says, feeling himself blushing harder. “I just...wanted to bring you something today.”

Ben shifts his weight slightly, glancing aside.

“I have to tell you that I...don’t have a way to return the favor right now,” he says, voice lowered as well. “Unless you’d like a box of cereal, or something.”

Kip shakes his head quickly.

“You don’t have to. It’s...I wanted to do something for you. I wanted to let you know that I—I’m thinking of you, and I hope you’re doing alright, and if I can do anything for you that’s...actually helpful, I’d be more than glad to...”

Ben nods slowly.

“Thank you.”

Kip flickers a smile and moves the bag an inch or two further from his chest, and Ben takes hold of the handle as well. Ben’s skin is warm; Kip looks up at his face as the transfer brushes their fingers together, letting go slowly. 

“Um...” His voice falters and comes out as scarcely more than an breath. 

His eyes meet Ben’s, but he surprises himself by holding the other man’s gaze. He’s nervous, but it’s been so long since he’s genuinely interacted with Ben, and now that he’s in front of him it feels more important than ever to let Ben know he really does care enough to offer support—in whatever small form Ben might want from him.

“Uh—“ he starts again, more audibly this time, “I want to say that—um—“

For a fleeting, absurd moment, he feels an urge to take Ben’s warm hand, gently grasp his wrist and slide his fingers down into Ben’s palm. His own hand twitches. 

He shifts half a step closer instead, keeping eye contact. It feels easier than it has in ages.

“I’ve...been thinking,” he murmurs. “That, however happy we might ever be with the way our lives are now...we still had to lose our own lives when they died. And...we should’ve gotten to live that life. I know that that’s true, and I know that it’s true that...because we didn’t get to, we have these new lives instead. And we can be happy in them, too. And that doesn’t change the fact that they never should’ve died. Which doesn’t change that we can still live here and learn how to be happy anyways. It’s all true at once. And...it’s hard, but...”

He does finally look away then.

“...I know you know about all this as much as I do,” he continues softly. “I know that...we weren’t ever dealing with exactly the same things as each other, either. I think I’m just trying to say that...it feels like this year is supposed to have given us all more closure, but even if it has, it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Even if we get to move on from certain things now. That’s how I’ve been feeling. That I miss them as much as ever, and I think that’s just the way it is. And it hurts. And that’s alright. And it even hurts worse when I’m happier than I’ve been in a long time. And that’s supposed to happen too, and it’s alright.”

He stops and looks back up at Ben, and between his realization of how much he’s been saying and the sight of the subtly increased intensity in Ben’s expression, his blush makes an electric resurgence.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “I’m just—“

He meets Ben’s eyes again. Thinking of what to say now is as impossible as it had just been effortless.

He again feels the impulse to reach out and take hold of Ben’s hand. 

And, for a moment, another impulse comes to him—one that he’s only ever previously felt as echos compared to the way it strikes him now.

The noise of Wallace setting his phone down makes Kip flinch. He breaks eye contact at once, flushing and stepping back.

“Sorry,” he says again. His smile is fleeting and automatic. “I’ll stop holding you up. Hope you like the tea.”

“Oh—thanks.” Ben glances down at the bag.

Kip steps back again.

“I’ll be around,” he tells Ben. “See you later.” 

“Hey, Kip?” Ben’s voice is still lowered.

“...Yeah?” Kip feels thoroughly caught off guard.

“Are YOU doing alright?” 

Kip blinks, and nods.

“Okay.”

Neither speaks a moment.

“I’ll...go ahead and get out of your way now,” Kip says.

And maybe what throws him off most of all is seeing a small but almost-warm smile from Ben.

“You’re not in the way,” Ben tells him.

Kip is momentarily speechless.

“...Thanks,” he finally murmurs. “I’m glad you’re okay. I-I’ll see you around.”

“Alright. Bye, Kip.”

“Bye.”

He’s somewhat on autopilot as he walks back down the hall, hearing the door close softly behind him.

“Oh my god,” he breathes to himself. “Fucking hell.”

—

Kip texts Pascal that he thinks he’d like to go out with him later after all. And asks if afterwards Pascal might be able to stay the night at their apartment.

Pascal texts him back quickly, telling Kip that he’ll probably meet him at his building around an hour after the store closes, and that he should bring socks, warm pants, a good jacket, and maybe a scarf or hat. And says that he’ll be sure to bring along his overnight supplies.

Kip frowns slightly at the answer but doesn’t question it.

—

Kip drinks two tall glasses of iced water, lies down to attempt a nap, and has a drink of cold lemonade when he gets up again. 

He wonders if someone else is visiting their grave right now. If anyone had done so earlier in the day before him. 

He wonders if this has made him any better prepared to visit the garden where their house had been. It would surely be poetic to bring flowers from the site of the fire to place on their grave. But he’s not exactly up for a second venture today.

Instead he stays at home for a while. And does nothing particularly special. He makes himself a late lunch, watching videos on his phone while he eats. He goes back into his room, strips his clothes off to avoid growing too hot, lies back on his bed, and masturbates. He makes a mental note to buy some more lube sooner or later. He puts his clothes back on and vacuums his floor. He momentarily considers opening his blog, even writing a post, then thinks better of both. 

He goes into the kitchen to wash his dishes from lunch, and ends up washing dishes until Molly comes back from work.

She asks how he is, and he asks how she is, and she says she’s hot and wants to take a shower. And then she does.

Kip goes into his room and sits on the edge of his bed. He isn’t quite sure what, if anything, he wants to do before meeting up with Pascal later. 

Right now he just wants to enjoy the quiet.

It stays that way until Molly knocks on his door to tell him she’s heading down to visit Ben for a while, and might still be there when Roy gets home. Kip says okay, and that Ben seemed to be holding up a little while earlier.

Kip goes back to washing dishes until Roy comes in and drops everything to embrace Kip, softer than usual, but just as encompassing. Kip assures him that he’s been doing well enough, and says Molly is downstairs with Ben, and asks how work went today. Ultimately, hearing the entire answer takes almost the next full hour.

Kip starts to keep an eye on the clock at six. He gives it twenty minutes or so, then calls Eno.

First he firmly and repeatedly clarifies that he’s calling because he wants to, not because he needs to. Then he says he wanted to call because he wants to know how Eno’s doing. Eno says he’s glad he’s called, because he’s been a bit distracted all day thinking of him. Kip asks if he doesn’t give himself the day off of work, and Eno says that he doesn’t hold any appointments, but works anyways. Kip tells him he’s unbelievable, and they laugh.

“I went to the cemetery around noon,” Kip tells him. “I wish I’d waited just a couple more hours when it was cooler—it was SO hot.”

“The cemetery?” Eno repeats. Kip can tell he’s restraining some of his surprise. 

“Uh-huh. To visit where they were buried, you know.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah. There was flowers there already, actually. From multiple people. I dunno who. Nobody left notes. And I’d’ve probably felt weird reading them if they had, even though it’s my family—heh—“

“How’d it go? Were you okay?”

“Yeah. I was nervous on the way over, just mostly because I didn’t want anyone to notice me, because I...it’d really annoy me for something like this to be passed around, just because I’m going outside on a certain day, y’know? I mean, I know there’d be a reason, but still. I haven’t been back there since we buried them, and I...think I just thought that I finally should.”

“It’s okay that you didn’t. Didn’t go back there before, I mean.”

“Heh—yeah, thanks. I haven’t gone to where the house used to be, either, and I’m kinda curious, but I don’t feel like I HAVE to. It’s not like I owe anybody anything. But Pascal says it’s a garden now. He says he hasn’t gone there either, but he heard it’s, like, some community garden thing.”

“Oh. Hmm.”

“Yeah...I have sort of...mixed feelings.” He laughs. “I mean, it sounds kind of nice, and I think I’m glad they didn’t just put another house there, and...I guess if you’re going to put up some kind of memorial, a garden is a really nice one. But at the same time, it’s like, for ME to go there...it would be so weird. It’s like, this public place, now. And I wouldn’t wanna be seen as like, making some statement, just by visiting.”

“Well, I at least doubt anybody could misinterpret the situation too badly,” Eno says. 

“I know,” Kip sighs. “It’s just...the same as it was at the cemetery. I didn’t want anyone to realize I was there because I wanted it to feel, like...private. Now more than even before I’m in this weird place where I’m, like, some quasi-public figure.”

“‘Quasi-public’...” Eno repeats under his breath.

“Shut up, you know what I’m talking about—“ Kip laughs in spite of himself. 

“Yeah, I do.” Eno laughs too.

“It’s like...even seeing flowers from other people was a weird feeling. Like...my own family’s grave wasn’t even private. And I’m not mad at people for visiting it, and I thought it was sweet, and I like knowing that people are still thinking of them too, but it’s like...still. It makes me think like I’M intruding somehow. Like maybe I don’t even belong in that space anymore.”

“You absolutely do,” Eno says. “You, more than anyone.”

Kip smiles softly.

“It’s just...always been strange to feel like I’m sharing them, I guess,” he murmurs. “Like, being recognized and asked to pass things on to Kent was weird enough when he was alive. But after the fire, everything having to do with them became that half-public, half-private mess. Including me. And including how I felt about it. I bet people thought it was strange when I didn’t even cry when we were burying them.”

“Aw, crying is just what’s most expected,” Eno says. “But not being able to cry is common enough, and people know it, they just have no idea what else to do if they feel like there’s no reason to pat your back or offer you a tissue, or something. Not to mention crying lets people feel polite about giving you a bubble.”

Kip laughs.

“Besides, everyone who was there knew you were upset. And, you know...everyone in the area knew you’d been upset, too.”

“Mmn. I cried this time, though.”

“What—you mean in the cemetery?”

“Yeah. I cried a pretty long time. Maybe I went back there because I knew I WOULD cry about it, since I hadn’t done it the first time, ha.”

“Well, as long as it’s what you wanted to do...”

“It was, and I don’t regret it or anything. I don’t feel like it was some revelation or something, and you know how I’ve never really...felt that connected to stuff like their headstone. I kind of treat their picture like the way some people feel about graves, I guess, since there’s only the one. But I’m kind of glad I went. I wanted to do something, and it wasn’t like it was too much, or anything.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“...Hey,” Eno says after a brief pause. “I think I should have something ready to bring you when I visit.”

“Ooh, what is it?” Kip flops back in his bed. “Also, you don’t have to give me anything. I don’t have anything amazing in store to give you, except a piece of my mind. And my company. And I’ll probably try to cook something fancy.”

Eno laughs.

“Well, it’s...sort of best if you’re actually seeing it,” Eno says. “And I’m not even certain I’ll have it ready. So I don’t want to tell you what it is and then end up not having it. But, if I do, I promise you’ll like it.”

“You just wanna mess with me, don’t you?” Kip huffs.

“Ha—yes.”

They talk for another twenty minutes, more about each other than about anything to do with fires or E or grieving.

—

By the time he gets off the phone, he has a couple of texts from Pascal, one saying he’s heading back to the apartment, the next asking Kip if meeting at seven still works for him, does he think?

Kip rushes to send his reply: “sorry abt the delay! i was on the phone with eno. not for any bad reasons. yes, 7 still works. is it still good for you?”

A minute later: “It’s OK! Seven still works for me. I’ll text you when I’m omw”

So Kip has about a quarter of an hour in which he puts the clothes Pascal suggested to bring into a bag and freshens up a bit. Molly returns partway through, so Kip gets to tell both her and Roy directly that he’s heading out for a while with Pascal, and they’ll both be coming back here later.

“Is Ben still okay?” he asks as he massages lotion onto his elbows again. “I mean, not like I’m any use if he isn’t, but I was just wondering. Because of, you know, the date.”

“The date?” Roy echoes, raising an eyebrow. “Did something happen with him and Wallace?”

Kip can’t help but exhale a laugh even as he reflexively flushes. 

“I meant the calendar date,” he clarifies. 

“Oh—“ Roy blushes too, bringing his hand to his forehead. “Jeez, I knew that. Sorry.”

Molly stifles a laugh too.

“Ben’s doing okay,” she confirms. “He mentioned you stopping by, Kip.”

“Yeah...” Kip rubs the remainder of the lotion into his wrists, looking away. “I was a little weird about it, I’m sure, but I wanted to be sure to say SOMETHING to him.”

“Don’t worry—he didn’t say he thought you were weird.”

“Oh, well...good.” His phone hums in his pocket, to his relief. “Oh—I think I have to go down to meet Pascal—“

He checks the screen—it’s ten till seven, and Pascal is saying he’s heading over.

Kip excuses himself to wash his hands and pee and wash his hands again and run a comb through his hair, then grab everything and head out the door to go wait in the lobby. A few monsters come and go, but Kip occupies himself with his phone, and nobody tries to get his attention.

Kip goes outside as soon as he gets the “I’m here” text, spotting Pascal on the corner and waving to him. Even from that distance, he can see Pascal’s expression light up as he waves back.

Pascal slows as Kip strides forward until they meet halfway, and Pascal pivots around to lead them back the way he came.

“Are you gonna tell me where we’re going, or just take me there?” Kip asks, smirking slightly. 

“I’ll just take you there,” Pascal says. “But, since you’re not getting any warning, you can back out once we’re there if you don’t like the idea. We can do something else. It’s become kind of a nice evening for a walk.”

“Oh, yeah... Actually, it seems like it might rain?”

“Hmm.” Pascal looks up at the partly clouded sky. “Maybe. I didn’t think about that.”

“Are we gonna be outside?”

Pascal just smiles at him.

—

Kip stands inside the entrance of ice rink, clutching the strap of his bag. 

“Is this okay?” Pascal asks.

Kip hesitates, then nods.

“Yeah,” he murmurs.

“Have you ever been ice skating?” 

“No...I’ve been rollerskating a few times with friends, but it’s been ages.”

He slowly begins to descend the steps. Pascal follows.

Kip is a little nervous—he’s not even sure he can get onto the ice without immediately falling on his ass. But he goes into a bathroom and changes into the warmer clothes, and by the time he returns Pascal has their pairs of skates. They’re surprisingly light—Kip slips his on and knots the laces securely, then helps Pascal do the same. 

“Thanks.” Pascal stands and takes the hoodie around his waist and slides it on, shaking out his hair as he tugs it into place. “Ready to give this a shot?”

“Yeah.” 

Kip stands up with some trepidation, but finds that his balance on the blades and their traction with the carpeted floor lend surprising stability. He looks over to the ice, at the several groups and individuals circling it, and winds his scarf securely around his throat. 

“Alright,” he says to himself, and heads forward.

—

Kip clutches the wall as he sets his second foot onto the ice, but the surface isn’t quite as slick as he expects. He slowly removes one hand, straightens up, and pushes forward, gliding smoothly. He pushes forward again, and again.

Before he knows it, he’s reached a respectable, leisurely speed, trailing his fingers along the wall as he takes the first curve, reaching the second stretch.

He looks over to see Pascal opening the gate onto the rink. He’s looking around, and waves as soon as he spots Kip, then twists the tip of his arm in his version of a thumbs-up. Kip laughs and returns the gesture.

Pascal also seems to be thoroughly comfortable on the ice, casually skating his way over with a confidence and speed that makes it clear this isn’t his first attempt. And then he draws up alongside Kip, slowing down to match his more tentative pace.

“Are you secretly an amazing ice skater?” Kip laughs.

“Nah. I’ve just done this before, for fun.”

“Well...you don’t have to hang back with me the whole time. I don’t think I’m gonna be able to skate as fast as you can.”

“Why don’t you try letting me hold your hand?” Pascal asks. “That should be easier than keeping hold of the wall.”

Kip blushes slightly.

“I-I’ll just try not to hold onto anything, and see if I fall,” he says.

He takes his hand off the wall—wobbles slightly for a nervous moment—and keeps his balance. He keeps pushing himself forward, and even tries to lengthen each stride a bit more.

“Nice!” Pascal says. “Like, not even five minutes out here and you’re already skating without any support!”

“I guess cuz I already kinda know how to skate,” Kip says, trying not to be too pleased with this humble achievement. “But don’t speak too soon—I know I’m gonna fall at some point here.”

He does, but only after fifteen minutes of relatively smooth sailing and a gradual increase in speed. His mind starts to wander a little as he feels himself getting the hang of things, and somehow his foot catches behind him and he stumbles and plummets over forward. 

He catches himself with a hand and a forearm.

“Oh—“ Pascal brakes at once, sweeping around to face him. “You okay?”

Kip laughs and gets his feet underneath himself again.

“Yeah. At least I finally got that first one out of the way.”

He takes Pascal’s extended arm; Pascal spirals it up past his elbow and pulls him right back up.

“Thanks.” Kip grins at him.

“No problem. Are you good to keep going?”

“Yeah, I might’ve got a bruise or something, but no big deal. I’m kinda less nervous now that I’ve finally actually fallen. I knew I would at least once.”

“Yeah?” Pascal untwines their arms; Kip takes hold of the wall.

“Uh-huh. Now I can be brave. Watch this.”

And Kip turns around, fixes his gaze on the opposite wall, and pushes off.

He puts speed into every push of his back foot, and is going five times faster than he was before when he messily attempts to brake and grabs the other wall as he smacks into it, laughing breathlessly.

Moments later Pascal skates up beside him, beaming.

“That was beautiful,” he tells Kip. “You’re the best.”

Kip lifts Pascal’s arm and kisses the back of the tip.

“You wanna try something?” Pascal says, slowly gliding around him. 

“Sure.”

A minute later and Kip is at the opposite end of the rink from Pascal, facing him across the distance, bracing himself against the wall.

“Go for it!” Pascal calls, laughter in his voice.

Kip does, launching himself forward again. He builds up speed until he’s going as fast as before—maybe a little bit faster—and he loves the feeling.

Maybe he DOES feel a little flicker of apprehension as he zooms closer and closer to Pascal, but he keeps himself on a straight, unflinching course, and Pascal adjusts his angle, and Kip lifts his hands and holds them out and—

Pascal catches hold of his wrists and they’re connected and Kip bursts into laughter as he swings around, and Pascal swings around, and they’re swept together into this tight, wild circle, and Kip feels like he might fall and that only makes him laugh louder, and Pascal pulls him in closer and their orbit gets even faster and more exhilarating until Kip is right up against Pascal’s chest and Pascal gracefully extends a leg to help drag them to a smoothly slowing stop.

Head spinning slightly, Kip wraps his arms around Pascal’s waist and looks up at him; he’s already smiling back.

—

When they step outside a couple of hours later, it’s raining lightly. Kip is still constantly on the verge of laughter, and that feels so strange considering that in another couple hours it’ll be exactly six years past when the fire started, but also feels completely normal and natural considering that he’s just had a fun evening with Pascal.

“Ahh, my legs are already feeling a little sore,” Kip groans, trying to stretch them as he walks.

“Yeah, mine too...that’ll happen,” Pascal sighs. “I guess we should limit ourselves to, what, five or six rounds tonight?”

Kip laughs. 

“Aw, what’s the point of holding back if we’re gonna be sore either way?” He laughs again at his joke.

Pascal drapes his arm around Kip’s shoulders just as there’s a gentle, distant rumble of thunder.

“Oh,” Kip breathes, looking up at the cloudy night sky. Tiny droplets fleck the lenses of his glasses. “...I like this.”

“What about it?”

Kip puts his hand at the small of Pascal’s back, scratching it softly.

“Being out in a nighttime thundershower with you,” he answers. “It sort of makes it feel like the world is really big. But in a good way.”

Pascal’s arm squeezes his shoulders.

“I think the weather is apologizing for earlier,” Pascal murmurs. “I hope we get to fall asleep to this.”

“Yeah, so do I.”

This makes Kip think about how he’s not going to be able to fall asleep before it’s a quarter after eleven. Which makes him tell Pascal about visiting his family’s grave for the first time—the awkward bus ride through too-familiar territory, the flowers that were both touching and offputting, his own simple offering of sprigs of flowers he keeps next to their pictures and words he doesn’t feel reached them any better than they probably already don’t, and a solid half an hour of tears. 

Pascal doesn’t seem at all surprised by Kip suddenly speaking about his family. Kip supposes he’s been assuming it could come up at any time, but leaving it fully to Kip’s discretion. He appreciates it.

The rain starts to pick up right as they get to the building, as if it had been holding off just for them.

Upon entering the apartment, Roy and Molly immediately inform them that they’ve made a triple batch of chocolate chip cookies, and so to help themselves to as many as they like.

There really is a ridiculous amount of cookies, but it doesn’t really surprise Kip. He can guess that the two of them wanted to make enough to be able to bring some to a bunch of different people. And he likes that there are so many because he ends up eating about a dozen himself, surprisingly hungry after all the exercise. It goes well with the soft thunderstorm outside.

When they’re in bed, Pascal lays Kip on his back, then starts kissing him. On the neck and chest and shoulders first, then alternating in kisses to the ears, then adding his lips and cheeks and nose. Each kiss is soft and slow. 

The brightness that had made Kip laugh so much is still there, but it feels like it’s changed into a glow—less thrilling, but warmer, and it’s sitting low in his chest, protecting him from his increasing nervousness as the night gets quieter and closer.

Pascal kisses Kip’s jaw, then kisses his lips, and Kip kisses him back. So Pascal keeps kissing his lips, and Kip moves his hands up Pascal’s arms.

They lie side by side, face to face, after kissing slow and warm for about half an hour. Kip doesn’t want to check the time, because the exact moment doesn’t matter. It’s not as though this is some new year’s eve countdown. But he can tell it’s close. Maybe even now.

“Do you want to do anything?” Pascal breathes against the quiet. “If you want to be alone a bit, I can do that, you know.”

“No, I want to be with you,” Kip murmurs back. “I think just lying here is fine.”

It is.

—

Kip does get woken up by a nightmare. But it’s not about the fire, and he’s not afraid.

It’s about E, and he’s furious.

It takes a few seconds before he realizes that the touch he’s trying to fight off is from the blankets of his own bed, and the person who he’s demanding get off of him right now is Pascal.

He stops, and realizes other things, like that he’s sweaty but cold too, and he remembers what night it is. He supposes he can’t be too disappointed. Even if it’s been ages since he had a dream that made him try to fight off Pascal in his half-asleep confusion.

“Sorry,” he whispers, trying to take deep breaths and push the remnants of the dream out of his head. “I’m sorry, Pasc, did I hit you?”

“Not really. It’s alright,” Pascal murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.”

He turns on the dim setting of his bedside lamp and looks at Pascal, his sleep-drawn features, his messy hair, his soft smile. 

“Sorry,” he repeats. He reaches out and touches Pascal’s chest. “I hate to wake you up...”

Pascal lifts Kip’s hand, placing it against the side of his face, and when he turns his head to kiss the heel of his palm, the movement makes Kip’s fingertips drag against the scruff of Pascal’s jaw.

“It’s not a problem,” Pascal says quietly.

Kip supposes it really isn’t, compared to his sleeping issues from six years ago. He really gave Pascal something to deal with then. And here he is, all this time later, after everything, sharing Kip’s little bed, still nothing but patient after another of countless bad dreams.

Kip smiles at him, and sits up, and gently rolls Pascal onto his back, brushes his hair out of his face, and pecks a kiss to his lips.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom for a second,” he says. “Be right back.”

He goes and washes his face and pees just to steady himself, squinting at everything through the harsh light above the mirror. He then soaks a washcloth with warm water and holds it across his face, absorbing the heat, breathing slow through the cloth. 

Pascal is still awake when Kip returns.

“You okay?” he mumbles as Kip climbs back into bed.

“Yes. Thank you.” Kip lays his forearm across Pascal’s chest and puts his own head down against the pillow. 

He listens to the stillness to reassure himself that everything’s fine. Pascal snuggles a bit closer, and that makes him feel even better.

—

Kip wakes with Pascal the next morning. He immediately recalls all his appreciation for everything Pascal’s done for him in the past half day, and everything Pascal’s ever done for him, and how much he loves Pascal even independently of this. He decides he wants to make Pascal feel good, and help him wake up, and give him a nice start to the day.

“How much time do you have?” Kip asks, stifling a yawn.

“Um...about fifty minutes,” Pascal estimates.

“Mm...and the store’s about ten minutes from here...”

“If I go back to sleep now, I might not wanna get up at all,” Pascal laughs, rubbing his eyes.

“That’s not exactly what I had in mind,” Kip says coyly. “If you gave me ten minutes, do you think you could be ready in thirty?”

“Just need to...shower and get dressed and...maybe eat something...” Pascal murmurs, looking at him with slowly unfolding comprehension. 

Kip smiles at him and pats his thigh.

“I’ll be back in a second,” he says. 

He slides out of bed and goes into the bathroom for a few cups of water. He pauses to catch his breath, then drinks a few more.

He returns to the bedroom, where Pascal already seems much more alert than before, and kisses him, and squeezes him through his briefs, and wastes no time in getting him further erect. He drops to his knees and gets all the clothes out of the way and blows Pascal, and Pascal likes it well enough to almost collapse to the floor partway through. 

—

It’s Kip’s third day off in a row. For him, the anniversary is the day the deaths actually happened—both his family’s AND Yumi’s, which had actually occurred a couple of hours prior, though the chronology hadn’t been determined until a good while later. But most people found out the news the next morning, and treated that as the date that things had happened.

Kip doesn’t. But he still remembers where he was and what he was doing six years ago today, the morning after the fire. And he knows that the event’s prominence in the public consciousness is going to be more heightened today than it was even yesterday. So he’s glad to spend the day inside.

He does. And he doesn’t accomplish anything impressive. He does a load of laundry, and washes the dishes from his and Pascal’s breakfast, and that’s it. He takes multiple naps, messes around, relaxes. He’s not sure if he’s just trying to take it easy, of it this is a miscalibration in his grief in which he’s experiencing his depression without feeling it, or maybe he’s just having a slow day independently of anything else.

He doesn’t want to go out, so he doesn’t.

When both the other two are home late that afternoon, he remembers to finally let them know what Pascal had said—that he thought moving in together in about a month and a half ought to work out fine. They seem enthused enough to hear this, so Kip figures he ought to stop worrying about this being an insult or imposition to them.

Kip makes them a simple dinner of mostly remixed leftovers, and a little while afterwards Molly goes downstairs to stop by and see Ben for a minute. Kip is left with Roy, which is the first time all day that he notices he’s feeling kind of quiet. But he does his best to keep his quietness from becoming a huge deal.

“Roy?” he says.

“What’s up?”

“How are you doing?”

“Oh, I think I’m doing pretty good, thanks.”

“That’s good. How are you doing?” He alters his tone and inflection to make the question broader.

“Heh—I’m doing really okay. Things feel like they’re good. Like maybe they’re even a little better. Do YOU think so?”

Kip smiles and raises his shoulders in a long shrug, wandering over to sit beside Roy on the couch.

“I think so, yeah,” he murmurs. “But I feel better about things when I hear you guys say you feel good about things, too.”

“Aw...” Roy laughs.

Kip takes his hand, which delights Roy, but when Kip keeps holding it, Roy slowly smoothes over and lets them sit together quietly, and the quietness isn’t a huge deal, but in the moment it still gets to feel important.

—

Kip talks to their picture before bed. It’s mostly just I love you, I love you guys so much, I miss you, I love you, I love you, I’m thinking about you, I love you so much, you should be here, I love you, I miss you, I’m sorry.

He doesn’t cry that much, but he doesn’t care how much he does or doesn’t. They were murdered, and he’s not going to give a shit if he cries too many tears over  
it, or is dry-eyed in situations he’d be expected to cry, or if his crying is ever inconveniently timed or difficult to deal with. 

I love you.

I miss you.

I promise I love you so much. I loved you so, so much, and I still do. I could never stop. I won’t.

I wish you were here.

—

He feels strange going in to work the next day. It’s just a six hour shift, and he’s done by four. And he can’t exactly decide what’s strange about it. Sometimes coming in after several days off is a little jarring. Sometimes it’s just small disruptions in the usual routine that impart a sense of tension. Sometimes a day just feels wrong from the beginning.

He does wonder if it’s because he’s now on the other side of six years. It does feel a little more uncomfortable to think about now than it had leading up to the anniversary. But that’s just how it can be. Some days it’s harder to handle. 

And, if he’s honest with himself, he knows he’s overdue for an onset of bad days.

—

The subtle sense of strangeness lingers into the weekend. He can’t pin it down, doesn’t know what element in his head is unsettled. So he just tries to go along until it either comes to him or sorts itself out. 

He tries to work the matter out with Eno—whether it’s his grief trying to go through yet another subtle shift, whether it’s the idea of the oncoming move and the change it’ll bring to his life, whether this is the confusion of decent enough moods and energy levels mixed with a slow resurgence of underlying depression—but he can’t quite nail down one idea as more likely than any of the others, and declares that it isn’t exactly upsetting him or getting in his way, so he’s just going to continue waiting it out.

Instead he spends most of the appointment working out how he thinks about his family. The tension of how he likes to talk to them, just to talk about things like he would when they were with him, but also as if he’s telling things to the component of himself that is intertwined with their existence. And how weird it is that he does that, yet doesn’t feel that visiting their grave is his way of talking to them, that he can’t talk to THEM, because he doesn’t think they exist anymore, but instead he’ll talk to this concept that some part of them is present with him like an element in his molecules, but maybe he’s just afraid of the thought that they DO exist somehow, because wouldn’t that mean that HE’S the one being left behind, isn’t he always so sure they’d be disappointed if they could see him?

Eno assures him first of all that even if they DO exist, and they CAN see him, they would look at him with love and sympathy, and that that’s how everyone who’s alive has been viewing him all these years. And then he apologizes for the personal tangent and tells him that there’s nothing at all unusual about being unsure or undecided of your beliefs about a deceased loved one’s existence or lack thereof, and that many people have unconventional rituals with which they feel closer to their loved ones, and that nobody can tell him what’s proper or correct, because every individual’s experience of grief is uniquely personal.

Kip is tempted to ask Eno what he thinks about Kent’s existence or nonexistence, and if he has any rituals to feel closer to him. But he knows it’d be too much to ask within the context of an appointment, and he’s not really feeling halfway bold enough to try asking him afterwards.

So he shelves the curiosity. But when he’s sitting upstairs in Eno’s kitchen afterwards, he does ask him how he’s feeling about stuff.

“Stuff?” Eno repeats.

“I mean, Kent and stuff. But I also mean anything, because I guess lately I like to go around and ask my friends how they’re feeling about, like, life.”

“Ah,” Eno says. “I see. Well.”

“I know you don’t like to feel seen,” Kip says with a hint of a laugh. “So you don’t have to answer. But I want to ask anyway, so that you know I care.”

Eno turns away from the counter to give Kip a look and a smile.

“‘Don’t like to be seen?’ Would I bother to wear such a good outfit, then?”

Kip rolls his eyes.

“You’re only proving my point,” he says.

Eno laughs.

“Well...” he starts, turning back to the cutting board. “I do miss Kent, but I think I’m...feeling alright about life.”

That’s all he says, but Kip knows it’s honest, and is satisfied to have gotten a straightforward answer at all.

—

“I’ll get to see you three days in a row next week,” Kip says. “How often has THAT happened?”

“Not a lot. And you’ll get to talk about my visit the very next day at your next appointment.”

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “I can’t wait.”

He hugs Eno for the third time.

During the first leg of the train ride home, Kip almost unconsciously maintains a field of cold about four feet around himself, but he’s left alone anyways. He immediately dispels it when the line approaches the border with C and other monsters enter the car. One of them sits across from him.

—

The last hour of the shift is slow, and twenty minutes before closing he gets a text from Molly, with the information that everyone’s just met up at this bar about five minutes ago and he should come too after he’s off, if he wants to, but he should, because there’s a bunch of us here. And right at closing time Kate texts him about the same thing, inviting him along too. 

So, he decides to go.

He’s never really had any “going out” clothes. But he puts on jeans that hold his ass nicely and a fitted blue-grey tee and fixes up his hair to look messy but good, and puts on Molly’ bracelet again, and heads out.

It’s not even a ten minute walk. He enters the bar and starts wandering through, looking around for their booth.

“Heyyy, Kip!” Kate raises her hand from the other side of the half-wall, and Kip sends her a smile and a wave before heading around.

He slips onto the edge of a bench beside Molly, returning a staggered chorus of hey’s and hi’s with “what’s up.” Across from him are Kate and Wallace and Roy, and on his side sit Molly and Ben and—

“Hey,” Kip says brightly, leaning forward to beam at her. “Asma! Good to see you again!”

“Thanks,” she laughs. “I got invited along again, and my sister was around to watch my kid, so what the heck, right?”

“Hell yeah—augh, sorry guys—“ He reaches across them to high five her.

“Go get yourself a drink, Kip,” Kate says, kicking at him under the table. “We’ve all had at least one. You need to catch up.”

“Fine, get rid of me,” he sighs, but stands back up nonetheless.

He wanders back with an orange, condensation-covered cocktail a minute later, with the table apparently in the middle of Wallace talking about how he used to be in the yearbook club.

“I took a lot of pictures and kind of felt like a cool reporter sometimes,” he says, laughing. “But I can now testify that I definitely was NOT cool. And after getting to know Kate, I don’t think I’d call myself a reporter or even a photographer, either.”

“Jeez, I’m not trying to crush anybody’s dreams here,” Kate returns.

“That’s all you do,” Molly laughs.

“Shut up.”

“Nah—“ Wallace shakes his head, circling his finger around the mouth of his beer. “It was only something to be a part of.”

“You like feeling part of a group?” Roy asks.

“Uh—yeah, of course,” Wallace says, blushing with a grin. “Doesn’t everybody? I guess I’ve always liked having the sense that I was helping out with stuff.”

“Yearbook club, social work, same thing,” Molly says.

Kip watches Wallace laugh.

“I DID feel helpful,” he says. “Like, I got to go around where everyone else was having fun and doing cool stuff, and take photos and write down names, and think I was really contributing.”

“Aww,” Asma laughs. “You were probably still having a better time than some of those other kids, though. I was in chess club. And I sucked at chess. I just sat there and lost over and over to kids who were only interested in becoming these elite chess warriors.”

“Oof.” Kate shakes her head.

Kip takes a sip of his drink. It’s a little sharp.

“I had another friend there who didn’t like chess either,” Asma continues. “So at least we got to hang out.”

“Why’d you guys even join up?” Kip asks.

“Ah, my parents wanted me to do something or other that’d look decent on an application, but it was all a waste of time, because I didn’t even go to college. Way to disappoint, huh?”

“It’s cool,” Kip says, shrugging. “I didn’t go to college, either.”

“Yeah, me neither,” says Molly. “The scholars at our table are Kate and Ben. And Wallace, I’m assuming?”

“Heh—yeah,” Wallace says.

“Hey, I only got an associate’s degree. Don’t lump me in with these nerds,” Kate says.

“I met my late fiancée getting my business degree,” Ben says.

Kip automatically glances over at Wallace, and is glad to see no particular sign of discomfort in his expression.

“I was pretty much a loser in college, too,” Wallace says. “But I did okay in an office. Sorta.”

“How about at your new offices?” Kip asks.

Wallace looks over at him; their gazes meet for a moment before Kip makes the excuse of looking down at his glass.

“People are super welcoming there,” he says. “I think they were glad to have some more help. They’ve all been really cool and helpful to me since I started on.”

“Awesome,” Kip responds.

“You’re fantastic, Wallace!” Roy slings an arm around the human’s shoulders. “Anybody who gets to know you will love you.”

“Thanks—“ Wallace laughs and blushes, dropping his head with pleased self-consciousness as everyone adds their assent.

“Didn’t we always tell you people here would like you?” Molly adds, and everyone agrees again, and Wallace is thoroughly pink and laughing at all the attention. “People are great here. I know it’s hard to find your niche sometimes or find the people who’ll really appreciate you, but hey, you’ve always got us, right?”

“Yeah,” Wallace says. “You guys are all great. You too, Asma.”

“Aw, thanks,” Kate says, sipping her drink.

“Yeah, thanks,” Asma adds. “Oh—Molly—I keep forgetting to ask what you do?”

“Oh, like work?” Molly says. “I work at a local café with Kate and Kip here. I mostly handle the baking, they do the stuff up front, and Kip usually does coffee and Kate usually does the register and brings out the food.”

“Uh-huh. I’m the eye candy,” Kate says. “I mean, so is Kip, but he’s more in the ‘hard to get’ position hiding at the coffee bar. It’s the one chance people have to hear him call their name.”

“Shut up,” Kip grouses as everyone laughs. Kate knocks her ankle gently against his calf.

“Oh, and where’s your guy friend, Kip?” Asma asks. “I forgot his name, I’m sorry.”

“Pascal,” Ben supplies.

Kip shrugs.

“At home, probably,” he says. “I should text him again, really.”

“You can invite him too,” Roy says.

“I dunno,” Kip says. “I don’t wanna like, always be the one bringing my boyfriend along to other people’s things...”

“Well, too bad, cuz we love having him around. Invite him,” Molly tells him, shoving him softly.

“Fine,” Kip sighs, though he’s quietly pleased. 

He texts Pascal accordingly as the conversation continues around him. And reads back a bit through their day’s affectionate exchange.

“Quit sexting and pay attention to us,” Kate cuts in, reaching over to shove his phone down.

“Shut up,” he huffs. “I’m waiting for him to say if he wants to come or not.”

She snorts. 

“I bet you are.”

“Leave me alone.”

“Stop fighting, kids,” Ben says, deadpan.

Kate sticks her tongue out at Kip; he flips her off; she blows him a kiss and turns towards Roy and Asma’s ongoing exchange with rapt focus. Molly comfortingly pats Kip’s thigh.

Kip rolls his eyes and rubs his phone with  
his thumb, waiting for its vibration. It comes a few long minutes later.

“Sure, send me the details and I’ll meet up with you guys”

Kip does.

“Pascal’s on his way,” he casts into a pause.

“Yess!”

“Awesome.”

“Hey, where’s he gonna fit?” Roy wonders aloud.

“Your side is the one with less people,” Kip shrugs. “You’ll have to budge up a little. You know he’ll only sit with, like, half a leg on the edge here.”

“We’ll make room,” Ben says. 

Kip glances over appreciatively.

Twenty minutes later, he jumps and looks quickly over his shoulder at the sound of Pascal’s “Hey.”

Another chime of greetings, a bit more enthusiastic thanks to a few more drinks between the group. 

“Hi, guys,” he says. He touches Kip’s arm and they share a quick smile as the other side of the booth scoots down towards the wall. “Thanks.”

He slides in at the end, one leg rotated out to the side so that he can sit with only about three-quarters of his butt actually on the bench.

“Get a drink, Briggs,” Kate says. “Make Kip get another one, too.”

“I’m on a three-drink limit,” Kip argues.

“And this next one would only be your second, so...?”

“I’m probably not gonna drink anything tonight anyway,” Pascal says. “But if everybody wants a couple baskets of chips, I’d be into that.”

Everybody else is into it, so Pascal heads off to the counter.

“Sorry for pressuring you to descend into hedonism with us, Kip,” Kate says. “I just know you like to have support. Or peer pressure. And we haven’t seen drunk Kip in forever.”

“That happens?” Wallace says curiously, looking over between Kate and Kip. Kip isn’t sure if he likes the interest or not. Or the slight incredulity.

“Oh, definitely,” Molly answers.

“It’s pretty great,” Kate says.

Kip glowers.

“Well, sorry for disappointing you all this time,” he says—a bit more hotly than he intends, and he blushes. He frowns down at the table.

“Don’t be mad,” Molly says. “You just usually have a lot of fun when you get a little drunk. It’s cute.”

“You’re cute all the time!” Roy assures him; Kip can’t decide if that’s placating or exacerbating.

“Adorable,” Kate agrees. “Don’t get pissed about it. You don’t have to get pissed, either.”

“Thanks,” Kip says flatly. “Very funny.”

“It’s hard to imagine,” Wallace says, head cocked. “You’re usually so serious.”

Kip blushes all over again and glances away.

“What can I tell you,” he sighs. “I get drunk the same way anyone does. I just don’t like doing it very often anymore.”

“It’s too bad you never went to college,” Kate says. “And it’s too bad you never wanted to come along to any of the parties at mine.”

“I went to parties sometimes in high school,” Kip says with a shrug. “They were usually alright.”

“You did?” Wallace repeats with the same tone of surprise.

Kip nods at the back cushion opposite himself.

“With, like, y’know, underage drinking?” Wallace puts a slight lilt on the phrase.

“Yes, I mean actual parties, not family game night,” Kip sighs, rolling his eyes. “I’d drink, have a brownie, try to have fun and all that usual stuff.”

“You DID?” This time it’s Kate.

“Yes!” he huffs, exasperated. “Kate, I told you about that shit back then!”

“I swear to god I thought you were just messing with me,” she says through laughter. 

“Why?” he demands in exasperation.

She shakes her head, still laughing. “I dunno, you’d joke around like that sometimes. God, I guess I was missing out.”

“It wasn’t that amazing,” he sighs. “I’d only actually get more drunk than just buzzed like...once a year. I was not exactly living on the edge, even back then.”

“My god, I did such a terrible job keeping you in line,” Molly jokes. “All that criminal activity—I had no idea.”

Kip smiles and shrugs.

“I didn’t mess around TOO much.”

“Messing around?” Asma asks. “Did you, you know, play truth or dare or spin the bottle? Or get lucky with anybody?”

“Mm...I maybe did once,” Kip says with another small shrug and a twitch of a smile, swirling the dregs of his drained glass.

“Which one did you do once?” Kate asks.

Kip hesitates, then decides to keep going along with it, playing it casual: “The getting laid one.”

Roy helpfully provides a melodramatic gasp; Molly stifles a laugh. Kip shakes his head at the light above the table.

“Okay, you DEFINITELY never told me about THAT,” Kate says. “So then—WHO did you do once?”

“That’s private!” 

“You know that whoever it was, we never see him anymore,” Molly says.

“Is that supposed to mean Kip shouldn’t tell us, or that he should?” Roy asks her. 

Molly shrugs.

“Ooh, what if it was a girl?” Kate says with a faux-scandalized tone. “Or is that how you REALLY met Pascal?”

“If it was either of those, it’d be even less any of anyone else’s business.”

“Wait, it was a girl?” Wallace asks, apparently lagging behind.

“No!” Kip groans. “For god’s sake, I’m gay!”

“Are you?” Pascal laughs, reappearing beside the booth. He sets down two generous servings of chips and slides back onto the bench. Kip blushes and everyone else laughs and issues thanks.

“Kip was being interrogated about his recreational drug use in high school,” Ben explains levelly. “And now about the details of his sexual history, I guess.”

“Ah.” Pascal nods calmly, taking a chip.

“You didn’t tell us you have this little laced-up secret stoner boyfriend,” Kate says to Pascal. “YOU’RE the chill one, dude! Kip’s supposed to be the uptight one! C’mon, guys!”

“I didn’t realize.” Pascal looks over at Kip with a soft smile.

“Thanks, Kate,” Kip says flatly. “You can really tell you’ve been friends with me for a decade.”

“Kip’s been over here telling us all about his wild adolescent history of going to parties with alcohol and brownies and scandalous hookups,” Kate tells Pascal.

“Okay, first of all—“ Kip cuts in as everyone laughs and Pascal smiles at him again. “I only had the one hookup, which nobody heard about.”

“Okay, sorry,” she says sarcastically, taking a drink. “The guy you slept with very properly and discreetly.”

“...Guys,” Kip can’t help saying.

“What?” Roy says.

“Guys,” Kip repeats calmly.

“Yeah?” Molly says. 

“The GUYS I slept with,” Kip clarifies.

There’s a beat, and then he can’t help but grin at the small eruption of yells and shouts of laughter.

“You did NOT!” Kate slaps his wrist. “No WAY.”

“I did,” Kip laughs. “That’s kinda why it happened in the first place. I liked the idea.”

“So did someone, like, come up and ask if you wanted to have a ménage a troix with him and his boyfriend?” Asma asks.

“Basically.” He shrugs. “It wasn’t a threesome, though.”

Pascal catches his eye and sends him a smile.

“Oh my god...” Molly shakes her head. “What was it, then?”

“There were just four of us,” Kip says, lifting a chip and patiently waiting for some melted cheese to trail off.

“I do NOT believe you,” Kate laughs, lowering her forehead to her hands. “You did NOT have a secret foursome.”

“Mm, I’m fairly sure I did. And it was kind of great.”

Wallace exhales audibly—Kip looks over to see Wallace sporting an impressive flush and looking much more flustered than amused. 

Kip blushes too and immediately looks away.

“Oh my god, what did you even do?” Kate asks. “Fucking hell, I love you, Kip...”

“Okay, I am NOT describing it to you guys,” Kip says. “I’m getting another drink. Happy?”

“Don’t ditch us for an orgy while you’re gone!” Kate laughs. “God, I can’t believe you...I had no idea...”

“And don’t tell any lies about me to my boyfriend while I’m gone,” Kip says warningly. “Pasc, I drank at high school parties, but only got actually drunk something like five times, and sometimes I had an edible, but I stopped pretty soon once I figured out they’d mostly make me feel on edge. And I hooked up ONE time with three other guys, and we all very responsibly used condoms, and we were all cool about it afterwards, and I had fun and I don’t regret it, and none of you better tease me about any of this anymore, okay? You’ve had your fair share. Don’t make me regret being so forthcoming.”

“Okay, okay, once you come back we’ll officially pick something else to tease you about, but just lemme get one more thing out of it, okay?” Kate says, and before he can answer: “Alright, everybody. Never have I ever had sex with three other people at the same time.”

She holds up a finger; one by one so does everyone else.

“Well,” Pascal says, arm raised. “I‘m out.”

—

Kip has all three of his drinks, and a good time.

He’s only the slightest bit tipsy when everyone finally agrees to call it a night, gripping the table as a precaution when he stands. Pascal gives him his arm.

“You don’t have to open right after closing like that, right?” Pascal asks him. “Wanna spend the night at my place?”

“Sure,” he says, and immediately turns to Roy and Molly. “Hey, guys, I’m gonna go with Pascal. Are you two good?”

“Sure,” Molly says. “We’ve got the big group, anyways.”

“Oh—wait a second, Kip—“ Kate snakes past everyone and grabs his arm. “Can you show me where the bathroom is?”

Kip knows she knows where the bathroom is.

“Yeah,” he says. “I kinda gotta go, too.”

“Cool. Thanks.”

They walk about ten feet before she lets him in on it.

“Okay, you’re really good at picking up this stuff,” she says. “I’m walking back with Asma cuz she lives like, a block and a half away. Do you think she likes girls?”

Kip smiles to himself and puts an arm around Kate’s waist to steady her slight stumble.

“I think she might,” he says. “And I think she’s cool and fun and you two would be good dating. And I also think she’d rather you be a LITTLE more sober than you are tonight before you make a move. And I also almost think you should let Pascal and me come with you guys so that we can make sure you don’t trip, because you’re probably gonna fall over your own feet here at some point.”

“No, I can do it!” Kate argues stubbornly. “I’m not THAT drunk.”

“Mm.” Kip sighs in resignation.

“Still, I know you’re right that I’m too drunk to like, ask her out or anything. I’m definitely gonna ask for her number, though. I’d ask for it even if I didn’t think she was cute.”

“Right? I wanna make her and Pascal be friends. He doesn’t have enough friends, and it‘s bullshit.”

“I promise I will hype up Pascal for you,” Kate says solemnly. 

“Thanks,” Kip laughs.

“Okay—I seriously do have to take a piss,” she says.

“Yeah, me too.”

—

Kip squeezes some toothpaste on Pascal’s brush for him.

“Hey,” he says. “It doesn’t feel weird to hear I had that foursome once, does it?”

“Nah,” Pascal says. “So you really did?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t lying,” he laughs, passing him the toothbrush. “It was surprisingly good for a bunch of mostly inexperienced sixteen year-olds messing around.”

“What’d you guys even do?” Pascal asks, muffled slightly by foam.

“Mm, well...” Kip takes his own toothbrush. “It was real early on in the party so nobody was drunk, which means nobody threw up on anybody, which by itself was a real plus, I thought. First we all kinda made out and felt each other up a lot. And there was a lot of dry-humping and reaching into each other’s pants. I...really liked this one part where a guy had my head in his hands and his tongue in my mouth and another was sucking my neck and grabbing my ass and the third guy was licking my nipple and playing with the other one and rubbing at my dick. I liked it a lot.”

Like, a-bit-hot-and-bothered-just-at-the-memory liked it.

He glances up to see Pascal standing there motionless, blushing.

“Heh...the whole beginning was just kind of a hot mess of climbing all over each other and working each other up into a fever,” Kip says. “Y’know, just being steered by our teenaged sex drives and all that. I’m pretty surprised nobody came in their pants just from everybody grinding against everybody else and people just taking hold of whichever dick was closest. I’m pretty sure I almost did cum early while the one guy was on top of me humping me like it was his dream job, but I’m proud to say I held out.”

He laughs quietly at the memory of trying so hard not to gasp or moan louder than the music.

“...What we ended up doing was, uh, I was on my hands and knees, and I was sucking one guy’s dick, and another guy was between my legs and sucking MY dick while the last guy was fucking him in the ass and fingering mine.”

“...Wow.”

“It was really good,” Kip laughs. “I came first. I couldn’t give too much warning because I had a cock in my mouth and I was trying not to lose my balance, so it’s extra good we all had condoms. And I made the dude I was sucking off cum next. And I liked it so much I turned right around and started blowing the dude who blew me, and HE came while pulling my hair and scratching my back, and then I just sat back and watched the guy fuck him in the ass until he finished too.”

“...Wow,” Pascal repeats softly.

“One of them was the guy who taught me how to put a condom on somebody with my mouth,” Kip says. “He did it to me, and then I practiced on him and the other two. And when we were all catching our breath afterwards I asked the dudes who were doing anal if they had any tips about how to bottom or top. They were very helpful.”

“How helpful?” Pascal laughs.

“They didn’t give any demonstrations, if that’s what you’re wondering. But they did explain a lot of stuff and give me some good tips.”

“I mean, that’s cool of them,” Pascal says. He leans over and spits in the sink. “It’s nice to get advice from guys who, like, actually know, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “Yeah, and I knew all of them already, and knew they were cool, so I wasn’t worried about someone acting like a jerk or anything. It was really chill. And I really, really enjoyed it. Like, I was already almost dead certain I was gay at that point, but man. That was more than enough proof.”

“You had sex with three other dudes and weren’t even sure you were gay yet?” Pascal laughs.

“Well—okay—“ Kip grins and shrugs. “I definitely knew I was gay, but I didn’t a hundred percent KNEW I knew yet, right? Like, I’d still be telling myself, like, well, maybe boys just turn me on, maybe I just like looking at guys a lot, maybe I think they’re really sexy but all only objectively, maybe I think about kissing and fucking them but, like, only because I’ve gotten all horny from thinking about a boy and so I have to get off to SOMETHING and every time I try to think of myself having sex with a girl I just start imagining two men fucking because it’s objectively hot to think of people having sex...”

He puts on a tone of increasingly desperate justification, laughing at himself at the end.

“Ugh, we’ve all been there,” Pascal says, shaking his head at his reflection.

“Yeah, like, okay—I was actually totally certain I was gay, I was just a tiny bit still holding out admitting it. I don’t know why, because it wasn’t like I thought it was embarrassing or wrong, but I guess I was just...still scared of what it would mean to admit to myself I’m definitely gay. A little bit in denial still, or whatever. I mean, it wasn’t even my first time having sex, and I only ever messed around with guys, and I was still trying to tell myself I didn’t wanna mess around with girls like that because...maybe I was so much more attracted to girls that it intimidated me? God, it’s all so obvious in retrospect, but I was creative with the excuses for why I only kissed and cuddled and put my hand down the pants of other boys, and why I liked it, and why I wanted it and thought about it so much and was so embarrassed to look at hot shirtless guys or other dudes’ butts and their erections—definitely NOT because I was nervous about how much I liked it—“

“What was your excuse about having wet dreams about guys?” Pascal asks. “For a while mine was just that I must’ve been imagining myself as a girl in all those dreams. Like, sometimes I dream I’m other people, so that explains why I keep having sexy dreams about men and why it keeps making me cum. Because I’m just...always playing a woman, obviously. Who’s really, really turned on by dudes. Pretty wild that I never had any wet dreams about being a guy and getting it on with girls...”

“Mine was just that it didn’t count because my brain doesn’t know what it’s doing when I’m asleep. So that totally explains why it gets me off with hot dreams about guys I really like to look at because of some really straight reason,” Kip sighs.

“Yeah, that’s a solid theory,” Pascal laughs. “So, no more denial after the fourway, huh?”

“Nah,” Kip laughs. “Pretty much halfway through dry-humping and kissing and touching three boys, and having my dick in a boy’s mouth, and then putting three separate dicks in MY mouth, and sucking one guy’s dick while another one sucked mine and the other one was playing with my ass, and feeling so fuckin’ good I was louder than I’d ever been without even meaning to make any noise and I couldn’t get enough of any of it...yeah, I figured out I was sure I’m gay. I was like, hey, if being gay means wanting to have sex with guys every day for the rest of my life, I guess I’m gay.”

“Boy,” Pascal sighs. “It’s too bad we didn’t meet till we were seventeen. Instead of me getting to be there to watch you having the final stage of your sexual awakening.”

“Tell me about it,” Kip says. “You could’ve joined in.”

Pascal blushes and is momentarily rendered speechless. 

Kip laughs and starts brushing his teeth.

—

Lying in bed, Kip keeps remembering Wallace’s reaction to hearing about him having sex with three other guys. Blushing hard and looking almost shaken up. He firmly tells himself that Wallace was just embarrassed by the subject, even though he knows he hadn’t been. He tells himself that maybe Wallace was unexpectedly turned on by the idea of four guys having sex, and that got him all flustered like that, and it was irrelevant that Kip just happened to be the one talking about it. He tells himself that even if Wallace IS turned on by the idea of him having group sex, which he can’t be sure he is so he should let it go, it can only lead to trouble to be too pleased about that, so he should just let it go.

—

Kip wakes up in confusion. He’s not freezing or sweating and hasn’t twisted up the blankets and doesn’t feel any residual stress. He looks over in the dark—Pascal’s silhouette is still and the sound of his breathing is slow.

For once, he seems to have simply woken up for no reason.

And then Pascal shifts quietly and whimpers.

“Pascal?” Kip murmurs softly.

No answer. Kip blinks.

He sits up and turns on the little bedside light, rubbing his eyes. 

There’s a slight frown to Pascal’s expression. An eyebrow twitches subtly.

Kip watches him dream, watches him squeeze his eyes closed even harder, his lips part soundlessly, watches him toss his head. He waits for him to wake himself up or settle down or give a sign that he needs to be woken up.

When Pascal cries out loud enough to be more than a whimper, Kip touches his face and starts slowly stroking his cheek with the backs of his fingers. 

“Pascal,” he murmurs. He leans in close. “Pascal, you’re okay. It’s me.”

Pascal’s whole body twitches. Kip touches his chest.

“It’s me,” he repeats. “It’s Kip. It’s alright.”

He pulls the blankets down to help keep him cool. When his hand brushes the end of Pascal’s right arm, it reflexively spirals rapidly up around his wrist—Kip jumps. It’s nothing new that Pascal’s arms act awake sometimes even when he isn’t, but it’s always briefly startling when they move so quickly and hold him so tightly.

And now he’ll need to wake Pascal to free his forearm anyways.

He sighs and leans in and kisses his tensed forehead. 

“Pascal,” he says, a little louder. 

He slides his hand along Pascal’s jaw and right behind its corner, scratching him beneath the ear. Pascal tosses his head slightly at the stimulation. He whines. 

“Pascal.”

His expression tenses; he’s still for a moment; he opens his eyes and looks over to Kip.

“Hey,” he mumbles automatically.

“Hey.” Kip smiles down at him.

Pascal sits up too, noticing his arm gripped around Kip’s.

“Oh,” he says. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I think you were having a nightmare.”

Pascal looks at him, then at the wall.

“...Maybe?” he murmurs.

“It didn’t seem like a good dream,” Kip explains. “I thought maybe I should wake you up. Sorry if I just woke you for no reason, though.”

“I...think it was something about E,” Pascal says thoughtfully.

“Oh...I’m sorry. Do you dream about that stuff a lot?”

Pascal shakes his head.

“I kinda did after it first happened,” he says. “But not so much anymore.”

Kip looks over his face and touches his knee.

“...Are you hot?” he asks quietly.

Pascal shrugs.

“A little. If you wanted to hug me and cool me off, I would say absolutely.”

Kip detaches Pascal’s suckers from his wrist, climbs into his lap, and wraps one arm around him, rests his chin on his shoulder, and puts the other hand in his hair. With every exhale, he lets the mildest wash of cooled air spill over Pascal’s body, until he’s half asleep in his arms and Pascal rouses him with a scratchy kiss to the cheek.

—

Nobody DOES tease Kip about high school antics all the next half week, which he’s sort of surprised about. A couple times Pascal incorporates it into a bit of playful dirty talk while fucking Kip senseless, which Kip only appreciates. It inspires him to think of the encounter while alone sometimes, fucking himself on a dildo while jerking off with the sleeve, and maybe briefly imagining Pascal or Wallace—or both—watching him get hot and heavy with a whole bedfull of guys until they can’t just sit back anymore.

—

Kip is bouncing a leg on the cement, leaning forward, staring down the digital clock and the cycling display of arrival times. 

Estimated three minutes left.

He turns and stares at the tracks again until he feels the faint pressure of the approaching rumble and gets to his feet. A minute later the train wails to a stop in front of him and he grips the strap of his bag. The doors slide open, a couple dozen people emerge, he looks quickly back and forth before spotting Eno step out four cars down. He breaks into a grin and strides forward.

“There he is!” Eno laughs, waving at him. “My escort!”

Kip unhesitatingly scoops him into a close embrace.

Eno laughs more, and hugs him back.

—

Kip has to take him to see Pascal first. He’s too wait, so he walks Eno to the shop, chatting and laughing with him all the way.

“So much tea,” Eno murmurs wonderingly as Kip pushes the door open for him.

Pascal is shelving some tins. He looks over and lights up.

“Aah, I forgot you were coming today, Eno!” He sets down the box and sweeps over to them, taking Eno’s hand and pulling him into a light hug. “Good to finally see you again!”

Eno looks pleasantly surprised by the warmth of the greeting, returning the hug after the smallest hesitation.

“And you, Kip, good to see you too,” Pascal laughs, looking at him fondly. Kip beams.

“I can’t believe I haven’t gotten to come here yet,” Eno says. “This place is very you, Pascal.”

“Kip says that, too,” Pascal says. “That places where I get to decorate and arrange things feel like me.”

“It’s very warm and sweet,” Eno says, and Pascal smiles and blushes.

“Thank you,” he says, a little quieter.

“Can you give us a tour?” Eno asks. “I’d like to buy something and I don’t know as much about tea as you two.”

“Yes! Absolutely!” Pascal laughs. “I’m always hoping people want me to explain stuff or help them decide what to get.”

Kip looks back and forth between them during the exchange, growing increasingly delighted, and continues absorbing all their interactions as Pascal takes them from shelf to shelf to display, describing teas and different kinds of cups and kettles and teapots and steeping methods and even methods of drinking the teas, often taking down a tin and letting them breathe in its aroma. Eno is funny in a way that advances the conversation and acknowledges his understanding and compliments Pascal, and Kip can tell he’s really paying attention and expressing real interest. And he can tell that Pascal is paying attention too, and that he’s carefully noting Eno’s reactions to the various blends, honing in on which ones he’ll recommend.

Kip is happy just to observe, to see these people who are so important to him get to interact and laugh and do this together.

—

Kip takes Eno back to the apartment, which he’d fastidiously cleaned that morning even though he knew it would still never be as organized and spotless as Eno’s always is. But he sits him down in the kitchen and gives him an appetizer he’d made earlier while he gets started on the dinner he’s planned. And Eno offers to help and Kip says he’ll let him know when he gets to a point where Eno can join in on something, and tells him to just talk to him about things because this is amazing to have you here and just be able to talk without having to worry about how much time there is left in the hour.

“I didn’t bring what I said I might bring, because it turned out it’s not ready yet. But it looks like it WILL be able to be ready—and soon. And I’ll bring it right over when it is.”

“What on earth is this scheme of yours?” Kip laughs, shooting him a look as he peels a carrot. “Talking about ‘when it’s ready’ like this is some kind of unfolding experiment.”

“It kind of was,” Eno says, which makes Kip huff through his nose and shake his head. “But now it’s just a matter of getting the time for the last part of the process to be done.”

“Is this some kind of fucked up art project?” Kip asks. “Are you having straight people cover themselves in paint and play minigolf across a giant canvas.”

“I am NOW.” 

Kip tosses a dishtowel at him and Eno lets it hit him in the face, laughing.

—

Molly comes back from a trip buying a new pair of flats and from there the three of them head over to pick up Roy from work, a couple of times reassuring Eno that, no, the toddlers won’t still be there at this point.

“I’m just not very good with little kids,” Eno sighs, and blows some hair out of his eyes. “They don’t think I’m funny.”

“So you’re not very good with any age group,” Kip says flatly.

“So cruel...” Eno murmurs.

“They think I’m funny, but not because I’m trying to be,” Kip continues. “I don’t always know what to do. Molly and Roy are the ones who are really good with them.”

Molly shrugs.

“You just be nice to them,” she laughs.

“I’m always trying to be nice!” Kip huffs.

“I know, I know...” She shakes her head. “Calm down, you two. No kids. Just Roy.”

It’s hard to ever say “just” Roy, as he’s thrilled to see Eno again, and hugs him about a dozen times in the first minute. And then hugs Kip and Molly in one go, and then separately, and then Eno again, and then everyone at once.

Kip pays attention to everything again, and likes the way that Eno lets himself get more and more disheveled with each tight hug, and the way that in the instant after Roy pulls away Eno has this flustered, genuine smile. He doesn’t think Eno has anybody else quite like Roy in his life in B, because Kip is fairly confident that nobody in the world has anyone else quite like Roy.

—

“Aah, that’s Pascal,” Kip says, pausing as his phone buzzes against his ass. “Eno, here’s another thing—can you just keep pushing this around for a minute? I’ll be right back up.”

“Sure,” Eno says with some amusement. 

Kip passes him the wooden spatula and grabs his keys and hurries out into the hallway and down the stairs and through the lobby.

“Hello,” he says cheerfully as he pulls the door open for Pascal, who’s changed his outfit since work and gathered the hair behind his ears into a knitted hat. “How are you?”

“I’m doing pretty well, thanks,” Pascal laughs, following him inside. 

Kip turns and rises on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

“You’re in a good mood,” Pascal says. “You’re glad to have Eno visiting, aren’t you.”

“Yeah,” Kip laughs quietly. “It’s always sucked having him in a different district. But I’m just trying to enjoy it.”

Pascal takes his hand and swings it gently. They walk up the stairs more leisurely than Kip had descended them, arm in hand all the way.

—

For the boost of energy his excitement has given him, Kip is a little quiet at dinner due to how busy he is taking everything in and listening close to everyone. It’s a group of people he loves who are rarely together like this, to the point that, actually, they’ve never been together like this. 

“Kip,” Molly says suddenly. “Did you ever tell Eno about what you told all of us at the bar?”

Kip blushes, and so does Pascal across from him.

“No,” he says quickly. “And don’t either of you tell.”

“Tell me what?” Eno raises his eyebrows slightly as Roy and Molly both look over at him, quietly stifling laughs.

“It’s nothing important.” Kip waves it away. “You won’t tell me anything about your weird process thing, so.”

“Yes, but I’ll tell you about it when I get to give it to you,” Eno counters. 

“Just don’t worry about it,” Kip says.

“...Does it involve me, or something?” Eno asks suspiciously.

“I seriously doubt it,” Roy laughs, and Molly laughs, and Kip swings his foot to the side to kick Roy’s leg and shoots a look at Molly. 

“No, it does not,” he growls, more directed at the pair than at Eno.

Eno shrugs and returns his attention to spreading jam on his roll.

Kip alternates glaring at Molly and Roy until they settle down. 

He looks over to see Pascal giving him a small, private smile, and has to smile back.

Even though he knows they’re just messing with him, and that he’s the one who talked about it in the first place, and that they really didn’t do anything wrong, Kip is almost annoyed with Roy and Molly. He knows that this is because he got a little stressed over the idea of telling Eno about something he did when he was sixteen, because it was a tough year when his depression really started hitting hard, and Kent and Eno and Yumi were really getting intractably involved in something that seemed increasingly terrible, and Kip was trying new things because the way he was and the way the usual stuff seemed to be headed seemed to be a letdown, and he didn’t tell Eno or even his family about everything he did, because he was a little more private than he’d used to be, and every day Kent needed more time on his research-turning-investigation and more time to recover, and Kip hated to bother anyone with unimportant things, especially when he was making people worry and spend time and energy on him because of the depression issues, and he hadn’t even come out to anyone yet, and he didn’t want to do that by saying he’d gone to a party and had sex with three acquaintances at once.

It’s just a much more loaded issue to tell Eno about secrets he kept when he was in high school, even if it’s funny elsewhere. He doesn’t want Eno to feel like he wasn’t there for Kip, when it was Kip who felt guilty over the idea of bothering anyone with his ridiculousness when they were so exhausted and preoccupied and stressed and burdened.

So he’s almost annoyed, and tries not to be. But, maybe because they can sense this and want to make up for it, Molly and Roy start telling Eno stuff they think is nice about Kip, and he doesn’t know how or whether to tell them to stop. He ends up covering his face with his hands, blushing hard, both flattered and embarrassed. Roy pats him on the back.

“You guys are great,” Kip finally argues. “And I’m never telling YOU that.”

“You kinda just did,” Roy says.

“You do all the time,” Molly says. “And you get embarrassed when someone does the same to you and pretend they’re exaggerating or just being nice, or something. So we’re telling Eno why you’re great, instead of telling you.”

Kip groans into his hands and lowers one to the tabletop, fingers extended; Pascal takes hold of it with a gentle squeeze.

—

Kip takes Eno and Pascal out for a long walk after dinner, in the decreased temperature and increased atmosphere of the oncoming sunset. They show Eno the park, then a few spots around Berkley that Kip’s comfortable with mainly because Pascal is telling Eno about how there’s plenty of places for offices to open up and the area is close to a station and very accessible by foot.

Kip tries to act casual about it all, but can’t help noticing that Eno seems to be actually considering things—at least, definitely taking everything Pascal’s talking about seriously.

“...I’m just not sure I’m ready to leave B yet,” Eno sighs. “It’s not any loyalty to the district, and I can’t even say I have any serious ties to the area I’m in at this point, but...still...”

He shakes his head slowly, looking ahead of himself.

“And then there’s the fact I have the apartment above my office,” he says. “That’s a big advantage for me. I would really hesitate to give that up.”

Kip smiles softly at the ground. He can tell Eno’s earnest about these considerations too. He tries not to feel very disappointed—this whole concept has been a stretch from the start, he knows. And, in the end, really too selfish an idea.

“It’s not at all impossible,” Pascal says, shrugging. “There’s a bunch of buildings that have businesses and such on the street level, and apartments above them. You might not get to have one that’s as directly connected like yours is, but you could still live in the same building as your office.”

“Hmm,” Eno responds thoughtfully.

Kip doesn’t let himself get his hopes back up on so noncommittal a response, but he makes a mental note to be sure to express his gratitude to Pascal for making such an amazing effort to convince Eno of this possibility.

“There’s that plaza a couple blocks down and over,” Kip says. “We should go there soon. It has all those lights. It’s really pretty at sunset.”

“Ooh, and then we could get to the water pretty easily,” Pascal adds. “The reflection doubles every nice sunset.”

“We should get dessert someplace too,” Kip says.

“And we should walk up that one street—the one with the houses and the trees,” Pascal says.

Kip is glad to have so many places to go—it’s altogether too enjoyable to feel very downcast for long.

—

Kip kisses Pascal on the cheek as they drop him off at his building, saying he’ll see him tomorrow. Pascal says goodnight to him, and then to Eno, and goes inside.

“You see each other every day?” Eno asks as Kip leads them back towards the other apartment. 

“Most days, but not all,” Kip says. “I think it’s a nice balance. Where we can expect to see each other pretty much every day, but it’s not really a requirement, either.”

“What about when you move in together? You’ll see each other every day then.”

“Yeah, and that’s nice, but I also don’t want there to be, like, this established expectation that we can only spend our free time on each other, or together.”

“Ah. What about the aspect that you won’t have to exert the same effort to see each other?”

“Yeah, that’s good too.”

“I mean as in, do you think it could make either of you feel less appreciated? Or like your relationship is more taken for granted if you no longer have to try as hard to spend time together, or anything like that?”

“Oh,” Kip says quietly. “...Well, I hope it doesn’t feel that way. Besides, I want to start going out more anyways, and if we go out on dates still it might be...helpful. I don’t know. I want to live with him.”

He knows his answer is weak, but when Eno unexpectedly slips into therapist mode, it can be difficult to come up with decent responses on the fly. And he’s again trying not to be annoyed that Eno is talking about the move like this.

“We DID live together for five years,” he adds. “And we still want to be together again. And it’s still exciting to see each other.”

“Do you consider bringing you excitement to be the purpose of a relationship?”

“No. Quit asking me therapy questions.”

“At this point, it’s sort of just what I do all the time.”

“Well, what’s the point of starting just now? I don’t feel like I said anything about worrying if this was the right choice. Or that it would suddenly make our relationship stale.”

“I know. And YOU know that asking these kinds of questions about choices doesn’t mean you think the choice is wrong. There’s nothing wrong with thinking about potential issues whether you expect them to arise or not—I know you know that. This is still going to be a big change. It’s been normal for you two to have seeing each other be a gesture; after moving in together it’ll be routine, and what if you feel the absence of the gestures?”

“...You know this is exactly what we did last time. We were dating and it was a special occasion to get to be with each other, and then we lived together. I’m not that nervous.”

“You did need to be treated very attentively when you were first living with Pascal,” Eno says. 

Kip is at a loss for words for several seconds.

“Obviously!” he finally manages. “That wasn’t about Pascal trying to make me feel, I don’t know, appreciated—he was, like, trying to keep me alive—“

“It still showed how much you meant to him, and how dedicated he was to you.”

“Well, I don’t feel like we need to recreate that scenario this time around. I know he loves me a lot,” Kip says stubbornly.

“Do you feel like he knows you love him?”

“...Yes,” Kip grumbles. “I’ve been trying very hard to make sure he knows it.”

“In what ways?”

“A lot of ways,” he answers at once. “Meeting up with him and sitting in the same room with him isn’t my only way to show I care about or appreciate him. Okay?”

“Okay,” Eno says simply, maybe because Kip isn’t really avoiding annoyance well right now.

“...Are you trying to give me a hard time so that I’m not upset that you don’t want to move here?” Kip asks flatly. “Because I already know you like to annoy me, and I still wouldn’t mind being closer to you. But it’s okay you want to stay in B.”

Eno laughs quietly.

“I’m just trying to be an influence,” he says. “I’m sorry I can’t be more sure about moving here.”

“It’s okay,” Kip repeats, sighing. “I’m not gonna ask you to make proximity to me the central factor in your life.”

Eno laughs again, squeezing Kip’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t mind it,” he says. “I don’t have to worry anymore about putting you in danger by being too close.”

“Ha.”

“I’ve known you longer than I’ve known just about anyone, Kip. And, especially with the way things happened, I’ve never taken it for granted that we’re able to see each other. I know that before you started therapy, we were really only ever in the same place once every few months.”

“Well, I was way over in D,” Kip says. “It’s not as bad getting to you from here, even if I didn’t go to appointments. But you’re so busy. And B is so...the way that it is.”

“It really is.”

They walk in silence for a minute.

“This is us,” Kip says, getting out the key for the front door. 

“It is,” Eno confirms.

Kip pauses in the lobby.

“Ben and Wallace’s apartments are here, too,” he murmurs. “I guess I should try to catch them at some point tomorrow so you can say hi.”

“Mm...you could. But I don’t know that anyone would be heartbroken to have missed me.”

He waits patiently for Kip to turn and lead him back to the stairwell and up to their apartment. In their absence, Molly and Roy have put together a batch of sugar cookies, and Kip is again quiet, observant, appreciative of the chance for this kind of moment, which he knows can never be guaranteed to happen again.

He tries not to let that knowledge feel too morbid, but since the fire he’s always been very conscious of this uncertainty, and the still-very-recent anniversary isn’t alleviating this in the least. Neither is his confidence that he’ll have to drop the idea of Eno moving into C. Nor the rarity of having Eno in this district with him, with his friends, in the home they still share.

—

“You don’t have to—“ Eno protests again.

“I know,” Kip says again. “It’s okay. I sleep on the couch sometimes, and I do well enough. Just take my room.”

“Alright,” Eno sighs.

“And there’s the shower right across in the bathroom, here. Nobody really cares about personal towels here, so, if you don’t care about using fabric that probably touched someone else’s butt, just grab one—but there’s also fresh ones stacked in the top shelf across from the sink, so feel free to use any of those.”

“Aw, thanks.” 

Kip stands in the doorway a moment as Eno looks around the bedroom.

“It’s very cozy,” he says to Kip. 

“Yeah, yeah...I’ve just never bought that much more stuff. Works out well now that I’m moving, I guess.”

“I suppose it does.” Eno reaches over and messes his hair. “But the colors are lovely. I like all your...little touches.”

Kip snorts and giggles.

“Well, I DO,” Eno laughs.

“Just let me get my pajamas, and I’ll take a quick shower,” Kip says, going to his drawers. 

“Mm.”

He gathers up his clothes and turns to see Eno giving him a soft smile.

“What?” he laughs, folding his arms and looking up at him with a semi-restrained grin. 

Eno smiles wider and shakes his head with a little shrug.

“Just, you. You’re really something, you know that?”

“...Am I?” Kip laughs again.

“Mmhm.”

He pets Kip on the head; Kip frowns with a low groan of exasperation, which apparently just encourages Eno to pull him into a hug.

—

“Ahh, I kind of overcooked this last one,” Kip sighs, staring down at the gently singed pancake. “Oh well.”

He pulls it onto his plate.

“So, what time did you wake up?” he asks, turning to Eno.

“Mm, about seven, but I stayed in bed until eight. Which is a pretty special occasion for me.”

“Oh my god.” Kip shakes his head. “Congratulations.”

He passes Eno a fork and knife.

“Is there anything specific you wanted to do when you were here?” Kip asks. “There’s a bunch of options for places to spend a day. Especially if you’re willing to take a bus ride for a little while. Or the train, I suppose.”

“Well...” Eno pauses and sighs. “I was actually considering taking a page out of your book and...visiting the cemetery.”

“...Oh,” Kip murmurs. “Uh, sure. Did you want to go alone, or...?”

“It all depends on what you’d rather do,” Eno says. “That part’s completely up to you.”

Kip stares down at his orange juice.

“...I think I’d be fine to go again,” he says. 

“Okay.”

“Um...I don’t know, did you want to bring anything to leave at the grave? I took along the flowers in my room and left some there... We could go somewhere first and pick something up, if you want...”

“You mean the flowers you had beside the picture?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I like that idea.”

“...You want me to bring them along again?”

“Sure.”

—

This time they walk over—a mostly clouded sky and lower humidity keep the conditions tolerable enough that Kip employs a more indirect route for the sake of giving Berkley a wider berth. They chat about the scenery and surroundings until, after almost an hour, the cemetery rises into view.

Kip leads Eno through the entrance, along the path he remembers more vividly than ever. Another six minutes and he points out the section to Eno, telling him exactly where to go to find Kent’s grave. 

“I’ll wait by this tree for a few minutes. Take these.” 

He passes the small flowerpot to Eno. They look at each other a moment, and then Eno looks out over the headstones, and slowly starts forward.

Kip walks over under the large canopy of the nearby tree and sits down against the trunk. He rests his chin on his knees, arms folded loosely around his legs, and closes his eyes.

Same as last time, an occasional breeze rolls past, brushing through his hair and the grass. The leaves pick up subtler shifts in the air, whispering as they sway the branches overhead. Sometimes a car passes in the distance with a hushed hum. 

When a bird lands in the tree and starts up a bubbling song, Kip opens his eyes and looks over to see Eno kneeling in front of the headstone. He watches for a minute—Eno doesn’t move or even appear to speak. Kip rises to his feet and slowly makes his way over.

A breeze sweeps against his back as he approaches. Eno still stares at the headstone, frowning slightly, still unmoving. Kip pauses about six feet away.

“Hey,” he says.

Eno jolts, looking over at him with the quickness of reflex. 

Kip is momentarily thrown by the realization that Eno is softly crying. Eno blinks and flickers a weak smile as he turns back to face the headstone.

Kip sits down next to him. After a few seconds, he puts his arms around Eno’s waist and gently leans his head against his shoulder.

He closes his eyes again. Every now and again he feels the subtlest shudder pass through Eno’s body, but, if he’s still crying, it’s completely silent—save for the slight strain of his breathing.

Kip gradually gains the quiet confidence to rest a bit more of his weight against Eno. After a while, Eno reaches over and puts his hand on Kip’s knee.

“...You must miss him a lot,” Kip murmurs.

Eno inhales slowly.

“Yes,” he sighs.

Kip tightens his embrace a little.

“I’m really glad he got to have you as a friend,” he says quietly. “Thank you for that. As his brother.”

Eno’s hand suddenly tightens on his knee—Kip opens his eyes and looks at the headstone. 

He can still hear the leaves rustling in the next breeze. The bird continues to sing.

“...I’m sorry, Kip,” Eno whispers. “I should’ve...done things differently.”

Kip sits up and grasps Eno’s hand.

“I keep thinking about chances I might’ve had to change what happened,” Kip murmurs. “I bet Ben thinks about things this way too. If I’d gotten up that night when I heard noises, or if I’d just figured out how to use my ice, maybe it wouldn’t’ve mattered whatever anyone else did or didn’t do. Maybe I would’ve died too. Maybe things would’ve been even worse if you’d caught on sooner and tried to intervene. I don’t know—even if we could’ve stopped it, we didn’t. And...all I know is that you loved them, and you loved me, and wanted us all to be okay. I can’t ask for you to have done anything better than that.”

He sighs.

“I wanted all of us to be safe, too,” he continues slowly. “I don’t know if I messed up. But I know how much I loved them. I...was always doing my best. I guess my best was never good enough, but I can’t really do anything about that.”

He strokes the back of Eno’s hand with his thumb.

“I don’t need any apology, Eno.”

He looks over. Eno is looking straight at the headstone. Kip recognizes the grief in his expression instantly—the layers of sadness and pain and frustration, a suffering that knows it can’t be comforted. Deep and intense and, somehow, quiet.

Kip understands all of it with an empathetic pang. But what surprises him is how unguarded Eno is in this moment. That liminal divide that he can sometimes feel between himself and Eno, where the human is just beyond reach, just a bit too evasive to grab hold of—right now, there’s none of that. Eno feels as close and as tangible as his hand in Kip’s.

Kip leans over and softly kisses Eno’s cheekbone. Then lifts a hand and wipes away a tear clinging to his jaw. Eno lowers his head with a shaky sigh. 

“I love you, you know,” Kip murmurs. “No matter how much of a bad idea it is.”

Eno looks at him; Kip offers a small smile. 

“I love you, too,” Eno says. He laughs softly. “...Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve to even look at you.”

Kip huffs an exhale through his nose.

“Eno, if it wasn’t for you, I’d probably have died five times over. Look at me anytime.”

He pulls Eno over, squeezes his eyes shut and pushes his forehead against Eno’s temple. Eno’s breathing is still unsteady—every few seconds Kip feels it pushed warm against his face and throat.

“Kent would be glad both of us are okay,” Kip says softly. “I’m sure of it.”

“...Thank you.”

—

Kip takes Eno out to lunch, and then they take the bus to the nearest beach—the same one Kip had fled to for distraction after being turned down by Wallace. Halfway through the bus ride and Eno seems to have finished settling himself from the visit to the cemetery, though he’s definitely in one of his more serious and straightforward moods for the time being.

Kip leads him from the bus stop onto the sand; they walk about a mile down the shore to a large pier and sit down on the very end, legs off the edge, talking and laughing and talking and talking and talking as the waves roll in from the horizon and they breathe the ocean air.

—

They ride back to Kip’s neighborhood hours later, hair messed with seaspray, the scent of the beach lingering around them in sand and salt. The evening looks lovely even through the bus windows—magnificently heaped cumulus clouds start to catch hints of color from the first rays of sunset.

Back in the apartment, Kip starts setting out ingredients for dinner and trying to decide how intrusive he’d feel to go down to Ben’s and Wallace’s apartments and make them say hi to Eno. And then he has a stroke of genius and tells Roy that he should do it, and Roy is more than willing, and Eno gives Kip a knowing look. Kip smiles and shrugs.

While they’re gone, he goes and sits on his bed and calls Pascal. Pascal tells him a story from work, and says he was really tired this morning but has felt okay, and Kip talks about how it’s funny that he went back to the cemetery but didn’t cry because there was someone to comfort, and that they went to the beach and watched the ocean and he wants to do that with Pascal, and Pascal says it’s funny because his ocean vase is being fired and the next class is the last one and that he’s actually just gotten back from going out with two people who turned out to already be friends from outside the class and who invited him and another person to hang out with them a minute. Kip is pleased that someone has realized how good it is to be around Pascal, but even more pleased with the tone of delight in Pascal’s voice as he talks about it.

Kip returns to the kitchen. He was right in predicting that Roy would take much longer to present Eno than he would’ve—he’s partway through the prep for the first dish when the apartment door opens and Roy reenters.

And he’s followed by Eno, then Ben, then Wallace. 

“Oh,” Kip says, more nonchalantly than he’d’ve thought he could manage. “Hi!”

“Hello,” Eno says, clearly wanting to laugh at Kip’s situation.

“Hi,” Ben says.

“Hey, Kip,” Wallace overlaps.

“I invited them to dinner,” Roy explains unnecessarily.

“Right,” Kip says. “Well, I’m just getting started on it, you guys, but none of it will take very long. Maybe about an hour from now, at most.”

“Do you want help?” Roy asks.

“Nah, I’ve got it.”

“Where’s Molly?” Ben asks. 

“She took a shower, she’s in her room right now,” Kip answers, pulling out a cutting board. 

“I’ll let her know you guys are here if she doesn’t come out in a minute anyway,” Roy says.

Kip works steadily, making slight adjustments for the addition of two people. After ten minutes or so Roy appears in the doorway behind Kip, momentarily startling him.

“Sorry—“ Roy says quickly. “And, hey, sorry I didn’t ask or give you any heads-up about bringing Wallace and Ben—I just sort of got caught up in the moment, heh—“

“It’s okay,” Kip says. “I don’t mind it.”

“Really?”

Kip smiles and shrugs.

“I’m fine,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

—

After fielding thanks and compliments for the dishes he’s put together, Kip is quieter than ever during dinner. It’s in part because the flowing conversation is so well-sustained amongst everyone else, in part because he’s still trying so much to pay attention to everything, and in part because it really hits him that everyone around the table knows exactly what’s up between him and Wallace and Ben. In a way it hadn’t hit him at the bar—maybe because everything had already been so casual by the time he’d arrived, maybe because someone was there who DIDN’T know, maybe simply because he was sitting at the end and Wallace was way at the opposite corner and Ben wasn’t even in his field of vision most of the time.

It’s not as though anyone is acting at all awkward about any of it, or as though there’s even anything to be aware of. But without Pascal, and with three people who are fond of teasing him, and fewer people overall to dilute any impact of his presence, it keeps coming to the surface of Kip’s mind, making him cast a quick glance around the table to check where everyone’s looking, what expression they’re wearing.

Eno seems to be comfortable enough, and the way he facilitates the dynamics of any group really stands out—at least, Kip really appreciates it. When the conversation continues well an hour past dinner, Kip settles next to Eno both to be near him for its own sake and to camouflage his own quietness in the shadow of Eno’s easy, outgoing disposition. 

But everyone else seems to be enjoying themselves so nicely that Kip feels like he’s getting something out of it just by watching and listening. Eno continues to be surprisingly good at coaxing Ben out of his shell; Kip takes note of it with mild awe. Wallace seems to be in an upbeat mood and holds his own with Molly and Roy, and his bright laughter keeps making Kip smile.

And then Eno decides to focus on being the kind of funny that he knows makes Kip laugh, and it’s successful. And Kip plays along and jokes right back, and maybe Eno’s trying to get him to use his voice a bit more, and Kip is okay with that. 

And then finally Roy says he ought to start getting ready for bed, and since over half of them all have to get up early, the group disperses in a matter of maybe two whole minutes. 

Molly insists on helping Kip carry the dishes to the kitchen.

“You’re off tomorrow, right?” he asks her.

“Yes, finally,” she laughs.

“We’re never off at the same time,” he sighs. 

She pats his back.

“I’m getting up early and everything,” he says. “Like, early enough that I’ll see Roy.”

“Just to open the café?” she says curiously.

“Nah, Eno’s heading back early—he has appointments tomorrow, including mine. So I’m taking him to the station.”

“Oh, got it. Well, I’m already planning on going out, maybe I’ll stop in at work to say hi.”

Kip laughs softly. 

“You’re always out doing stuff,” he says. “When was the last time you spent a full day without going out?”

“Hm. Good question. Oh, and next week Ben says he can show me and Roy what the inside of some of the apartments look like. You know, the ones that are supposed to be available soon.”

“Oh,” Kip says. “Yeah. By the way, I can help with stuff. Helping you guys move stuff, I mean.”

“Right,” she says. “Thanks.”

He’s quiet a moment.

“I’m kind of excited,” she says. “I don’t want to say something like that and make you feel like it’s because we won’t be living with you—it’s just that it’s kind of cool to be in a new place either way. I know it’s the same building and everything, but still...”

“Yeah, I get it,” Kip says. “I’m excited too. And not because I won’t be with you guys anymore.”

Molly laughs and puts an arm around his waist, pulling him against her side.

“Roy’s gonna wanna help with the heavy stuff, isn’t he,” Kip sighs.

“Yeah.”

“Try to save the furniture and all for a Sunday, or something, and I’ll see if I can get Pascal to help move it, and you and me can always be carrying the other end, and then Roy can do whatever and maybe not have to wear his arms out.”

“It’d be great if he could help out—but don’t worry about it too much, because, well, it’s just going to happen.”

“Yeah,” Kip sighs. “Oh, well.”

“Oh, well...” Molly echoes.

He takes her hand a moment and gives it a small squeeze before setting some cups in the sink.

Trying to fall asleep on the couch takes longer than it did the previous night, which frustrates him, which makes it more difficult. He rolls over to face the back so that he can’t look at the clock anymore, and tucks his head against the cushions. 

Finally, it becomes difficult to hold on to any cohesive thoughts.

—

Kip talks with Eno all but nonstop until the last five minutes of sitting on the bench waiting for the train—Kip feels on edge and watchful, dreading its arrival more than he thought he would. He hadn’t supposed this would feel all that heavy, anything like a separation, especially when he’s due to see Eno about ten hours later.

But when the train does arrive and Eno stands up, Kip surprises himself further, tearing up with alarming rapidity.

When Eno turns to say goodbye and notices this, Kip shakes his head hard, looking down.

“Oh...” Eno laughs and steps in. “Come here, dearest.”

Kip shakes his head again as Eno hugs him. He wraps his arms tight around Eno’s back with a heavy exhale.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” he grumbles. “I’m gonna see you just a couple hours after work...”

And Eno makes the hug into one of those that’s so full and earnest and real, dragging a hand up from the small of Kip’s back to just beneath his shoulderblades, putting the other hand in Kip’s hair at the base of his head. Kip curves himself a bit closer to Eno, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Okay,” Kip murmurs. A tear spills from the corner of his eye. “The doors are open. Don’t miss your ride.”

Eno pulls away and smiles at him.

“Alright.”

He touches Kip’s shoulder and then his cheek, smoothly brushing away the tear with his thumb.

“I’ll see you this afternoon,” Eno says. “But it’s been good to see each other like this, hasn’t it.”

Kip nods and presses his lips together.

“Bye, Kip.”

In one smooth motion, Eno leans in and kisses Kip’s forehead. And then he turns and walks to the train car, looking back at Kip with a smile as he steps through the door. Kip swipes the back of his hand across his cheek and waves at him. 

Kip watches as the doors close and the train eases into motion. A half minute later it’s gone from view and he’s still standing there with the slight sense of heartache that he really doesn’t understand, because as nice as this was, it’s really not as if it was something so dramatically different from anything before.

Maybe it’s just that seeing him off has solidified some disappointment that Eno is likely to stay in B.

It’s not that it’ll be so hard to deal with if it’s true. As if they haven’t been in different districts all their lives. And Kip really doesn’t want to ask Eno to shake up his life when he’s still recovering from this past year, or to ask him to sacrifice anything he’s happy with simply for Kip’s own convenience.

It had just been nice to spend so much time with him.

—

Opening the café is a decent distraction. And then spending the last hour of his shift with Kate seems to help shake him out of it further. When he reaches Eno’s office, it almost feels like it’s any other week. Eno does ask him how he’s doing even before the appointment begins, and Kip laughs and assures him he’s doing alright.

Kip does find it harder to introduce subjects and volunteer information as comfortably as he usually does, but Eno steps up and asks him plenty of questions, prompts him, waits patiently through halting, pause-filled answers.

Thanks to Eno’s slightly adjusted schedule, there’s an appointment just fifteen minutes after the end of Kip’s, preventing them from hanging out up in Eno’s apartment. Still, Eno makes sure to give Kip another quick hug and assure him that he’ll have to visit C again soon.

But the train ride home feels a bit colder and more hostile than usual. 

—

Kip texts Pascal on the afternoon before his last pottery class.

“hey, would you want me to go over to your apartment later so i can meet you there after you’re done with class? but i know that’d be later than usual. its fine if not.”

He has to wait until the end of an afternoon rush in the café to check the reply he’d felt nearly half an hour prior.

That evening, Kip bakes some blueberry muffins and takes half of them over to Pascal’s apartment. 

He starts listening for a key in door about ten minutes after the class is meant to have ended. Instead, his phone starts going off. It startles him—he tries hard not to jump to any worst-case-scenario conclusions before he even answers.

“Hey, Pascal,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Kip—sorry, but do you think you could come downstairs and let me in? I’ve kind of got my arms full with the stuff I made in class, and I just don’t wanna risk dropping anything...”

“Oh! Yeah, absolutely—be right there, okay?”

“Alright. Thanks.”

“No problem. See you in a sec.”

Kip pushes his phone back into his pocket as he heads out the door, rushes down the hallway, and takes the stairs two at a time. Pascal is waiting right outside the front door, bathed in the orange and purple light of dusk, immediately giving Kip a sweet look and a smile. He has three large bags in his arms, full of what must be his sculptures, each wrapped up in newspaper pages. 

“Hey.” Kip smiles back at him. “Nice to see you.”

“Thanks. Nice to see you too.”

Kip holds the door for Pascal to step inside. They take the elevator back upstairs, and Kip walks ahead to unlock the apartment door and hold it again.

“Thank you...give me just a second and I’ll set these down...” Pascal turns to enter the living room and puts the bags on the coffee table with a slow exhale.

Kip waits in the doorway a moment for Pascal to turn around and look back at him.

“I can’t wait to see them all,” he says. “But I know you just got back and had to carry all that the whole way, so probably you should just kick back a minute before giving me a presentation. And I brought you some blueberry muffins I just made an hour ago. Do you want one?”

“Oh, gosh, thank you, yes.” Pascal sinks down on the armchair.

“Okay. I split the batter and made half with orange juice and half with strawberry lemonade, so those ones came out kinda pink.”

“Oh my god. That sounds amazing. Can I have a pink one?”

“Sure,” Kip grins. “You want it buttered?”

“Mm...” Pascal hums thoughtfully, pulling off his shoes and socks. “Yes, please. There’s a pitcher of suntea in the fridge, by the way, totally help yourself to it if you’d like.”

“Ooh. Thanks. I’ll be right back, then.”

He makes two trips back to the living room to carry in a glass of tea and a warm, buttered muffin for Pascal, and then the same for himself—pink muffin and all.

“Kip, this is completely delicious,” Pascal says through his first bite.

Kip tries it too.

“Oh. Damn. You’re right. I’m gonna have to make these all the time.”

Pascal kicks up the footrest of the recliner and leans back with a sigh.

“This tea is really nice, too, Pasc.”

“Thank you,” Pascal says. “I was gonna float berries in it, but I forgot to get any.”

“Ooh...like blackberries and raspberries?”

“Exactly like those,” Pascal laughs. “I’ll make another pitcher soon.”

Kip crosses his legs up on the couch cushions. It feels good to be sitting down.

“Oh,” Pascal says. “You see the bag that’s on your right?” 

“Uh-huh?”

“Take the one on top there that’s covered in the deodorant coupons,” he says. “Look what I got.”

Kip lifts it and unwraps it, laughing at the first glimpse of the clay Pascal he’d made.

“Oh, fantastic...”

“Right? I’d really hoped I could manage to keep it.”

“Ugh, he’s all sharp in some places...and I didn’t smooth it out nearly as well as yours are...”

“It doesn’t have to be smooth,” Pascal says. “Besides, it’s cool, because you can see how you touched it when you sculpted it. And you can kind rub down any edges or bumps or whatever with sandpaper if they’re too sharp. Anyway, I’m keeping him forever and gluing it back together as many times as I might have to.”

Kip giggles and spreads out the newspaper on the table, setting the small sculpture on top.

“I’m glad you like it so much,” he says.

“I do,” Pascal murmurs, turning his head to shoot Kip a smile. “You’re very artistic.”

Kip snorts and tosses his shoulders up in a shrug.

“I guess sometimes. Anyways, once you rested up and all and are in the mood, I wanna see what YOU have. Cuz you’re amazing.”

Pascal smiles again and blushes faintly.

“Okay.”

—

What Pascal made IS amazing. A couple more bowls, a wide triangular plate, another circular, each with different textures and organically themed decoration, feathers and clouds or wood and branches or grape ands their vines or stones and the water flowing through them. A blue and grey and orange statue of a bird with its head half tucked beneath its wing and an ornate, sweeping tail of long feathers all layered over each other. A purple statue of an octopus—“I had to, right?”—with eight long, sinuous legs curling back all across its body.

Kip sits in front of the vase of ocean waves in silence for what must be a full minute.

“...Wow,” he finally says. 

“Heh—thanks.”

“Wow.”

Kip rotates it slowly and carefully, all the way around, three times. 

“The way you did the glaze is so pretty,” he says. “The colors...wow.”

“Thank you,” Pascal laughs quietly.

Kip stares at it a moment more before turning back and examining the rest of it all over again.

“Wow, Pascal,” he sighs. “Just...wow. You’re so talented. You worked so much and so carefully on all of these and it all looks fucking amazing. Just...you made such amazing and beautiful things.” 

He looks over at Pascal with a small, incredulous shake of the head. Pascal smiles back at him, blushing.

“And, you know,” Kip continues. “You liked it, right? Taking the class, I mean?”

“Yeah. It was fun.”

Kip stands up and walks over to him and kisses his forehead, picking up his empty saucer and glass from the table.

“Did you have a favorite part?” he asks.

“Hmm...I’m not sure. It was just really nice to sit down and work on this stuff for a while. The whole atmosphere was really relaxed, just people chatting sometimes and listening to music and stuff. I liked doing something different.”

Kip smiles at him and nods.

“It’s really great you did it,” he says as he stacks Pascal’s dishes onto his own.

“Yeah.”

“...Are you sad it’s over?”

He looks over to see Pascal gazing at the table.

“...Yeah,” Pascal says. “I miss it already.”

Kip sets down the dishes, walks back over, strokes Pascal’s hair aside, and presses a long kiss to Pascal’s lips. He inhales and pulls softly away; their eyes meet as he straightens back up.

“I’m gonna wash these dishes real quick,” he says. “Then do you want me to massage your shoulders when I’m done? These must’ve been a little heavy even for you, after all.”

“Hmm...” Pascal leans back. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

The massage ends up serving as foreplay, as usual, and Pascal holds on to the wall as Kip fucks him with a smooth, easy rhythm. After a good while he pulls out, gets rid of the condom, and, with the help of a few pillows, he gets to find out that, yes, Pascal CAN rim him while he sucks Pascal’s dick.

—

Kip tells Pascal he should indulge in a long bath. And then he asks him if he’s reading a book or if there’s one he’s wanting to start, and brings it in. And brings him a cup of hot tea. And asks if he has any oils or salts or tea candles Kip should provide.

“Is this because of my last day of class?” Pascal laughs.

“Mm, maybe. I mean, you should sometimes just relax in a bath for no special reason. But also, yes, I like to try to help you feel better when I can. And help you do nice things for yourself when you’re a little down. I sort of learned from the best.”

Pascal blushes richly and drops his head to smile.

Kip lifts some soap from the water, strokes it across Pascal’s chest, and kisses the top of his head.

—

Kip takes off his clothes and lies down on top of the blankets, eyes closed. A minute later and Pascal crawls onto the bed next to him, his weight and movement warping the mattress and shifting Kip slightly. 

“You’re not cold?” Pascal murmurs. He lies down too, knee against Kip’s thigh, an arm over Kip’s stomach.

“Not right now,” Kip answers. “And so I’m enjoying it.”

He turns his head and opens his eyes. Pascal smiles, wearing a tank and boxers himself. Kip reaches over and caresses his jaw.

After a minute of soft, slow kissing, Pascal curls up against Kip, head resting on Kip’s chest. Kip strokes his hair lazily, his other arm around Pascal’s shoulders.

“Pascal?”

“Mmhm?”

“Times like the other week, when my family comes up a lot, does it make you sad about yours sometimes?”

Pascal is quiet a moment.

“...Sometimes,” he says. “But I kind of mostly think about it other times. And generally not that much. Don’t worry.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t worried. I was just wondering.”

“It’s not that I’m even ever that sad about it,” Pascal says. “It’s more that I only get kinda sad sometimes that things weren’t always just...completely different from the start.”

Kip scratches his fingertips against the nape of Pascal’s neck.

“You know,” he says. “Once, not long after we’d moved here, I went to the library, and I don’t know exactly why I did it, but I looked through a few books by grief therapists and checked a couple out. Maybe it was because I was worried about living so close to where I’d used to. And the move shook me up, obviously, and I was kind of a mess, but really wanting to be more put together than ever, so I guess it makes sense I’d try to be proactive about things in a way like reading library books.”

“Mm...”

“Anyways, the thing is that the longer one mentioned at one point how a lot of the time, people who help people cope with grief will consider it to be kind of a form of grieving when someone has to, like, know that a potential course or a potential version of their own life was ended because of the way something was. Like, if some trauma came up and the impact changed them and closed off parts of their life and took away opportunities, and things like that. Or if it’s something more ongoing that had a similar effect. It’s like, a person can grieve for themself.”

Pascal is quiet, but Kip knows he’s still listening.

“I feel that way,” he continues. “I brought it up when I was explaining things to Wallace. How I felt like I died that night, and not just because of the initial impact. It’s still like I died, because it changed me so immediately, so much. I know that who I was beforehand was and is still a part of me, of course, but the person he could’ve been if there was no fire DID sort of die. And I also feel like the way the fire—and even some of stuff from the years leading up to it—the way it affected me, it’s definitely like...so many things I could’ve been doing then, or could do in the future, they were just impossible now. There was a lot of possibilities, just...well, gone up in smoke. It’s like a bunch of me’s were dying all around me. A me who wasn’t scared all the time, about everything. A me who never had to miss his family. A me who went to college. A me who might’ve had something he wanted to go to college FOR. And so on.”

He pauses a moment, playing vaguely with Pascal’s hair.

“What I’m saying is that I think it could apply to you, if you feel that way. Because you can grieve for something that never even got to exist, but should’ve. I mean, that’s what grief is, all of it. Even though my family DID exist, what hurts is that the last six years and the next however many years of their lives DON’T exist, but they should.”

He rubs Pascal’s back and sighs.

“You don’t have to feel like that applies to you. Or that it helps to think about it like that. And you don’t even have to feel sad. But, you know, whether you do or don’t, I’m here for you either way.”

“...Thanks,” Pascal murmurs. “And thanks for telling me about that.”

“Mmhm.”

Kip pulls up Pascal’s arm and slowly plants a dozen lingering kisses on the smooth, shiny back, on the peachy suckers and the valleys in between.

—

Kip lets Roy and Molly know that they should visit Pascal’s apartment as soon as possible, whether separately or together, whether for five minutes or an hour, and see what he made in his class.

It takes a few days, but it’s worth the wait when they finally tell him all about how Pascal is a genius and they can’t believe he’s so good at tea AND clay and did Kip notice how Pascal carved all those little veins in the leaves and the ridges in the feathers, and how all the colors he chose are gorgeous, and how incredible Pascal is?

Best of all is when Pascal says he liked getting to hear them say how much they liked it.

—

The thing about what happened in E is that most of it was so removed from all aspects and experiences of normal life that it’s difficult for Kip to be unexpectedly reminded of it—much less to feel as though he’s reliving any parts of it.

But in the immediate aftermath, he dreaded hallways and stairwells and clipboards and circular ceiling lights and rectangular ones and turning off the lights and closed doors and a whole mess of innocuous things. But worst of all was strange humans. It wasn’t exactly the same as it had been after the fire—the severity of this was manageable. He could walk himself through it until it no longer put him quite so on edge. But there was something cruel about having to tremble head to toe for a solid half hour just so he could see his therapist. The hostile scrutiny of unfamiliar humans was only bearable because he knew there was no such thing as turning around from it.

But, as always, the other thing is that sometimes he doesn’t need specific reminders. Sometimes his nightmares will replay the experience for him, twisting the already traumatic contents of report files into things even more hellishly, unshakeably disturbing. And sometimes, the fact that he’s always a tiny bit on edge will make something so startling that, for a moment, his stress is enough to make him feel like he did in E and fill his head with those images and sounds.

The latter happened in the middle of a Saturday rush, and he’s only glad that things were too busy for anyone to notice, and it didn’t get any worse than it did. All it took was the simultaneity of a sharp cry—a loud laugh, actually—and a small crash and a sudden movement in the corner of his eye and he just stopped. He stopped and stood there, heartbeat crashing around, trying not to hold back the wave of memories from E but trying not to let them flood out of control, and for a full minute he stood there and gripped the counter and tried as hard as he could to focus on the pattern of a few drops of water by his right hand.

When he could manage to start up with coffees again, that pulled him out of it even more, and soon enough the only thing at all unusual was that he was more on edge and a bit put off. Nothing anyone would notice. 

But his shift seems longer than usual, and closing drags by horribly, and when he finally gets home the first thing he does is strip down and take a hot shower to clear it all out of his head. Then he heads into his room and buries himself in his blankets for a while. He texts Pascal that if he’s up for a quick call, he’d love to talk and hear his voice for a minute.

The call doesn’t happen for another twenty minutes. Kip is a little shaky when he picks up, but it’s not due to any of the afternoon’s stress. It’s rather that he’s got his hands-free massager fully up inside himself and has been lifting his knees to his chest and sliding his legs back down over and over for about ten minutes now. He informs Pascal of this.

“I just had one of those moments at work,” he explains a bit breathlessly. “Getting all worked up for a minute because stuff that stresses me out a certain way makes me think of things, and I have to try to shake it off, so I’m, you know—distracting myself.”

“Uh-huh? How’s it working?”

“Pretty well, I think...”

“Well...” Pascal is speaking closer and quieter, voice lowered slightly. “Focus on how good it feels.”

“Nnh—no problem,” Kip breathes. He closes his eyes, then exhales and does a curl-up, falls back against the bed, quickly repeats it.

“Focus on how good it feels,” Pascal says again. “And think about me being there with you. Think about how good THAT would be.”

Kip laughs weakly. Pascal stays on the phone with him until, after about twenty minutes more, he climaxes brilliantly. He lies boneless against the mattress and softly encourages Pascal until he hears him orgasm too.

“So...how was YOUR day?” Kip asks, grinning.

Pascal pants heavily for a few seconds before answering.”

“Improved.”

—

About a week and a half before Molly and Roy are leaving on their extended weekend mini-vacation, Kip starts to notice them making small preparations—things like retrieving the old travel bags at the top of the closet, buying sunscreen and toothbrush cases, talking about travel routes and reservations.

It gives Kip a feeling something like he used to get around the impending end of the school year. It’s only enhanced by his awareness that, after they come back from the trip, there’ll only be about two more weeks until, apparently, they’ll be able to move into another apartment. And he’s kind of still in suspense about whether they plan to be moved in by the first day of the next month. 

But he just tells himself that they’ll tell him whatever there is to know whenever they know it. And in the meantime, he’ll just worry about his own stuff and be happy that they seem to be enjoying the anticipation of their vacation as much as he’d hoped they would.

—

Kip is handling orders alone at the café, waiting for Cuddy to come in and his shift to end. There’s a small line of people at the register when he happens to look over at a flicker of orange and see Wallace sit down at a small corner table. Bemused, Kip wrenches his attention back to the person in front of him, stumbling only slightly over his question of what size they’d like. 

He steals a few quick over-the-shoulder glances at Wallace while hurrying back and forth making coffees and retrieving desserts. Wallace is dressed in shorts and a light blue tee, and doesn’t seem to have any of his work material with him. And as far as Kip can tell, he isn’t making any move to come over and order or even just say anything—even if he was waiting to meet up with someone else, surely Wallace would make a point of greeting whoever’s working here. And even if Wallace came here to say hi to him in particular, wouldn’t he have done so already?

It all makes Kip suspect that Wallace intends specifically to talk to him, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. He spends the next fifteen minutes or so trying to figure out what on earth Wallace might have to say. Finally he just gives up and waits for Wallace to do whatever he is or isn’t going to do, wiping down the mini-fridges in the meantime.

Once the café is relatively quiet, and it’s been about five minutes since a customer last entered, and Kip accidentally catches his eye, Wallace smiles and starts walking over.

Kip smiles back with a small shrug, and approaches the side of the counter to talk.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asks.

Wallace laughs for some reason and brushes his hair back with his fingers. Kip waits patiently, smiling faintly.

“H-hey, sorry—“ Wallace laughs again. “I checked if you were at the apartment, and Roy said you were working until this afternoon, so...”

“...Yeah?” Kip says slowly. “What’s up? Is anything wrong?”

“No, no...” Wallace shakes his head. “I was just, uh, wondering when you were done with your shift?”

“...About forty more minutes.”

“Ah—okay.” Wallace smiles; it’s warm, but somehow less radiant than usual. Kip again wonders if it’s somehow bad news, despite what Wallace said. “Would it be alright if I could...have a minute afterwards? To talk?”

Kip blinks, thoroughly nonplussed. Wallace blushes lightly during the short pause.

“Sure,” Kip finally says. 

“Okay.” Wallace laughs again, his expression brightening. “Would it be alright if I waited for you over there until you’re done?”

Kip is so confused.

“Er...yeah. You...want a coffee while you wait?”

“Um—sure, okay.”

Kip tosses him a smile and turns away to the coffee bar. He tries to rein in his thoughts as he makes Wallace’s drink, and tries not to brush fingers as he passes it over.

“Thanks,” Wallace laughs. “I’ll get out of your way now.”

Kip exhales a laugh through his nose and pretends he needs to retie his apron. He watches Wallace smile and lift the cup an inch as if in toast, then turn and head back over to sit in the corner.

Kip shakes his head and sighs and wholly dedicates himself to scrubbing every tiny stain off the counters.

He doesn’t check the time again, and he’s taking a few more orders at the register when Cuddy suddenly appears beside him. He flinches just slightly.

“I can cut in after you’re done with this one,” she murmurs. “If you’d go and start in on those drinks.”

“Alright.”

It’s about seven minutes past the end of his shift when he’s handed over the last coffee, put the station back in order, and clocked out.

He walks slowly through the back, undoing another button of his shirt and stuffing his folded-up apron into his back pocket. He checks his hair in the reflection of an oven door before he can restrain himself.

“I’ll see you later, Cuddy,” he says as he passes. “Have a good night.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Kip checks his phone, sighs again, and walks up front. Wallace looks over at once and rises to his feet.

“Hey,” Kip says as he draws near. “I’m done for the day.”

“Awesome. Um—“ Wallace glances around. “Would you like to...go for a walk?”

Kip stares at him for just half a beat.

“Sure,” he answers. He’s given up trying to guess what this is all actually about.

“Alright, then,” Wallace says cheerfully. “Let’s just...”

He pivots slowly towards the door, then laughs and starts walking towards it. Kip waits for just a moment before following after him.

Wallace turns in the opposite direction as the apartment building and heads off at a leisurely pace, glancing back for Kip and laughing when Kip sees him do it.

“It’s kind of nice out,” Wallace says, looking up at the sky.

“Yeah,” Kip agrees. “You can feel the difference even inside the café.”

“Is it cold in there for you?”

“I guess most of the time,” Kip says. “It usually has to be, like, at least a hundred degrees before I feel hot, too.”

“Oh,” Wallace says. “Wow.”

They walk in silence a few seconds, Kip lagging behind half a pace. He watches Wallace, expecting him to bring up whatever reason he has for wanting to talk, but Wallace just looks ahead as though they’re sightseeing, smiling softly, occasionally scratching his shoulder or the back of his neck.

“...You were off work today, right?” Kip asks.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I thought so. But I know sometimes there’s weekend calls and...short-notice things, and all.”

“Not today,” Wallace answers.

“Cool.”

They’re quiet for a bit again. Kip really can’t understand it. 

“Did you have a specific destination in mind, or are we just wandering?” he asks Wallace.

“Oh, I dunno,” Wallace says. “It’s just, it’s nice out, and I just...” He trails off.

Kip raises his eyebrows and sighs silently, dropping his head.

Kip doesn’t try to start up any conversation for the next several minutes, and Wallace continues his uncharacteristic silence. He seems self-conscious to Kip, a little fidgety, distracted, but not exactly uncomfortable.

Maybe, Kip thinks, he and Ben are engaged, and he wants to tell me separately from anyone else in case I get upset.

It’s strange to consider, since as far as Kip knows neither Wallace nor Ben are still really openly mentioning their relationship to anyone. But he supposes that an engagement would be a good time to start. It would explain why Wallace seems nervous, but not really tense. Happy, but restrainedly so.

Kip doesn’t know how he would feel about it. Maybe the idea is a relief? Something that would put the nail in the coffin for the stubborn feelings he can’t extinguish? Evidence that Ben truly sees a life for himself again? Yet Kip doesn’t think he’ll be able to muster any sort of joy as an external reaction, nor fully mask any discomfort or, worse, jealousy. But he know he can give an earnestly amiable enough sort of congratulations. He would mean it, even if he couldn’t feel it.

But if it’s something of a step down from that, like Wallace informing him that Ben no longer feels any desire to be so discreet about the fact they’re simply dating, Kip doubts he’ll have all that much to offer aside from the discomfort and a cooled politeness.

He exits his reverie and notices that Wallace has slowed their pace even more. Kip glances at him; Wallace glances away, up at a tree on the opposite streetcorner. 

A minute later: “Here,” Wallace says. “This is kind of nice, isn’t it?”

They’re by a small courtyard between buildings, with several young trees and a long bench flanked by raised beds of flowers. Wallace wanders a few steps in, and Kip follows.

Wallace puts his hands in his pockets and turns to Kip with a smile.

There’s such an earnest charm about Wallace that Kip just can’t find the wherewithal to blame himself for developing a crush on him.

“So...” Kip hugs his arms across his front and steps closer, sort of towards Wallace, sort of towards the bench. “...What’s on your mind?”

Wallace’s smile brightens into a beam and he brushes some hair back again.

“Well...” he says, laughing lightly. “You, I suppose.”

Kip flashes a reflexive smile and waits for him to actually answer, trying to suppress a blush in the meantime.

Wallace doesn’t, just keeps looking back at him, so Kip shrugs.

“Yeah, here I am. What did you wanna tell me about?”

Wallace seems to stifle a laugh, blushing pleasantly. He casually meanders over to one of the flowerbeds by a tall clutch of bright pink stargazer lilies. Kip watches curiously.

“...I’ve been thinking about things a lot for a while now,” Wallace says, gazing at the flowers. “Even before you told me how you felt about me.”

Kip’s blush snaps up his throat and erupts across his face. He furrows his brow and lifts his posture, staring at Wallace.

“And, well...lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the stuff you were saying to me...about how we never got a real chance to introduce ourselves, or get to know each other without everything in our way.” 

He reaches out and drags a finger along one of a lily’s long, thin leaves. Kip watches him carefully.

“...Are you introducing yourself to me?” he asks Wallace slowly.

Wallace finally turns and looks over at him. His cheeks are pink, but his self-consciousness has apparently departed for the moment.

“Not EXACTLY,” he says.

Kip really can’t believe this. Wallace is impossible.

“Remember how you were saying that...maybe it would be good to sort of...start over? And have the chance to figure out what we should mean to each other?”

“Yes,” Kip says warily. Every present instant is getting to be too much—it leaves no room in his head for guessing at what’s supposed to be going on.

Wallace just smiles. Kip gazes back at him.

“So...” Wallace takes a slow step away from the flowers. “You know my name this time around, of course.”

“Uh-huh. Hi, Wallace; I’m Kip.”

He holds his hand out to continue the joke, and Wallace takes it, lifting it vaguely, then gently squeezes it. Kip blushes harder but doesn’t let anything else register in his expression. He lets his hand rest deadweight in Wallace’s, until Wallace lowers their hands and lets Kip’s fingers slide from his grip. 

Kip glances down. When he looks up again, Wallace is still gazing steadily back at him.

“What are we supposed to do next?” Kip finally asks. “Should we go back to the café and talk about ourselves over drinks?”

“That would be nice,” Wallace laughs. “But maybe not just now.”

Kip doesn’t know what to say. The space between himself and Wallace feels smaller than it did only moments ago.

“Do you think...you could pretend, for right now, that me and you are getting that fresh start?”

“...I don’t think I understand exactly what you’re trying to ask of me, Wallace.”

Wallace huffs a sigh and drops his head slightly, stepping towards Kip. Kip doesn’t want to step back—that would acknowledge he’s thinking of how close they are now. They’ve been much closer before. Wallace is his friend. There isn’t anything wrong with talking while standing near each other.

Wallace is still smiling when he raises his head to look at Kip again, but some hint of self-consciousness seems to have returned. Then his eyes flicker upwards. Kip blinks and cringes slightly as Wallace reaches right towards him—then he feels Wallace’s fingers brush gently through his hair.

“What...do I have a leaf in my hair or something?” Kip murmurs. 

“No,” Wallace answers quietly. “Just a bit of hair blown out of place.”

Wallace pets his hair once more; Kip’s ready for it this time, unflinching.

He’s not as prepared for Wallace to drift his hand down to Kip’s shoulder.

“Wallace,” he says weakly. “...What are you doing?”

“I’m...well, I’m reintroducing us.”

Wallace moves a half-step forward—he’s now close enough that Kip has to lift his head slightly to look at him. And his hand is putting just an ounce of pressure on Kip’s shoulder, as if pulling one or both of them in, Kip can’t guess which. He has no capacity for any sort of rumination at the moment. He can only stare at Wallace’s face and try to cling to whatever remains of his composure.

Wallace takes another half-step forward.   
He’s blushing so thoroughly. 

Kip loves how Wallace’s face looks when he smiles. Kip remembers so clearly how he looks when he’s fearing for both of their lives. When he’s trying to comfort Kip. When he’s focused with everything he has on what might have the key to saving them. When he’s asleep. When he’s crying. When he’s trying to pretend he’s not crying, for Kip’s sake.

“Kip...” He says it so softly, with the hint of—not exactly a laugh, but that luminosity that shines through in his voice and his expression and the way he’ll perk up and lean towards you with a smile like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day. 

Meanwhile, Kip can’t seem to muster the first syllable of speech. Wallace is still growing nearer, and electricity is sparking wildly throughout Kip’s limbs. He thinks that Wallace might be leaning in, but can’t be sure it isn’t his imagination. 

This is just a hug. This is just going to be a hug. Wallace is just making sure Kip knows he means it.

Then Wallace looks down at Kip’s mouth. It’s more than a glance—it blatantly, deliberately lingers. Kip feels so much explosive energy reverberating through him and yet he can’t move.

Their eyes meet again.

Wallace is so close; Kip isn’t sure their faces have ever been this close. It’s like he can all but feel the warmth of Wallace’s blush.

Wallace smiles, genuinely, brightly, like he’s so happy. 

A screaming firework rockets through Kip’s chest.

Suddenly things are much faster, and all Kip can do is close his eyes and tilt his head to the left.

Wallace’s lips are soft and warm. The moment Kip feels them on his it’s like he’s filled with the thunder of a waterfall. Wallace kisses gently, just pressing their lips together, hand on Kip’s shoulder, breath ghosting across Kip’s skin. 

Kip hears himself give the tiniest whimper.

Wallace pulls slowly on Kip’s top lip, then pushes in again, tilting his head further, sliding his hand to the base of Kip’s neck.

Kip likes it so much and feels it so strongly that he wrenches his head away, eyes screwed shut, and shoves Wallace so hard in the chest that he stumbles backwards himself—only just managing to avoid falling over completely.

He puts his wrist against his mouth and finally opens his eyes to see Wallace standing there staring back at him, looking stunned and bewildered.

Wallace opens his mouth soundlessly.

Kip shakes his head hard, fixing him with a ferocious glare.

For a moment they’re both silent and unmoving.

“I-I...” Wallace’s voice is faint. He starts forward. “Kip—“

“NO,” Kip growls. He turns away and stalks back towards the sidewalk.

“Kip—wait!”

“Stay AWAY!” Kip shouts. He doesn’t look back—he breaks into a run, away from Wallace, away from that kiss, bolting around the first corner he reaches and dashing over a block, trying to keep Wallace from following him. 

He runs for that purpose alone, cutting from one street to another, until finally he’s breathing too fast and too hard to continue. He glances around quickly—to his relief, there’s no sign of Wallace. He searches for a bench instead, something, anything to sit down a moment.

He finds a covered bench by a bus stop and sinks into it, staring down at the curb.

His head is full of how nice that felt, how much he wanted it, and how terrible that is. 

His memory of that last second before Wallace kissed him, just before he closed his eyes, when everything was tilting heads and leaning in and parting lips and Wallace’s face so close to his—it’s a vague blur, but it’s looping endlessly in the back of his mind all the same.

Kip drops his head into his hands with a rough exhale.

After however many minutes it takes him to open his eyes again, he finally turns to look at which bus line this is, and its arrival times.

The next bus is supposed to be about fifteen minutes away.

He knows this route. In five minutes it would take him a couple of blocks away from his building. 

But he doesn’t want to go back to the apartment. He doesn’t want to see anyone—nor risk seeing anyone. He figures if he meets Wallace he’ll only get angrier and more upset. If he meets Ben, he’ll have to say something and he’ll definitely get more upset. If he runs into the both of them—he’ll probably throw up, and beyond that has no idea how he’d try to handle that scenario.

The route also has a few stops along Berkley. He could go to Pascal’s shop. But this isn’t something they can talk about while Pascal fields distractions and interruptions. And he can’t ask Pascal to drop everything and comfort him, be exclusively in boyfriend mode for as long as it takes for Kip to feel okay—that could take ages. And he only wants to ask that of Pascal if it’s an emergency. He knows he can get much worse than this.

He could go to Pascal’s apartment. He keeps the key with all the others he carries around. But even though he knows Pascal wouldn’t mind, he’d feel strange going over without having discussed it prior. And while it’s a better option than trying to go back to his own apartment, he’s not even sure he wants to be in ANY apartment right now.

He could see if Kate’s home. He hasn’t hung out with her at her place in ages. And he knows she’d certainly be okay with hearing him talk about what just happened. But he’s not sure he wants to talk about it at all right now, save with Pascal. And he’s not going to be able to pretend he doesn’t have something weighing on him—Kate would want to drag it out of him, especially if he’s the one who initiated the hangout.

He sits there in silence, staring at the sign on the window across from him, until the bus rumbles up and comes to a stop in front of him. The doors swing open; he stands up and steps inside.

Ten minutes later and the bus rounds a corner onto Berkley. Kip’s still-elevated pulse ticks up again. 

He rides a mile further than Pascal’s shop. He knows this area well. It’s strange to see it again, from this unfamiliar elevated angle, through a flecked windshield.

The bus rolls to a stop; he stands and walks down the aisle and down the steps onto the curb. A couple of monsters and a human family are waiting to get on. Kip doesn’t look at anyone—he walks a bit past the bus stop and looks around.

He knows these houses. One looks like it’s been repainted. These trees were always here. That row of bushes growing along that driveway, too.

With a deep breath, Kip sets off down the sidewalk.

Every block grows more and more familiar. It grabs his heart. He hasn’t seen these places in years, but they’re embedded in him like a muscle memory. He wonders if any of the same people are still living in these houses. It’s only been six years, after all. Not really that long.

When the block he used to live on comes into view, he has to stop. He can’t even see most of the houses from this angle—if his hadn’t burned down, it would still be out of view. 

He wants to do this, and he knows he’ll be able to. But that doesn’t mean he won’t have to pause and work up his nerve, or that he’ll be completely stoic throughout, or that this isn’t really, extremely intense and making him shivery and anxious and tight-throated. 

If he can do this, surely he’ll also be able to summon the courage needed to reenter his apartment building. 

After several long minutes, he still doesn’t feel brave enough to get any closer. He doesn’t think he’s even ready. 

He starts walking anyway.

His steps are slow and his legs feel like water. The feeling as his block grows nearer is something inscrutable—he can’t even tell if it’s good or bad. But whatever it is, there’s a lot of it. It’s like it’s going to overflow from his chest. If he can do this, he must be able to do anything.

He wishes he had something to hold. Wallace’s dishtowel to fold and unfold and wring tighter and tighter.

He fixes his gaze at his feet and walks another block in tiny, cautious advancements.

He crosses the street and makes it to the end of another hundred-mile stretch of cement.

When he crosses that street, each breath seems so sharp inside his chest that it almost tickles. He walks up the ramp onto the curb and stops, staring at his feet. He knows the telephone pole beside him. He knows the crack in the sidewalk. The air is familiar, the way it mingles with these surroundings and then tastes like this in your lungs.

If he looks up now, he’ll see the houses he saw every day for years and years and years.

If he looks up and turns his head, he’ll be able to see the absence of the house he lived in for over a decade. 

So he keeps his head down. He walks forwards a few small steps, but that’s all he can manage. He stops and stands there, staring at the toes of his shoes. 

He doesn’t know how he finally looks up. He just does it. 

And here it is. 

This is his street. All these years later, after everything he’s been through, here it is. Here he is.

He draws a deep breath. It shudders.

He turns his head.

His breath catches before it even leaves his chest. His home is a blue patch of sky, bordered by layers of sharp-silhouetted clouds. 

He sees the garden Pascal told him about. Walls of flowering bushes, a large archway covered in blooming vines, a wide stone pathway leading down to the sidewalk.

Kip walks slowly further, keeping his eyes on his home the whole time. Every step is careful—he has no idea how stable his legs are right now, he has almost no sense of his body or anything else. He stops when he’s standing right across the street. 

After a long while of standing there, staring, he turns his head to the right.

A foot beside him is that same street sign. He moves a hand away from his body until it touches the pole. He looks down, watching himself wrap his fingers around it. He squeezes the grip. The corners dig hard into his skin.

He looks back at the garden. The plants are moving subtly in breezes too light to feel. His grip on the sign starts to smart. 

His attempt at a bracing inhale is weak. He lets go of the pole and steps off the curb. 

The street is clears when he starts across, but the faint rushing hum of a car makes him panic and dart forward onto the sidewalk. And with that he feels much, much too close. He can’t be here, he can’t occupy this space when the house, the people who should be in it, are gone. But he can’t turn to walk away, or even to stop staring. For several minutes he can’t begin to move. 

And then one breath finally feels like it’s really given him air. He eagerly draws a few more, clenching his fists, raising his head. He looks up at the ghost of his house.

Just like at the cemetery, he’s as close as he’s ever been in six years, it’s here right in front of him. He can’t turn away now.

He tries to feel ready, and he can’t, so he just keeps going anyway.

Kip walks about five feet to the left of the edge of the path—right along where the sidewalk to the house used to be. He closes his eyes, walks forward, stops short—opens them.

He would’ve been standing at the front door. The leaves of a bush are right in front of his face. He puts a hand to them, closes his eyes again, imagines stepping inside the house. He turns and keeps walking along. He’d be going through the front hall into the living room. Passing by a window. That bookshelf would’ve been in front of him now, about ten feet away. 

His fingers stop brushing against leaves—he opens his eyes and looks over. 

He’s at the entrance of the lattice archway. Through it he sees the path diverge, curving around a flowerbed. As he steps forward, the garden opens up around him. Ankle-height blooms line the edges of the path, backed by knee-high flowers, then tall, lush growths of bushes. The pathway is smaller in here, branching off, wandering through various groupings of plants, islands of flowers with saplings reaching up from their core, forests of orchids, broad hydrangea bushes. Already he sees a couple of benches; he thinks he can hear a fountain. 

Being inside this space is beautiful. The scent of leaves and flowers, the flittering of butterfly wings all around, the gorgeous colors and forms of petals—Kip wishes he didn’t have to know that it ought to be completely different. That as wonderful as this all is, it’s making it harder to remember exactly where he’d be standing in the house if it was around him now.

He’s probably still in the living room. And if he followed this row of orange and yellow daisies, he would be walking towards the kitchen.

The kitchen is full of sunflowers. Most are chest high, some taller. Kip walks over to what would be the table. He closes his eyes and calls it all up into his mind. The fridge is behind him, to his right. The countertop across from him. The window above the sink. The oven over to the left. Pantry across from it. Shelves of pots and pans and large mixing bowls. The spice rack by the telephone. Kettle on the backburner. Cabinet full of teas. Oven mitts on a peg. Framed dried flowers on the wall over the column of drawers. The voices of his family as they talk in the other room.

Kip only hears the rustle of leaves. He opens his eyes and stares ahead of himself. He doesn’t move for a while.

Eventually he decides it might be nice to sit by the fountain. He follows its sound to the left, and when he walks around the corner of sunflowers, the space opens again, and a blue circular fountain stands in front of him. Three jets of water are arranged in a triangle around the center point, cascading back onto themselves in a shimmering wave, their splashes rippling out to the edges of the pool. 

Kip slowly approaches. The interior shines with tiny hexagonal tiles of various blue-green shades—turquoise, teal, aqua, cerulean. But here and there is an odd golden or white tile, gleaming with sunlight. A handful of coins is scattered around. 

After a moment’s pause, Kip sits down on the royal-blue-tinted stone forming the edge. The surface of the water waves just two inches below. He carefully dips his fingers in—it must be cooler than the weather’s temperature, but it feels warm against his skin. He slides his hand through its flow—its weight and pressure are grounding.

After a minute, Kip kicks off his shoes, pulls off his socks, rolls his pants legs up to his knees, and slips his legs into the water. He closes his eyes at the feeling, tilts his head back, leans back on his hands and listens to the bubbling sound of the fountain.

He decides he’d like to stay right here for a while, so that’s what he does. 

“Oh,” says a voice.

Kip jolts and opens his eyes to see a human looking back at him.

“Sorry,” they say. “You were so quiet—I didn’t realize anyone else was in here.”

“Sorry,” Kip says reflexively, trying to smooth himself over.

“I like to come here when I’m walking through the area,” they say. “It’s just a lovely garden, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Kip says. “It’s very nice.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” the human says.

Kip bristles at their insistence on making conversation, though he knows he can mostly blame having been so startled. But, either way, he doesn’t try to muster a response to this observation.

“Do you live in this neighborhood?” they ask anyway.

“I used to,” Kip says.

“Oh...I’ve always wondered if it’s as nice to live here as it seems. These houses are beautiful, and to be just down the street from the business section of Berkley...I bet I’d like it better than the street I live on. We don’t have any public gardens.”

They smile at Kip. 

“...Are you from C?” Kip asks.

“No. I grew up in B.” They laugh.

“When did you move here?”

“About five years ago.”

“Ah...” Kip looks over at the fountain jets.

“Yeah, I just couldn’t afford B anymore after I finished school, y’know? It’s so much more livable here, really.”

“Heh—it’s not quite as fancy, I don’t think,” Kip acknowledges. “But I know moving down a district can give some people a bit of culture shock. I have a friend who moved here straight from A, actually. He was practically helpless.”

“A?” they echo incredulously. “Even I’VE scarcely ever met anyone from A.”

“You never went there?” Kip says, looking back over at them.

“Nah. That district was so closed off from all the others that there was hardly a point, and, like I mentioned, we didn’t quite ever have the kind of money to justify anything like even visiting for a vacation. I had some friends who went sometimes, though.”

“I’ve never been,” Kip says, deadpan.

“Right—“ They laugh a bit nervously. “I bet they have to open up A to monsters soon enough, now. I guess they’re only dragging their feet—after everything with E, even most humans are dead set on getting rid of the districts entirely. You heard about that whole mess?”

“About E? I’m familiar, yes,” Kip says levelly. “I’m not sure I’d like to visit the area of A myself, even if I could. No monsters, and loads of rich humans who hate the idea of us. The stares I get in B are bad enough.”

“Oh, yeah...” They shift their feet. “I guess those humans will have to start getting used to it sooner or later, though. I mean, it can’t be completely hopeless, can it? Some of those humans who infiltrated E were from A, right? That one guy—I remember seeing his picture—Walter Forest, or something?”

Kip can’t help laughing.

“Wallace Foster,” he corrects, grinning.

“Oh—“ They laugh too. “Yeah, he was from A, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

“HE can’t be afraid of monsters anymore. He could get back over there and help move things along.”

Kip shrugs.

“He’s not exactly the pushy type, even if he IS passionate about things,” he says. “And he’s still a social worker here—for a new company, of course. But it keeps him busy.”

“Huh...the way he talked in those interviews, you’d think he’d take the fight right to anybody,” the human says.

Kip kicks his feet slightly through the water, shrugging again.

“Things are complicated,” he sighs. “And he’s only one person. There’s other people already in A and outside it who are working on things.”

“Yeah...I just always wonder what that guy’s up to—Wallace Foster, I mean. I actually see him sometimes, you know? Just walking through town, I’ve seen him across the street once or twice. I always recognize him. The red hair, and all.”

Kip nods.

“Yeah, he lives not too far from here,” he says. 

“Really? Have you met him?”

“Uh-huh. We know each other.”

“Oh, you do? Is he—“

The way the human cuts themself off and turn towards Kip makes him suspect he’s just given himself away.

“You’re Kip Kaizer?”

“Uh-huh.” He nods and looks at his legs in the water.

“Oh, shit, sorry—“ They laugh. “I’ve heard your name around here often enough, I just don’t think I’ve ever been sure what you actually look like.”

“Yeah, this is me.” Kip gestures vaguely at himself. “I’m not that keen on having my picture taken—especially for newspapers, and all that kind of thing.”

“Well...man, sorry, it’s just kind of wild actually meeting you. What you did...” They shake their head, smiling. “You people were absolutely incredible.”

“Thanks—“ Kip laughs. “I guess I had to be. Or I would’ve died.”

“God, yeah. And...sorry, is it true, the thing about the fire?”

Kip feels a little shiver of tension skitter around inside him. 

“Which thing?” he asks.

“You being burned in there.”

“Oh, in E? Yeah.” He untucks his shirt and pulls up the back, twisting around to display the slight scarring. “You can kinda see it there—but luckily that was the worst of it.”

“Shit...” they murmur. “That’s intense.”

Kip nods, smoothing his shirt back into place.

“Well,” the human continues, lifting a hand. “You definitely get the last laugh, huh? Being here and enjoying this garden, with barely a scratch on you. You did great.”

Kip laughs quietly.

“Yeah, it worked out in the end.”

They’re both quiet for a moment.

“I used to live here.” Kip has no idea why he says it.

“Here? Like, one of these houses?”

“...Yeah. There used to be a house here.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. I think this fountain is pretty close to right below where my bedroom used to be. I lived here with my family. The house burned down six years ago. I was the only one who survived.”

“...Oh.”

“Sorry...” Kip laughs at himself. “I don’t know why I told you that. Everybody around here heard about it when it happened. Everything that happened to me in E was cuz it was the same people who set this house on fire.”

“Oh my god.”

“That’s why there’s this garden here,”  
Kip explains, looking down at the water.

“...Oh man, and I’m just coming over here and interrupting you,” they groan. “Shit—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. It hasn’t bothered me. I just came here to see what it was like.”

“Oh, you’ve never been here before?”

Kip shakes his head.

“No, I didn’t even know it was here until recently. I’ve been having sort of a weird day and just—decided to visit it.”

“I hear you... Well, it’s really nice here. People take good care of it every year.”

“Yeah, it seems that way.”

There’s a pause. Kip figures it must’ve made them feel awkward to hear who he is and why he’s here in particular.

“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time,” they laugh. “It’s really great to see you—hope you have a good day.”

“Oh—uh—“ Kip fumbles to respond to all of it at once. “It’s alright. Thanks. You too.”

And moments later Kip is alone in the garden again.

He stares down at the water. The reflection of blue-green off the tiles makes the skin on his legs vibrant. He swings them underwater in tiny circles, feeling the drag of his body hair as it follows the flow.

He leans back and closes his eyes again, imagines being ten feet above himself, lying on his bed in his room, reading or doing homework or just looking out his window. He supposes if he went outside the garden and looked in that same direction, he’d see a remarkably similar view.

For a while he doesn’t really think about much besides the sound of the fountain and the feeling of its water, the warmth of the sunlight, the fresh scent of flourishing plants all around him.

Finally he checks the time on his phone. It’ll take about a quarter of an hour to walk down to Pascal’s shop, which will close in about forty minutes, and Kip should probably give his legs another solid quarter of an hour out of the water to dry properly—the thought of trying to ignore damp socks and shoes in the midst of everything that’s in store for him is less than enticing.

So after another ten minutes he lifts his feet up onto the edge with him and stretches his legs out to drip dry directly in the sunbeams. A breeze comes along and throws tiny drops from the fountain across his face and arms.

“Thanks,” he says. “That’s kind of nice.”

It doesn’t really feel like he’s in his house. Even if he can vividly picture each fixture and room around him, measure his steps to sense exactly where he’d be if it was still standing. But this is different from visiting the cemetery. A headstone couldn’t make it feel like they were there, but it still belonged to them. No one would visit that grave for the sake of the scenery, or to relax in its peaceful surroundings. In that way, this garden doesn’t feel like it’s really theirs, or really his. The space belongs to him irrevocably, but the garden itself exists for the sake of everyone else.

That doesn’t change how lovely it is. He’ll have to bring Pascal sometime. 

Pascal remains foremost in his mind as he gets ready to leave. He walks once all the way around the garden, past blue-purple hyacinths and white and strawberry tulips and even a red rosebush. Finally he pauses, kneels down by the row of small daisies, and plucks a creamy orange one.

—

He texts Pascal five minutes before close to say he’ll be there in about seven.

His estimation was almost exactly right. Pascal opens the door for him even before he thought he’d be visible through the shop windows.

“Hey, Pascal,” he says. It’s making him blush just to be in his presence after what happened. “How were things here?”

“Oh, it all went pretty smoothly.” Pascal locks the door again and walks over to the counter to switch off all the lights up front. “Even better is that I’ll be ready to go in about five minutes.”

“Nice,” Kip laughs. He heads to the stool by the register and perches on it. “I’ll be here when you’re done. Here.”

He holds out the little flower. 

“Oh—“ Pascal takes hold of it carefully. “Thank you! Heh.”

He shakes his hair out of his knitted hat, threads the stem of the daisy through the woven fabric, and slides it back on to his head.

“How’s that?”

“Very cute,” Kip laughs. “The color suits you.”

Pascal grins and hefts up the till drawer. 

Kip bounces his foot against the rung of the stool until Pascal is done with closing.

“Alright.” Pascal leans in and kisses Kip’s cheek. “So, how are you?”

“Well...” Kip laughs and brushes some hair back, a useless nervous habit left from the years before he cut his hair shorter. “I sure have some stuff to tell you about. D’you wanna go to your apartment? Or, I dunno, I got some tips today, we could go out for something to eat, or...something.”

“Hm...what do YOU feel like?” Pascal asks. “Anywhere’s fine with me.”

Kip thinks a moment, and then shrugs.

“Maybe lets go back to your apartment, and see what we decide from there,” he says.

“Okay.”

—

Kip sits back in the armchair while he listens to the shower run. He can’t help but be a little nervous. He can’t guess how Pascal will feel about this—they’d both assumed that Wallace was now out of the picture, save for Kip’s lingering feelings for the man. And Kip is still afraid that if he thinks too much about the potential impact of Wallace kissing him, he may start feeling sick.

He tries to preoccupy himself by making two mugs of tea. Bracing mint for himself, a nice green for Pascal. The oceanic vase sits on the little table against the wall. Clay Pascal is resting on the windowsill.

He brings the teas over to the coffee table, watching the tiny curls of steam spilling into the air.

The shower stops. He waits for the sound of the bathroom door opening before calling over to Pascal that he’s made him some green tea. 

“Oh, thank you, babe,” Pascal laughs. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”

Kip brings his feet up onto the armchair, crossing his legs, and waits.

Pascal comes in, towel draped around his shoulders, wearing a grey tank and sweatpants. He sits on the couch with a contented sigh, picking up his tea.

Kip watches him for a moment, the spill of his hair against one shoulder, the bowing of his head as he breathes in the tea’s aroma before taking his first sip.

“...So,” Kip says. “I got that flower at the garden you told me about.”

Pascal thinks a moment. 

“The one down Berkley?” he says with some surprise, eyebrows lifted.

Kip nods.

“It’s nice in there,” he says. “It does have a fountain, like you said. I really liked that part.”

“Wow...” Pascal gazes down at his tea. “How’d you decide to go?”

“Well...” Kip shifts in the seat, looking over at the wall. “Something...really kind of unexpected happened.”

“Yeah?”

Pascal looks at him, Kip looks back.

“Wallace came in when I was at work and said he wanted to talk with me about something when I was off,” he starts. “And then, when I went over to him after clocking out, he said—well, we just started walking down the sidewalk. And he wasn’t saying anything, and I was trying to guess what he actually wanted to talk about.”

“Hm.”

Kip sighs and puts down his mug.

“Finally we stopped somewhere, and he started talking about this stuff I’d said to him weeks ago, even before that dinner at our apartment. About how I thought it was a good idea for me to move, so me and him could have some space, and we’d get to sort of...reinvent what our relationship is, y’know? Get to decide what we want from each other, and that kind of stuff.”

“Okay.”

“And then, um...” Kip shifts his weight again and picks up his tea, drinks some, puts it down, looks up at the wall. Sighs.

“...He kissed me.”

“Oh.”

Kip looks over; Pascal looks back, seemingly calm, blushing a little.

“I thought that’s where it might’ve been going,” Pascal says, shrugging.

“Augh—“ Kip winds his fingers through some of his hair and tugs. “See, so did I! Even the way he was acting in the café—I was just so used to trying to convince myself that he’s completely uninterested that I wouldn’t let myself actually think any of those thoughts, you know?”

He puts his forehead in his hand and groans.

“I totally let him kiss me,” he says miserably. “I saw it coming and when he kissed me I didn’t pull away. I think...I think the kiss only lasted, like, three seconds, and I pushed him away as soon as I thought about kissing back, but...it still HAPPENED. I...Pasc, I LIKED it.”

“Kip, god, that’s okay—“

“I let him kiss me and I liked it, and I wanted him to, and I wanted to kiss HIM, but—at the same time I really, really didn’t want any of that. I mean, god, this is like...exactly what I thought might be the worst thing that could happen.”

He shakes his head and leans back in the chair with a sigh.

“Anyways, I pushed him away and ran off and...I was trying to think of where to go while I waited for you to get done at work, and...I got on a bus and went to the garden.” He shrugs. “I wanted a place I knew I’d be alone, and I figured if I was brave enough to go there, maybe I’ll be brave enough to show my face in our apartment building again.”

He pauses.

“...And the garden is really nice,” he says. “I’ll go back with you sometime so you get to see it, too.”

“...Were you okay?” Pascal asks. “ARE you okay?”

Kip nods.

“I’m fine right now,” he says. “I’m just worried about Ben, really. And I wanted to tell you and ask if YOU’RE okay.”

“...I mean, yeah,” Pascal shrugs. “I’ve known you like him this whole time. I’m not mad if you like kissing somebody you like.”

He smiles. Kip smiles weakly back.

“Seriously,” Pascal continues. “I’d be fine with you, like, dating him, and everything. I’m not worried about that. It’s just, y’know, like you said. He turned you down, and now he’s kissing you, and even if you want that, you don’t actually want it.”

“Right,” Kip sighs. “I mean, have they already broken up or something? I wouldn’t expect Ben to tell me, but it’d have to have been really recent. Way too recent to kiss me.”

“I haven’t heard anything about it.” Pascal says, shrugging. “But then, I wouldn’t, would I? I’m not really as...in the loop as you are.”

Kip stands up and goes over and kisses his forehead.

“Hey.” He puts his hand on Pascal’s shoulder. Pascal looks up at him. “Don’t think you don’t matter to everybody.”

Pascal blushes, smiles, shrugs again.

“I mean, that’s just how it’d work, wouldn’t it? People would tell you, and then you’d tell me.”

Kip sits down beside him, hand still on his shoulder.

“I guess it would,” he says quietly. “But I haven’t heard a thing. But considering I didn’t even know when they officially started dating...”

He shrugs too.

“Well,” he sighs, “I guess I’ll get to that when I get to it. I just wanted you to know. And I’ll let you know if I get any updates on what the hell is going on. But right now, I’m just hanging out with you, so I can definitely forget the rest of it for the time being.”

He slides his arm across Pascal’s back.

“What do you wanna do?” he asks. “Anything.”

Pascal laughs.

“Are you being nice to me because you kissed another man?” he teases.

“No,” Kip huffs. “First off, HE kissed ME. And secondly, it’s because I love you.”

Pascal laughs again and leans against Kip’s side. Kip turns his head and kisses his cheek.

“Well...” Pascal starts, wrapping his arms around Kip. “We could make something for dinner and take it over by the water and watch the sunset. And then maybe get something somewhere for dessert.”

“I think that sounds amazing.”

—

After they return to the apartment, Kip strips off his work clothes and takes a shower. He sits in the steam of the bathroom a while longer until the vents thin it all out, then dries off and hangs the towel over a shoulder.

“Hey, Pasc?” He walks through the apartment until he finds him in the kitchen. “I mean, is it cool if I stay the night? I’m opening tomorrow, and...I figure I’ll go back to the apartment after that.”

Pascal’s gaze flickers down Kip’s body and back up to his face.

“Uh—well, yeah, of course, Kip. I’d love it if you stayed.”

“Cool.” Kip smiles at him. “Oh, yeah, also I should text Roy and Molly about staying over, I guess. And I also didn’t bring any other clothes, so...I might need to borrow some of yours, unless I decide to be naked the whole time.”

“Mm...” Pascal tilts his head in a show of thoughtfulness. “There are reasons to be naked the whole time.”

Kip grins and steps forward and kisses him on the mouth. Then he wants to kiss him again, so he does. And then he wants the kiss to last a while, so it does. And he wants Pascal to hold him, and kiss him scores of times, and let Kip look him in the eyes while they tell each other I love you.

When Kip is lying in Pascal’s bed, cradling Pascal’s head against his chest, stroking his hair as they drift off to sleep, he’s satisfied.

—

The walk over isn’t so bad, but as soon as Kip arrives at work, it feels like a countdown. Every distraction is a welcome one. Molly is already there, busy with baking, and he’s comforted not only by having someone to chat with, but that she doesn’t give the slightest indication that anything is wrong with him or anyone else. At the very least, he knows he can count on her to confront him openly and immediately if she thinks he’s done something. So he can at least feel confident that nothing cataclysmic happened while he was away.

Still. Leave it to Ben to suffer anything alone and in silence. 

“Hark who’s talking,” he mutters to himself.

“Wha?” Molly turns to him, holding a blue piping bag full of cream frosting.

“Nothing. Be right back,” he says quickly, and bustles a rattling tray of freshly-washed saucers to the front.

—

Molly’s shift ends a couple hours before his, and his anxiety resurfaces in the solitude. He fumbles with words on occasion while fielding orders or even saying “You’re welcome” or “You, too” or “Have a nice day.” Time neither flies nor drags, instead seeming to move in disorienting leaps and periods of absolute standstill.

As his shift finally moves through its final hour, Kip tries to steel himself for the possibility of running into Ben. He can’t just say nothing—unless it’s Wallace who’s around, in which case that’s exactly what he intends to do.

He tries to remember all the things he’s gotten through. Everything he’s weathered. The unstoppable strength he’s managed to summon when he needed it most. When he knows what he has to do to protect someone he loves.

And he does, he does love Ben. Maybe in spite of them both. He certainly wants, desperately, to protect him. As much as Ben might hate him after something like this, he can’t simply walk past him and go on about his own business like he thinks it doesn’t even matter—thinks BEN doesn’t matter. He knows nothing he could do or say would bring Ben any comfort in this situation. But he has to say he’s sorry—even if only to give Ben a fair chance to hit him across the face.

He thinks of the look on Pascal’s face when he’s lying beside Kip, gazing at him.

No matter what goes wrong over at that apartment building, Pascal will still look at him that way.

—

Kip stalls a little bit when Cuddy arrives, until finally she tells him to put the spray bottle down and get away.

He makes the walk home a leisurely stroll, but it’s all too soon that the building comes into view.

Ben isn’t outside. Which Kip hadn’t really expected him to be—he’s taking fewer smoke breaks, but they still occur at regular times. Two-thirty in the afternoon isn’t one of them.

Kip braves the front entrance. And Ben isn’t in the lobby, and neither is Wallace, and maybe Kip kind of speedwalks to the stairwell before anyone’s door can happen to open and bounds up the steps two at a time.

As usual, Molly is out of the apartment, and Roy is still at work. Kip flops down onto his bed and then undresses while lying on his back, flinging his clothes vaguely in the direction of his floor. It’s a definite relief to have made it here safely.

He sends Pascal a text to say he hopes he’s having a good day, and that closing goes as smoothly as it had yesterday.

Then he showers, and for good measure follows it immediately with a hot, relaxing bath, sliding down until his head rests on the rim of the tub and his knees rise from the bubbles like azure islands. 

After a respectable soak, he gets out and preens to a wholly unnecessary degree—scrubs his face, trims some stray hairs, shaves, balms his lips, lotions his limbs, files his nails, brushes his teeth. He looks at himself in the mirror for a long while.

Back in his room, he puts on an outfit of slightly-worn jeans and a dark grey sweater. He sits down at his desk, slides over a pad of lined paper, and plucks a pen from a jar.

For a minute he sits there, staring at the nib as it hovers a millimeter over the surface of the page. He looks up at the wall, then twists around in his chair to look over his shoulder at the tiny faces of his family, smiling statically at him.

“I can do this,” he says to them. “Can’t I?”

He nods at the picture, then turns back to the paper with a sigh.

Just ten minutes later and he’s got about two dozen failed starts. So he lets himself take his organized approach, and makes a list of bullet points of things he wants to express to Ben. He lets the list grow as long as it wants, lets himself make as many redundant points as he likes, punctuate ideas with as many question marks as it takes to express his bewilderment and uncertainty.

And them he starts crossing some out. Paring them down. If it’s unhelpful, if it’s something Ben doesn’t need to hear, if it’s irrelevant, if it’s best left for another time, he scraps it. Until he’s looking at only three simple lines.

Kip opens his drawer and pulls out his stationery box for the first time in months and months. He pulls out a piece of light peach paper, smooths it out, and writes in his usual font size, but with generous spacing.

“Ben—

I‘m sorry. I’m not saying it so you can forgive me or even so you can accept my apology.

I just have to say it to you. That I am so sorry.

I guess you must already know why, but if you don’t, you can ask me and I’ll tell you.

But I promise I wouldn’t and didn’t ever intend to do something like this. 

—Kip”

He knows the last line is self-indulgence, but he couldn’t help adding it in. He weighs the merits of including some sort of farewell—sincerely, respectfully, with regret, with regards, hoping you’re well, tout à vous. None seem appropriate. He folds the paper carefully into thirds. 

The robins-egg blue envelopes seem a bit too cheerful for the occasion. But the only other envelopes in the room have been used—the ones in his drawer with Kent’s folder, carrying letters he’s written to his family, a few he received over the years from Eno and friends and a few strangers, and the envelope bearing the pressed lilac and Pascal’s reply to the farewell letter Kip had given him. 

So he licks the tab of the envelope and smooths it shut. He flips it over and stares at the featureless rectangle. After a few seconds’ consideration, he carefully writes “Ben” right in the center, and “Kip” in the corner. He figures Ben ought to know it’s from him. He should have the chance to throw it away unopened.

Kip slides on a pair of socks and puts his keys into his back pocket and slips out the door. He makes his way more carefully down the stairs, opens the door to the bottom floor cautiously, listening for any familiar voices. Nothing—but he hesitates anyway. 

Finally he steps out into the hallway and pads down the carpet towards Ben’s apartment. His heart thuds dully as he approaches. He drops the letter into the slot of the box hanging beside the lintel, half-convinced the door is about to swing open and give him a heart attack, but it doesn’t. Neither does Wallace’s. Nor anyone else’s, and he makes it back into the shelter of the stairwell unscathed.

Back in his room, he sits on his bed and stares out the window, thinking about what he’s just done. Ben checks that letterbox every evening and morning. He’s going to read Kip’s letter in just a handful of hours. And what if Wallace HASN’T told him? What if Kip has to deliver the news, stand there in the aftermath of its impact? What if Ben already knows, but asks Kip anyways to see if he’s honest, see if he’s strong enough to go through with what he said he’d do?

What if he considers it insulting that Kip didn’t say it in person? What if he really wants that chance to hit him?

What if he returns the letter unanswered?

What if Ben doesn’t acknowledge it in any way? Should he also decline to acknowledge it, or should he apologize properly in person? How on earth would he look Ben in the face ever again, with something like this hanging in the air between them?

What if he doesn’t know yet, if this letter is what makes him confront Wallace about its contents? What if Wallace panics and lies? What if things would’ve just worked themselves out beautifully if Kip had let this pass, had kept his mouth shut instead of entertaining his own sense of righteousness?

But he’s gone and put it in the box. It’s all but literally in Ben’s hands now. And he’ll just deal with whatever consequences he’s brought down on his own head as they fall.

—

“Guys, I have to tell you something,” Kip says.

He’s sandwiched between Molly and Roy on the couch. They’re all in pajamas, all holding a plate of homemade cookies. Roy’s laptop is on the coffee table in front of him, disc in the open tray that Molly was just about to push back in.

“Uh-oh,” Molly says.

“What is it?” Roy asks.

“Well, you guys were really patient when I was holding out on you before, and I...figure this’ll probably have to come back around to you eventually...”

“Why don’t you build some suspense first?” Molly says sarcastically.

“So dramatic...” Roy laughs, looking over at her.

Kip sighs.

“Alright, alright, sorry.”

“Yeah, sorry, Kip,” Roy echoes.

“No, you aren’t. And I don’t need a hug! Augh—“ Kip squeezes his eyes shut as they proceed regardless.

“Okay, what do you want to tell us?”

Kip looks at the coffee table. 

No preamble, or he’s going to beat around the bush until he’s ended up giving some moving, three-hour lecture on life and botany and architectural history without even mentioning Wallace.

“...You know yesterday?” he starts.

“I’ve heard of it,” Molly says. 

“I wasn’t there,” Roy says dejectedly.

“Don’t laugh at me,” Kip grouses.

“Sorry.”

“Fine...”

Kip frowns down at his knees.

“Look—Wallace kissed me yesterday,” he says. “After I left work. That happened. Don’t laugh.”

They don’t.

“He did?” Molly says. “Like, on the mouth?”

“Yes, on the mouth.”

“Wait, what happened?” Roy asks. “How’d it happen, I mean?”

Kip sighs and grips his knee.

“Well, he came into the café and said he wanted to talk to me when I was off, and when I went over to him he was like, let’s go for a walk, and we did for a minute, and he wouldn’t say what he wanted to tell me, until finally we stopped walking and he started talking about...this stuff I’d told him weeks ago about why I thought I thought it was a good idea for us to have some space from each other. And then he kissed me.”

“He talked about having space and then he kissed you?” Molly repeats incredulously. 

“Well...the stuff I’d said that he was talking about was how, like, me living further away from him could let us have a new chance at figuring out our relationship. I swear to god when I said it I was talking about NOT kissing each other,” he groans.

“What’d he say after he kissed you?” Roy asks urgently.

“Nothing,” Kip sighs.

“Nothing?!” Molly exclaims.

“Well, the kiss only lasted a second because I got my head together and pushed him away,” Kip says in a low voice. “He didn’t have time to say anything, because I wouldn’t let him, because I left. I haven’t seen him or heard from him since.”

“I’ve seen him,” Molly says. “I ran into him this morning. He seemed totally normal.”

“He didn’t say anything to you?” Kip says almost desperately, turning towards her.

“Not about kissing you, that’s for sure. We were just saying hi; I was on my way out to work. But he seemed cheerful enough. It’s weird—he’s usually so awful at pretending he’s in a good mood when something’s worrying him, isn’t he?”

Kip knows he really is. This doesn’t make any sense. Wallace wouldn’t be like this.

“I have no idea what to do,” Kip admits miserably. “If I go see Wallace I’m just going to get angrier at him and that could only make things worse, and I’m sure I’m the LAST person who should try to get involved with Ben’s personal business right now. I wrote him a letter today letting him know I’m really sorry and I’d talk about it with him if he wants, but I have no idea if I should go and find him and say I’m sorry again, or if he’d hate the sight of my face more than ever...and you know how private he is, ESPECIALLY about this, I just...”

He drags a hand down his face.

“What a mess,” he laughs flatly. 

“Hey, it’s only been a day,” Molly says.

“Yeah.” Roy puts a hand on his back.

“Ben and I were planning to hang out in a few days anyways,” Molly says. “If he’s planning to kill you on sight, I’ll be sure to let you know. Otherwise...you need to go and talk to him. This isn’t an ‘unspoken’ kind of thing.”

Kip nods, staring down at his plate.

They watch the movie, and talk about other things, and eat their cookies. By the time they’re all three heading to bed, Kip’s gotten a sweet and funny text from Pascal, and feels more relaxed.

He lies awake in bed a while, looking up at the parallelogram of thin light on his ceiling, courtesy of the streetlamp glow filtered through his curtains. 

As relieved as he is that Wallace hasn’t attempted to get in touch with him, he has no idea why not.

And he knows that Ben has, at the very least, retrieved the envelope. And has said nothing to him yet either.

If this is the utterly wretched disaster he very much fears it could be, at the very least it’s so far been unfolding gently enough.

He has to hope this isn’t the calm before the storm.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a chapter about talking..（￣ェ￣）

Kip takes the side door when he leaves to open the café. It’s too early for Wallace or Ben to be up and about, but he doesn’t care to risk it. Nothing good can come from a rushed, awkward exchange in the middle of an apartment building lobby.

Molly is working alongside him again. The conversation helps keep him from fretting too much over the idea that Wallace might drop in on his way to work. He knows he can ask Molly to handle the front for him in that scenario, and that if Wallace tries to do anything like wait up for him at the end of his shift, he can just slip out the back door. But he doesn’t even want to risk meeting Wallace’s eyes. He doesn’t want to be reminded how he felt the last time that happened.

But Wallace doesn’t show up, and his and Molly’s chats never touch on the matter, and by the time Kip leaves he feels a little more settled down. Not enough to use the front entrance to the apartment building, but still. He even manages to go to the laundry room on the bottom floor to put a load of clothes and sheets into one of the machines. He washes some dishes before running back down to switch them into a dryer, then vacuums and takes a shower before hauling them back upstairs.

He knows he at least has the excuse of avoiding talking to Ben until Molly can confirm it wouldn’t be totally disastrous. But as much of a relief as it is now, he can’t put it off forever—or he really won’t be able to interact with Ben ever again. And maybe Ben would be fine with that, but they have way too many mutual friends. 

But the thought of going down and knocking on Ben’s door and looking him in the face—it makes his limbs tense up and pulse quicken just to imagine it. But he’ll have to do it. He has to.

The only thing he can’t see any way around is Wallace. He has no idea what to do about it. He hates how much he liked the kiss. He hates the part of him that thinks about it happening again. The part of him that wants more.

For right now, what’s most important is minimizing damage with Ben. If completely avoiding any interaction with Wallace is what it’ll take to make sure Ben isn’t hurt further, that’s what Kip’s going to do. 

If he has to choose between Ben and Wallace, he’ll choose Ben. He’s known Ben for years and years. He knows what he’s been through. He knows Ben knows what HE’S been through.

If he has to completely obliterate his relationship with Wallace, he’ll do it. 

But that thought hurts too much to dwell on for longer than three seconds.

—

Kip cradles his phone to his left ear.

“Hello, there,” he laughs.

“Hey, babe,” Pascal lilts. “I’m downstairs.”

“Alright. Lemme get my shoes on and I’ll be there in half a minute.”

“Okay.”

“You know, I’d give you a key to OUR place if I wasn’t about to move in with you.”

“Aw man, thank you.”

Pascal laughs warmly; Kip smiles to himself as he slips on his socks.

“I don’t have much furniture, but it’s STILL gonna be a pain moving all this stuff,“ Kip says, looking around his room. “I guess we’ll have to rent a moving truck or whatever?”

“Mm...yeah, I figure,” Pascal says. “It’s okay. Better than trying to carry everything a mile.”

“I have my license still, but I haven’t driven in ages,” Kip sighs. “And those things are so big. And trying to park it, oh my god...”

“We’ll work it out. If we have to park a ways off and carry things a block, that’s still better than a mile. Plus we can just get a moving company to handle it instead.”

“Yeah, that’s true. I’m heading out the door, by the way. So, look out.”

“Awesome. I will.”

“Actually, I don’t think I have too many big things. There’s my space organizer, and once you get all the stuff out of it, it’s big, but pretty light. And then my shelves. And then my mattress. And two dressers.”

“That could be worse, yeah.”

“I mean, the mattress is kind of unnecessary, but, since it’s only a year old, I was thinking you might want to keep it? I mean, you’ve sampled it a fair amount of times by now, it’s whichever mattress you prefer.”

“Yours is more comfortable, yeah,” Pascal laughs. “We can switch it with my old one, definitely.”

“Hmm...and how much space do you have in your closet?” Kip asks.

“A lot,” Pascal answers. “It’s only a few hoodies and a couple pairs of pants, really. Plus we can put up a tension rod in there if you need more room.”

“Okay—well, I was thinking, there MIGHT be room for the space organizer in your bedroom, and maybe the shelves could go in your living room? It could be a place to put your sculptures, too. But as for the dressers—you already have one, and I’m not sure another would fit anywhere...much less both of them.”

“Hmm...I think I could rearrange things a little and make space for one of them.”

“I could—oh, and my nightstand. I guess we don’t need two of those either, huh? That’s what I get for moving away and needing my own furniture for a while, huh.”

“You could keep yours, if you want. I mean, mine’s kind of boring, to say the least. All your stuff looks so nice.”

“Aw, thanks,” Kip laughs. “I tried to make my room look decent.”

“You tried successfully.”

“Well, next time I’m spending the night, we can look at things. I could...look at selling a couple things online. Or to a secondhand store. And I know a good place for donations. I can get rid of some stuff I won’t need once I move and make things easier on us.”

“Yeah, I can clear out some of my stuff as well, honestly. I’m—oh, hey, it’s you.”

Pascal smiles at him and lowers his phone. Kip grins as he swings the door open, ending the call as well.

“Good to see you in person,” Kip says. He touches Pascal’s shoulder and tilts his head up; Pascal leans in and kisses him. “Come on up.”

—

“Is it just you up here?” Pascal asks.

“Presently, yes,” Kip says. “Molly and Roy went out this evening, although they said to tell you that they’re annoyed to miss having dinner with you and if I’d told them about it sooner they’d’ve changed their plans.”

“Well, we didn’t really plan this in advance, did we?” Pascal says. He sits down next to Kip. 

“They know. I’m just passing the message along.”

“Hmm. So I guess it’d be okay if I took off my pants? It got pretty warm in the shop today. I wanna air out.”

“Sure,” Kip laughs. “It’ll be a while before anyone else shows up to see your underwear.”

Pascal stands and smoothly pushes his waistband down his thighs, then steps out of the sweatpants and drapes them over his shoulder. Then he sits again and turns to lie back on the couch, pulling a pillow underneath his head and stretching his legs out across Kip’s lap. 

“Nice.” Kip rests his arms on either side of Pascal’s knees.

Pascal sighs contentedly and closes his eyes.

“Are you gonna fall asleep on me?” Kip asks.

“Probably not,” Pascal says. “But I dunno. Sometimes a nap just happens.”

“Maybe I’ll fall asleep with you, and then when the others get home we can try to convince them that we didn’t just have sex on the couch.”

“It wouldn’t really look like that if you’re sitting all the way over there fully clothed, would it?” Pascal asks, opening his eyes to look Kip over.

“I dunno. I could take off my shirt and lie on top of you. That’d be a little more damning.”

“Yeah. If between us we’re pantsless and shirtless, you know we had to’ve at LEAST made out pretty hard or something,” Pascal laughs.

“Sometimes you just take partially undressed naps together,” Kip shrugs.

“It’s true though. I love those. We were just having a little—“ Pascal cuts himself off and then stifles a laugh, turning his head away.

“What?” Kip laughs too, giving him a look.

Pascal shakes his head, grinning.

“I was just—I could just say I was having a kip on the couch,” he says playfully.

“Oh god—“ Kip shoves Pascal’s leg. “Don’t let Eno hear that one. He’d think it was fantastic.”

“It IS pretty good...” Pascal smiles and nuzzles his head back against the pillow, closing his eyes again.

Kip leans his head back and starts absently stroking Pascal’s thigh. Pascal winds his arm around Kip’s wrist; after about seven minutes the arm starts slowly unspooling under its own weight, and after another seven minutes, Pascal’s breathing is deep and even.

Kip takes a good ten minutes more carefully maneuvering himself out from under Pascal’s limbs, then lightly kisses the top of his head and goes into the kitchen, where he gets started on their meal as stealthily as possible.

And about forty minutes later, he fills up the kettle with water and sets it to boil, and kneels down next to the couch.

“Pascal,” he says, and brushes his hair back, and kisses his forehead. “Hey, Pas.”

He rests his head on Pascal’s chest and closes his eyes, listening to him breathe.

“Pascaaal,” he murmurs, and touches his cheek. 

“Mmn...” Pascal shifts underneath him. 

“I made us food,” Kip says. “And I’m making us tea.”

“Tea...” Pascal repeats fuzzily, rubbing his eyes.

“Uh-huh,” Kip laughs. “What kind do you want?”

“Umm...” Pascal sits up with a long inhale. “Tea... Do you have green?”

“Of course. Wait right here and I’ll bring it in just a minute.”

But as he’s turning away Pascal slides his arms around his waist and draws him back in.

“Yeah?” Kip laughs.

“Kip,” Pascal mumbles, kissing his stomach.

Kip lets himself be pulled onto Pascal’s lap.

After kissing Pascal awake for a couple of minutes, Kip pulls himself away again and makes two plates of food and cups of tea. They sit on the couch; Kip listens to Pascal tell about his day at the shop and laughs at the way he can make the most unremarkable things into a whole story through the precision and creativity of his descriptions.

Pascal is in the bathroom and Kip is in the kitchen washing dishes when Roy and Molly arrive home, and for a moment they worry that Pascal has left. Kip assures them this isn’t the case. When Pascal emerges—apparently already aware of their presence, having put his sweatpants back on—they greet him as though they haven’t seen him in months. Almost at once, a conversation is sparked up and then sustained for a full hour. 

Kip is more than glad that things are perfectly fine between the four of them. He’s already known there’s no way that things with Ben and Wallace could affect this, but that’s never half as good as directly experiencing proof. 

He needs Pascal to be untouched by the mess he’s created. He knows how much it’s meant to Pascal to have access to all these relationships again, to not have to hold back for Kip’s sake. And he’s going to make sure Pascal doesn’t lose any of that.

—

“Are you tired?” Kip laughs.

“Mmhm,” Pascal hums. “I’m ready for bed.”

“Go ahead and get in it, then.”

Kip strips off his clothes as Pascal climbs onto the mattress. He doesn’t bother putting on any kind of pajamas. He sets his alarm, places the phone and his glasses on the nightstand, and sits on the foot of the bed.

“Want me to rub your back?” Kip asks.

“God, I could never say no to that,” Pascal murmurs.

Kip crawls over and kisses him; Pascal responds with an enthusiasm belied by his exhaustion. After a bit Kip pulls away and strokes his hand down Pascal’s arm.

“Roll onto your stomach,” he says quietly.

Pascal does, and Kip sits up and puts his fingernails against the back of Pascal’s shoulders and gently draws them down along either side of his spine. Pascal inhales raggedly and arches at the touch. Kip repeats it, slowly, softly, until Pascal is relaxed. Then he trails his hands down to the small of Pascal’s back and start to knead the muscles.

After five solid minutes of that, he works the tops of Pascal’s shoulders for about thrice as long. He’s not sure Pascal is still awake by the end of it, but continues with a massage that wanders all across the broad expanse of his back. 

When he feels himself starting to fade as well, he whispers Pascal’s name in case he’s still awake. There’s no response. Kip plants a kiss between his shoulderblades, nestles down beside him under the blankets, and drapes an arm around Pascal’s waist.

He shuts his eyes. Pascal is so warm. Kip edges closer and closer until he’s lying flush against his side. Pascal’s arm slides around him.

—

Kip wakes up with Pascal, cooking their breakfast while Pascal showers and gets dressed for work. 

“Thank you so much, Kip.” Pascal takes his plate and puts an arm on Kip’s hip. He waits for Kip to turn and look at him before giving him a smile and a kiss on the side of the forehead.

“Aw. You’re welcome.”

Pascal sits down at the table; Kip leans against the counter.

“Are you off today?” Pascal asks. “I don’t remember if I already asked last night...”

Kip shakes his head.

“Nah, I go in at three. Just a closing shift. I’m off tomorrow.”

“Ah. Okay.”

“Want me to drop in when you break for lunch?” Kip asks. “I can bring you something.”

“I was just about to ask if you wanted me to come over while you’re closing,” Pascal laughs. “You could come spend the night at my place if you wanted. We could talk all about furniture.”

“Mm...we could do both, you know. See each other at your lunch and my closing. And spend the night together at your place.”

Pascal nods, spilling a little water on himself.

“Ah—yeah, I like that. Let’s do both.”

—

After braving the lobby while seeing Pascal off, Kip returns to his bedroom, gets comfortable under his blankets, and sleeps for a couple more hours. And then for eighteen more minutes. And then an extra five. And then he drags himself up and showers and cleans up the dishes from breakfast and thinks about Pascal, and a little bit about Ben, and tries to think about Wallace as little as possible.

He doesn’t like that Wallace kissed him as gently as he always imagined he might. It makes him so prone to replaying it, too suddenly to even catch himself, all in a flash. That soft little tug on his lip. The weight of Wallace’s hand on his shoulder. The sight of Wallace’s face just inches away, looking back at Kip like that.

He knows he can’t help thinking about the kiss, but he can avoid any other thoughts about the human. He has to consider himself lucky that he hasn’t had any difficult dreams to contend with. He’s been sleeping peacefully enough since the incident, but he’d prefer being woken up by nightmares than wet dreams about Wallace.

He hasn’t even jerked off since being kissed by Wallace. He hadn’t exactly felt that guilty for thinking of Wallace like that before, but now things are different. It’d be way too easy to enjoy the kiss. It’d be too easy to entertain the idea that the fantasies are closer to reality, and find pleasure in that. Even though he doesn’t intend to think of the kiss, he’s very well aware he could do so regardless. He doesn’t want to invoke that kind of shame while trying to get off.

He ends up thinking so much about how much he’s not thinking about Wallace that he indulges in a short nap just to shake up the pattern. When he wakes up, he brings the photo over to his bed and sits with it for a bit. He wonders how much better things would’ve worked out if they’d been around to listen to him worry and complain and ask for their input. They’d be able to reassure him that he’s a good person who can do things like talk to Ben, or maybe even Wallace, too. They’d be excited for him if he ever got to tell them he was choosing to move in with Pascal. He wonders how much something like that would hurt, too—if he got to live with his family all these years, then moved away, even somewhere so nearby. The three of them had been so close. Being with them had meant so much to him—it had been his life for eighteen years. It would’ve been twenty-four years if that life hadn’t been taken away along with theirs.

It almost makes him want to laugh, the idea of them seeing him off; helping him carry boxes, maneuver furniture through doors and down and up stairs, arrange things in a new apartment; the alien experience of lingering in the doorway of his bedroom, a place that’s been such an intimate part of his everyday life, changed alongside him yet almost remained a steadfast in a evolving identity, now stripped and emptied and about to be forevermore abandoned by the person to whom it had become an extension, a part of him; everyone trying not to cry too much at the end of the afternoon, exchanging hugs; Kip turning to look at Pascal with a shaky smile and tears in his eyes and a helpless laugh, this bittersweet moment that never got to exist. He can imagine his siblings wanting to triple check that he had everything he needed, insisting they’d make sure to bring him something that had been left behind somehow despite all Kip’s lists and labels and categorizing. He can imagine the ways Kent would try to help lift his mood throughout the day, the quiet way he joked, speaking softly with a little smile, leaving it up to the people around him to recognize his humor—or not. Kip always caught it and laughed.

They should be here to see him moving in with Pascal—this time purely because he wants to, not because a fire has left him homeless. He should be able to tell them about how he’s started setting aside tip money because, even though Pascal isn’t one for fancy, expensive things, Kip wants to have enough to buy a handcrafted ring, one with a beautiful, organic design like the ones Pascal envisions and creates. And he’ll find a chain that looks nice enough to hold the ring and he’ll keep them both on hand, because he wants to have something to give to Pascal, whether he decides he really does want to propose, whether he just wants to make a more abstract gesture that he’s serious about staying with Pascal, exchanging a ring without the invocation of any formal or legal ceremonies. Or just as a nice gift—whatever’s best for them.

He ought to be able to tell them that he wants to be prepared to give Pascal something like that at a moment’s notice. If he feels the urgent need to propose without anything at all, he’s completely willing to do that too. If Pascal expressly wants things to be purely unspoken, unwritten, wants nothing to do with marriage, Kip won’t be put off in the least. If Pascal wants to be proposed to, wants to plan a wedding, Kip wants to be ready for that, too. He wants to be able to tell his family that, even if it feels too soon just now to make such a move, he knows he’s going to do whatever will make it unambiguously, brilliantly clear that Kip wants to live his whole life with Pascal. He wants to share this with them. He ought to be able to. 

Kip ends up spending nearly an hour with the picture, thinking about them, about himself, about his life, theirs, the lives they should have together. 

He doesn’t truly think they’d be disappointed with who he is now. Even in the depths of his self-loathing, it’s not like he can genuinely imagine his family thinking the kinds of insults and accusations he berates himself with. He knows in his core that their love for him was unshakable. His own mistakes and the forces of E wither away to nothingness in the face of its warmth.

It still makes him feel warmer even now.

—

Kip puts together a quick lunch for himself and makes a homemade smoothie for Pascal, trying to keep the latter cold on the walk over without outright freezing anything. He slides into the shop about five minutes before Pascal said he’d take his break; Pascal is kneeling in front of the counter, wiping it down. He turns and lights up with a smile at the sight of Kip.

“Hey,” he says. “You can go ahead into the back. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay.” Kip walks over and leans down, kissing his hair. He circles around the counter and through the doorway, making his way to the little table in the corner. He sets down the bag with his own lunch and devotes his attention to keeping the smoothie chilled until Pascal joins him.

“What’s that?” Pascal asks, kissing Kip by the ear.

“I made you a smoothie,” Kip says. “It’s really mostly two bananas, but I had this strawberry mango yogurt and I figured it would be a nice flavor altogether. I promise I’ll drink it if it doesn’t taste great.”

“You’ll have to have some if it IS great,” Pascal laughs. “Thanks so much, that’s really nice to be surprised with.”

He takes Kip’s hand and presses a kiss to the backs of his fingers.

“Cold,” he murmurs against them.

“Oh...I was making sure I didn’t melt the drink,” Kip explains.

“You can put your hands under my shirt to warm them up,” Pascal says.

“Aw, they’re not that bad...”

“C’mon—“ Pascal scoots his chair around and turns his back towards Kip. “Go ahead.”

Kip laughs and carefully slides his hands up Pascal’s shirt, palms against his warm back. Pascal tenses just slightly, then relaxes and leans back into his touch.

“How’s your day going so far?” Pascal asks. 

“It’s been alright,” Kip says. “Quiet, thinking about things...what about you?”

“Not bad,” Pascal says. “Looking forward to seeing you this evening. I’m planning on making us some pasta for dinner.”

Kip plants a kiss on the back of his neck.

“I’m looking forward to it, too.”

—

Kip takes the side door when he goes back in, then takes it again to leave for work.

Between a couple rushes of people shortly after his arrival at the café and the closing duties he gets started on as early as he can, Kip’s shift goes by quickly enough. Pascal comes in about ten minutes before close and sits at a table close to the register; they chat about their days as Kip cleans up and organizes and puts things away.

“Okay, finally, it’s officially eight o’clock—“ Kip sighs with relief and flicks off the open sign, then most of the ceiling lights, dimming the café. He walks to the back and locks the back door, comes all the way around and locks the front door. 

“There it is!” Pascal congratulates him.

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “It hasn’t been too bad. And I get tomorrow off, so that’s nice too.”

“Mm...”

A minute later Kip is sweeping up front, then after finishing with that he wheels out the bucket and starts pushing the mop across the floor.

“Any news on Wallace or anything?” Pascal asks.

Kip blushes and scrubs the mop across a small stain on the tiles.

“No,” he says. “I’m waiting for Molly to tell me it’s okay to talk to Ben. I haven’t heard from Wallace, and that’s fine with me. I don’t have anything to say to him right now. I’m trying not to think about him, really.”

“You’re still as mad at him as you were?” 

“Well...” Kip sighs, pausing, looking up at the wall and leaning against the mop handle. “I doubt it. I don’t know. I’m just really confused, and I don’t want to make things any messier, and...I keep thinking about how nice the kiss was.”

He shrugs, slowly returning to his mopping.

Pascal tilts his head and smiles gently.

“How nice was it?” he asks Kip.

“Huh?” Kip looks up again. “What do you mean?”

“How nice was the kiss, I mean?” 

“Oh...what, should I describe it?”

Pascal smiles a little brighter, tilts his head further.

“You could demonstrate,” he says.

Kip looks at him a moment, then deposits the mop into the bucket and walks over to stand in front of him.

“Okay,” he says. “You’re me.”

“Right,” Pascal says. He looks up at Kip from where he’s seated, blushing slightly. “You’re Wallace.”

“Mmhm. And I’ll probably mess up the exact timing of it all, but hopefully you’ll get the picture. It only lasted a second, but...it was really kind of sweet.”

“Good,” Pascal laughs. “Then I don’t have to beat him up for you.”

Kip smiles and takes half a step closer to Pascal.

“So...” he begins. “He’s standing close like this, and he puts his hand on my shoulder.”

Kip places his right hand on Pascal’s left shoulder the way Wallace had done with him. He makes it overly gentle, as though he worries the full weight of his hand would hurt Pascal.

“And he looked at me for a moment, and then he looked down at my mouth for a few seconds, and I knew he was going to kiss me. And when he moved in, I closed my eyes and we both tilted our heads to our lefts, and I...I didn’t kiss back, but I definitely let the kiss happen.”

Pascal nods.

“It was like...” Kip breathes, already tilting his head and easing in. Their eyes meet for a moment and then Kip closes the distance between them in one movement, trying to imitate the way Wallace had caught his mouth in the kiss. And after lingering just a second, he takes Pascal’s top lip between his and just barely, softly tugs while pulling away. Then he tilts his head further, the way he remembers Wallace doing, pressing back in with just a touch more confidence, gliding his hand over to the base of Pascal’s neck.

Then he takes it all away.

“And that’s where it ended,” Kip says. “I pushed him away. It might’ve been a little shorter or a little longer, I don’t know.”

“Gosh,” Pascal touches the corner of his mouth with a soft smile and blush. “That’s not bad at all. That little pull on my lip—“ He laughs.

“Right?” Kip laughs too. “Ugh, I liked it too much, Pasc...”

“I think I see what you mean,” Pascal says. His blush is definitely a little brighter. “Maybe I should try to get Wallace to kiss me, too.”

Kip groans and pivots around to return to the mop bucket.

“Don’t give me anything more to fantasize about...” he half-jokes.

“Really?” Pascal’s laugh bubbles up from his chest. “Nice three-second kisses turn you on?”

Kip lets the mop slap to the floor in answer, moving it back and forth in sweeping arcs. 

“What DO you like to think about when you’re all alone?” Pascal asks playfully.

Kip just mops for a few more seconds.

“Say you’ve just finished up a shift at work, and you’re closing up by yourself, and you’re mopping up front, and your mind wanders, and...what kind of stuff do you think of?”

Kip huffs a laugh and shakes his head.

“The same kind of stuff as always,” he says. “I think of having sex with you, mostly. Every now and then when someone really gorgeous comes in I’ll sometimes visualize something happening with them for a second. But I really don’t have any elaborate, go-to workplace fantasy. Unless you count getting to go home.”

Pascal laughs lightly. 

“So...” he continues, leaning in towards Kip. “If it was an evening just like this, and you’re out here cleaning up, maybe you’re wishing I was here with you...what would you think about the two of us doing?”

Kip tightens his grip on the mop handle and pushes it underneath a table.

“I...I guess a lot of things,” he answers slowly. 

“Tell me how it might start out,” Pascal says, voice lowered in a way that Kip feels in his chest and spine.

“Um...” Kip stops mopping for a moment before recalling himself and starting it up again. “I...I guess when I’m doing stuff like this, I’ll think of...you coming up behind me and all of a sudden you’re holding me around the waist or talking in my ear and you really want me a lot, right now, and...I just...”

Pascal’s arms slide in around his waist; Pascal’s chest presses against his back, his crotch against Kip’s ass.

“Like this?” Pascal murmurs warm and close in his ear.

“Pasc,” Kip says breathlessly. “We can’t...”

Pascal presses a lingering kiss to the side of his head, sliding an arm up to Kip’s chest.

“What sorts of things can’t we do? Do you think of me reaching down your pants? Sucking your dick? Do you wanna be bent over that counter?”

“Y-yes,” Kip answers, shifting in Pascal’s hold. “But I—not right here, I can’t here...”

“Where then?” Pascal kisses the back of his ear. “You’re the expert on this place.”

Kip has to take a few steadying breaths. 

“I-I’m still clocked in,” he gasps. “I haven’t finished mopping...”

“I can suck you off in ten minutes, easy,” Pascal murmurs. “That’s—what, like, two dollars worth of pay rate?”

He kisses Kip behind the ear and squeezes him just a little tighter, then just as subtly loosens the hold.

“We don’t have to,” he says. “I was just wondering if you’d think it was fun. If you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

“I-I...I don’t know,” Kip breathes. “I mean, I’m probably just worrying too much, but—I mean, oh my god, if Cuddy had to talk to me about having sex on the clock in the café—“

He feels himself blush hard just at the concept.

“Does she, like, watch through cameras all day?” Pascal asks.

“No,” Kip says. “There’s only the two pointed at the entrances in case we get stabbed or whatever, and she doesn’t bother with like, checking them randomly or anything—she couldn’t even see us right now if she was—“

“Well, it’s up to you whether you wanna mess around a minute or not,” Pascal says. “And, you know, if you get fired for having sex or have to resign out of embarrassment, I’ll hire you. The owner at my work is very pro-us-fucking-in-the-back-after-closing.”

Kip giggles.

“Well,” he says. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but can I just maybe...finish mopping and clock out? Or—no, wait, that IS ridiculous. I don’t really feel like I need to do that. Okay. Hang on. I just have to talk myself out of weird anxiety for a minute sometimes.”

“Do your thing,” Pascal says, stepping back.

“Okay—so—it would be really fun to get a blowjob right over in that corner of the hallway there. I would enjoy that. And I’m not actually worried Cuddy will look at the cameras, and even if she did, the cameras can’t see us there. And I don’t feel like I have to clock out if this takes like, less than an hour.”

“It can probably be shorter than that,” Pascal says.

“Okay. Yeah.” Kip takes hold of the mop handle again. “Come and get me again.”

Pascal’s smile flickers on. 

“Yeah?” he says. “You want to?”

Kip nods. 

“I dunno why I always like to think of you coming up and holding me from behind,” Kip laughs. “The element of surprise, I guess. And being spooned standing up, kind of. And being able to imagine that feeling while I’m working.”

“I like the idea, too,” Pascal says, voice a hint lowered again. “You’re sure you wanna?”

“Yeah...” Kip laughs again. “We’ve fucked around in your shop, this place ought to have the honor at least once. And I’d love it if you sucked my dick.”

Pascal laughs too, flushing red. 

“Alright,” he says. “Just let me know if you change your mind anytime, okay?”

“Okay,” Kip says, lifting the mop from the bucket and letting its runoff splatter back into the bucket. “I’m just gonna go mop over here and not be paying attention or expecting anything to happen.”

Pascal stifles a laugh; Kip pushes the mop around the border of the cabinet holding the trashcan. 

Pascal does actually wait for just long enough that it makes Kip wonder when he’s going to be touched, and then he’s swept up in strong, gentle arms and pulled flush back against the warm press of his boyfriend’s gorgeous body. Pascal rolls his hips just slightly, and it’s enough for Kip to  
feel the start of Pascal’s erection against his ass. Kip bites his lip and tightens his grip on the mop handle and tilts his hips subtly up and back.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Pascal murmurs in his ear.

Kip arches slowly against him. Pascal slides an arm across his stomach, feeling up his chest with the other. Kip reaches up to undo a button on his shirt.

“Yeah?” he breathes. “I’ve been thinking a lot about you, too.”

Pascal rocks his hips forward a few times, bracing Kip tightly against the gentle thrusts. Kip lets his head fall back with a shuddering exhale of a moan.

“Keep doing that,” he sighs. “I wanna feel your dick getting harder.”

So Pascal grinds slowly and deliberately against him until Kip feels the firmness of his erection with every push, each nudge going right to his own cock.

“C’mon, Pasc,” he groans quietly. “Make me cum.”

So he’s lifted up in Pascal’s arms and seconds later set down in the corner of the hallway, his apron pulled off, his belt undone, Pascal kissing at the crotch of his pants even before his fly is opened. 

Pascal is relentless, groping at him and sucking hard and pushing in and moaning around his dick; Kip climaxes headspinningly quickly. Pascal holds him tight around the hips and thighs until he stops panting and his legs are steadier.

Kip drops to sit on his heels and buries his hands in Pascal’s hair, pulling him into an enthusiastic kiss.

“Mm...” Pascal draws back with a light suck. “I think I need to use the bathroom for a minute. Maybe you’ll be done closing up by the time I finish.”

Kip slides his hand down and cups Pascal’s erection.

“I’ll promise I’ll make you cum later on, after we get home, okay?” he murmurs, squeezing gently.

Pascal’s eyes flicker closed for half a second. 

“O-okay.”

—

Pascal gets off in the bathroom and Kip effortlessly mops up the rest of floor, feeling lightfooted and mentally removed from the task. 

Pascal only looks slightly disheveled after all of it—Kip takes his arms in his hands and kisses the suckers on the ends of each. Pascal gives him a coy little smile, accompanied by a soft blush. Kip beams back at him with a shake of his head, reaching up to brush some of his hair behind his ear.

“You’re so handsome, Pascal,” he says. “And I love all the ways you look at me.”

“What are the ways?” Pascal asks. 

“Just—like you love me,” Kip laughs softly. “It always shows in your face when you’re looking at me.”

Pascal blushes and looks at Kip like he loves him.

“Aw, good.”

—

They see a beautiful sunset on their way back. Once in Pascal’s apartment, Kip lies across the couch, eyes closed, as Pascal moves around the kitchen.

And then Pascal joins him, lifting Kip’s legs up onto his lap. 

“Things’ll start being ready in about ten more minutes,” he says. 

“Okay,” Kip says. He holds his hand out for Pascal to wrap an arm around. “Thank you, Pasc. It already smells good.”

“Of course,” Pascal says. “I’m glad to have you here with me. Dinners are a lot lonelier without you.” 

Kip opens his eyes and gazes up at the ceiling. 

This is all so good.

—

They talk and laugh over the meal, and then Kip washes the dishes, and they stand around the living room and bedroom discussing how some furniture might be moved around.

“You know,” Kip says, “After I move in we should really look at about how much money we’d have each month, and maybe eventually we could rent a place a little bigger.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Pascal says. 

“But I don’t mind if it’s a little crowded. I know it’s harder for you to have enough space, though. I can adapt to anything, and if you wanna keep this apartment, that’s totally fine. I just want you to know you’ve got options. I can be comfortable with whatever.”

“I’d live with you in a refrigerator box,” Pascal says, “So...”

“I don’t think we’re there quite yet, but I appreciate it. And I feel the same.”

Pascal sinks down in the armchair.

“I mean,” he sighs, “I definitely don’t intend on keeping this apartment forever, but even if that had to be the case, I don’t think this place is too bad. It’s small, but that’s not such a big deal. The heating in winter is decent, and that’s so rare in buildings with a lot of smaller apartments.”

“Ugh...” Kip closes his eyes. “I don’t even want to think about winter.”

“Mm. We can definitely look for a bigger place whenever that seems doable,” Pascal says. “Eventually we should just move to a tropical coast somewhere and you never have to worry about winter again.”

“God, I wish,” Kip sighs. “What would you do with your shop?”

Pascal shrugs.

“Maybe I’d open up a second location wherever we move,” he says. “Or I’d just...pick something else to do.”

Kip sits down on the couch again and leans back against its cushions.

“I bet you’ll move even more tea in the winter,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Pascal laughs softly. “I don’t think as many people drink as much hot tea in the summer as us. But a lot of people still like it year round. Or they just get the iced tea blends I have.”

“You have such good teas that everyone ought to learn to drink it year round even if they don’t already,” Kip says. “I can’t appreciate enough how good you are at really making blends...they’re really balanced and different from anything you could get anywhere else. Even if I’d never met you before, I think I’d marry you after one visit to your shop.”

Pascal giggles.

“Thank you.”

They speculate about furniture arrangements for a little while longer, and then Kip starts kissing Pascal, climbing up into the chair with him, until Pascal leans it back and Kip is kneeling on either side of his hips, hands on Pascal’s shoulders, rubbing them as he kisses him slow and deep. He slides his hands down to Pascal’s chest, massaging him there as well. Soon enough Pascal is moaning softly into Kip’s mouth, feeling up and down his back, groping his ass and thighs.

It takes a little maneuvering for them to undress, but finally Kip kicks off his underpants and they’re both naked and Kip sinks down until he’s straddling Pascal’s lap, their erections pushed up together between their stomachs.

“Pascal,” he whispers. He gazes steadily at him while rolling his hips, rubbing their dicks together. “I love you.”

Pascal’s breath shudders; he takes Kip by the waist and grinds back against him, staring up at him like he’s more beautiful than the moon.

Kip starts kissing him again, then kisses along his throat, and his chest. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around Pascal’s cock, crawls back to bring his mouth to it, holds Pascal’s gaze while slowly stroking him, his lips hovering millimeters from the end.

Once Pascal gets outwardly restless for it, Kip flicks his tongue across the tip and Pascal squirms against the chair, shoving his head back with a breathless grunt. Kip smiles to himself and slides his hand down to the base, waiting for Pascal to look at him again before sucking the head of his dick into his mouth. 

“Kip!” Pascal cries, arching up. “Fuck!”

Kip pushes further down Pascal’s length with another suck, taking his hand off the base to cup his sack instead. Pascal whines helplessly. After taking every inch and getting into a rhythm, he switches it up, pumping Pascal’s cock with his hand while sucking his balls. Switches up again before Pascal can get too used to anything, and again, and again.

Pascal is a little noisier tonight, and Kip loves it—he’s not even being that loud, just especially vocal: sighing, moaning, swearing, whimpering, crying out. Panting and groaning Kip’s name. Cutting off a whine with a sharp gasp. 

Soon enough, Pascal is all but begging for his orgasm. And Kip is more than happy to satisfy him.

Kip lets him cum in his mouth, pulls off enough to let some spill on his lips, land across his face. He kneels there, catching his breath, keeping still, watching Pascal ease into his afterglow, slowly begin recovering himself somewhat. 

“Kip...” He sits up and reaches right for him. "C’mere...”

Kip moves towards him and is drawn into a kiss. Pascal hugs him close, tight, licking his own cum from Kip’s mouth, kissing it from his nose and cheeks and his chin, slicked with watery spit. Kip pants and weakly humps Pascal’s stomach until Pascal pulls him into a deep kiss and slides his arm down to take a tight hold around his dick. 

Kip is noisy, too, every exhale a huff that bleeds into a moan, thrusting into Pascal’s grip, fingertips pressing hard against Pascal’s shoulders and back. He lowers his forehead to the crook of Pascal’s neck as his control grows messier, riding the rest of it out until his breath catches and he jerks forward with a sharp cry. 

He slumps against Pascal’s chest, arms looped around his neck.

“Pascal,” he sighs, kissing his collarbone. “Mmm...”

Pascal rubs his back; brings the arm up to stroke the base of his head.

“Love you, Kip,” he murmurs. “So much.”

Kip pushes himself up and looks Pascal in the face and kisses his lips, soft but lingering, and holds Pascal with his arms and legs and head and body.

—

Kip fucks Pascal before bed, lying him on the mattress and holding his knees back with the weight of his lean across Pascal’s body, thrusting smoothly and steadily, keeping it gentle until he adds a hard little shove at the end of each inward stroke. Pascal gazes up at him the whole time. His arms tighten around Kip’s, he winces slightly with the increasing tension of his pleasure, he groans and tosses his head back and gasps Kip’s name.

Kip focuses intently as Pascal grows close, sliding his hands over his broad chest and stomach and the sides of his face, sharpening his thrusts to push Pascal further. He leans in and kisses him, again and again, and reaches down to pump him hard.

Pascal grows stiller and quieter as Kip works him up to the edge, squeezing his eyes shut, holding his breath so often that Kip keeps whispering “breathe” with a soft kiss to his lips. Finally Pascal comes undone with a cry and a sharp arch of his spine, squeezing Kip in, tension unspooling from his body as he spills hard across his front.

Kip only thrusts a few more times before curling in around Pascal’s body with a choked groan. Pascal slowly gathers him in and Kip gladly rests against his torso, eyes closed, absentmindedly playing with his hair.

They take a quick shower together, only able to wring a bit of warmth from the water. Kip towels off Pascal’s body for him, kneeling to scrub the fabric down his legs, having Pascal reach up so he can get his sides and armpits, rubbing down his front and back and then gathering the towel up over his shoulders and rising up on his toes to kiss him.

Kip wipes himself down and flips his hair to blowdry it for just half a minute. He brushes his teeth and follows Pascal into bed—Pascal has settled on the side closest to the lilac bush, leaving the other half, where the mattress and blankets are still warmed from sex, for Kip.

They talk in low, soft voices for a while. Pascal gradually shifts closer and closer to Kip until he’s snuggled up against his side, curled arm laid on his chest. Kip puts his chin atop Pascal’s head and lies there with his arm hooked around the side and back of his neck, hand resting on his shoulder. He puts his other hand by the arm on his chest.

Kip is drifting off when he hears Pascal mumble his name.

“Mmhm?” he sighs. 

“I love you,” Pascal murmurs against his skin.

Kip rolls onto his side, pressing his chest to Pascal’s. He kisses his hair.

“I love you,” he whispers back.

Pascal buries his face against Kip’s throat.

—

Kip sees Pascal off from the door of his building with a kiss and a warm smile, then goes back up to his apartment, cleans up from breakfast, waters his houseplants, dusts off his sculptures, and returns to bed for about an hour and a half more of sleep. 

He wakes up wishing Pascal was still with him, that they could be having another complete day devoted entirely to their own devices. He rolls out from under the blankets and redresses and remakes the bed and kneels down by the lilac bush to take a few deep breaths of its scent. 

It’s hot outside, even for his standards. Kip can tell the afternoon will be sweltering. 

He hesitates as he walks onto his block, then decides to take the side entrance again. Their apartment is empty, as expected. Kip changes into a soft blue tank top and dark grey shorts to adapt to the weather, fixes himself an early lunch, and sits back on the couch to relax and think.

He’s drinking some water when a knock at the door almost makes him choke and drop the glass. Heart thumping, Kip hastily sets the dishes on the coffee table and turns to stare at the door, frozen in place.

More knocks, neither aggressive nor timid—Kip feels each as a small jolt in his chest. 

Breathless, he stands. Walks over to the door on legs already a bit shaky. He pauses two feet away, staring at the doorknob, before finally reaching out and turning it so he can’t put that off any longer. 

Now he has to open the door, so he does.

Kip looks up at Ben with a heartbeat now thudding all the way down to his stomach and up into his throat. 

He can’t speak. He doesn’t even have anywhere to begin.

“Hello,” Ben says. “I thought I’d see if you were home before I went all the way to your work.”

After a moment, Kip manages to give a nod, hand still clutching the doorknob.

Ben looks quietly back at him for a few horribly long seconds.

“I think we ought to talk,” Ben says, and Kip’s hand clenches tighter on the door and he feels a dull chill shoot through his neck and shoulders and creep through the rest of his body.

“Okay,” he says weakly. “Yeah. ...Do you want to come in, or?”

Ben glances in over Kip’s shoulder.

“Maybe we could go to my place,” he says. “That room would feel so huge and empty if it was just the two of us.”

Kip feels his feet bare against the floor, but he figures that’s the least of his worries right now.

“Okay,” he says again. “I have my keys on the table.”

And, feeling as if he’s not quite fully here, Kip turns and walks calmly over to the coffee table and picks up his keys and slides them into his free back pocket. And turns back and returns just as calmly to the door.

“Okay.” He doesn’t look Ben in the face this time—just at the very edge of his shoulder.

“Alright.” Ben steps away and Kip closes the door behind himself, then follows after Ben down the hall.

Kip never would’ve guessed how many miserable thoughts and scenarios could run through his head down those few flights of stairs. Walking down that last stretch of hallway seems to take impossibly long and go by much too rapidly at the same time. He tries to lift his head as Ben unlocks his door, freeze his expression into something neutral but serious. 

“After you,” Ben says. 

Kip glances at him and walks slowly into the apartment, feeling overly-conscious of his hands and arms and whether they’re moving too much or too little.

He’s going to handle this. Whatever this is, eventually he’s going to be heading back upstairs and he’ll still be able to sit on his bed and be alone in his room for a bit and distract himself with something or other until he can talk with Pascal. And while he’s stuck here, he’s going to do everything he can as best as he can to try to help recover this situation, with Ben’s best interests alone in mind.

“You can sit down wherever you’d like,” Ben says behind him, closing the door. “Do you want a cup of tea? I have plenty.”

“Um, sure, that would be nice, thank you,” Kip says, before slowly processing the possibility that Ben just made a friendly joke. 

He glances at Ben walking towards his kitchen, then looks at the armchair and the loveseat across from it. He perches on the armchair, staring down at the coffee table in between. A flat, oval mat sits in the center, its woven fibers a warm mix of autumnal oranges and reds. Kip inspects individual strands as he tries to think of things Ben might say to him, and how he might respond. Intermittently these thoughts are interrupted by shivers of anxiety. He tries to wrench them back. It’s like some nightmare about a final exam he didn’t study for, didn’t even take the class for.

The whistle of a kettle only makes it harder to keep his focus or composure. Just half a minute later Ben reappears with a tray, little streams of steam flowing towards him as he walks it over.

Things can’t be as bad as they might if Ben is being as hospitable as this. Kip tries to take comfort in it without getting his hopes up.

“This is the lavender tea I like, so I don’t know if you like adding more honey or lemon anyway,” Ben says, lowering the tray to the center of the table. “I brought options.”

There’s the two mugs of tea, and a small bottle of lemon juice, and a little jar of honey, another of sugar.

Ben can’t hate him that much then, can he? He isn’t the type to play games if he does.

“Thank you,” Kip murmurs, taking the closest mug. He wants to use something of what was offered, so he takes a spoonful of the thick, amber honey and stirs it into his tea, trying not to cause much annoying clattering as he does.

Ben sinks into the loveseat directly across from him.

“So,” he says in his low, quiet voice. Kip’s chest twists. “Have you been okay?”

Kip looks up at him. For a beat, he’s speechless.

“Uh, I’ve been alright,” he says cautiously. “...What about YOU?”

Ben almost smiles.

“Don’t look so worried,” he says to Kip. “I don’t think you were left with the best understanding of the situation.”

“...What do you mean?” Kip says slowly.

“I’m saying I don’t think that Wallace approached things in the best way,” Ben says. His tone is too light, not strained or clipped or weighed down with everything Kip knows it ought to be. 

It’s all too strange to understand.

“...He told you what happened?” Kip says quietly.

Ben nods.

“I figured he was going to try to kiss you, Kip,” he says.

Kip feels his expression shift into utter confusion. He can only stare at Ben, who gives him a small but definite smile.

“He told me that he didn’t quite explain things to you,” he continues. “That you left after he kissed you?”

Kip nods, lighting up with a blush.

“I—he’d told me he was with you,” Kip says. “So I was...upset that we kissed.”

Ben looks at him levelly. 

“I thought that’s what you must think,” he says quietly. “When Wallace told me you’d gotten angry before he could explain, I could guess the reasons for it. And the note you left me seems to confirm you’ve been worrying that I’m being two-timed, right?”

And now he gives Kip even more of a smile than before. Kip blushes harder.

“W-well...yeah,” Kip says, glancing down at the cup in Ben’s hands. “You and Wallace HAVE been together, haven’t you? That’s what Wallace said, when...” He fades off.

“...Yes,” Ben answers. 

Kip looks back at him. Ben is looking down at the table.

“Ben,” Kip says, voice coming out more faintly. 

Ben raises his head; their eyes meet again.

“I...” Kip starts hesitantly. “...I’m sorry I haven’t been able to say anything about it. I wasn’t sure you’d want me to, and part of me was upset about Wallace, and I just...didn’t want to think about any of it for a while, and...”

He trails off again, shaking his head and looking away.

“It’s alright,” Ben says. “In a way, you...actually DID say things to me about it, even if you didn’t mean to. Things that...seemed to help. I’ve actually been wishing I could talk to you long before now. But I wasn’t sure I was ready to, and, well...like you, I didn’t really think you’d want to talk to me.”

Kip sets down his tea.

“How did I say anything helpful to you?” he asks, bemused. “Why were YOU nervous to talk to ME?”

And Ben actually laughs softly, and Kip blushes anew and feels a different kind of tension come over him, disbelief and confusion struggling against a tentatively rising spirit.

“Well, for your second point, I’ve always been...remembering what I said to you that one day in front of the building. When you had tried to talk to me.” He emphasizes: “You know.”

Kip glances down and nods heavily. The memory of his own bitter anger stirs low in his chest.

“I’m sorry for all of it,” Ben says quietly. “You were wanting to apologize for losing your temper with me and I just went ahead and did the same thing. I’m not all that certain WHY I was so short with you—I think I was just a bit embarrassed and...almost afraid to talk about things. I knew why you’ve always been nervous around me. I didn’t want to have to explain things. I got frustrated and took it out on you and I apparently didn’t even have the maturity to attempt an apology like you did.”

Kip can only stare. 

“So, I’d like to say now that I’m sorry for what I said and how I treated you,” Ben says to him. 

“...I’m sorry that time I was angry with you when I ran into you,” Kip murmurs. “I’m sorry I’ve been so weird around you all year. I didn’t think you liked being near me.”

“I didn’t think you loved being around me all that much, either,” Ben says, taking a sip of his tea.

“I...” Kip blushes, glancing away in shame. “I thought that...you might not like to see me because of what happened.”

“What, you mean Yumi?”

Kip presses his hand harder against his thigh and nods at the floor.

“Kip. No.” Ben’s voice is uncharacteristically firm. Kip looks at him in surprise.

“You’re not—“ Ben sighs and drags a hand through the hair on the side of his head. “Kip, listen. Don’t think that. I need you not to think that anymore.”

“Wh—think what?” Kip asks, bemused.

“Don’t think that I all I think of you is what’s happened to us,” Ben says. “That’s never been true.”

“But...don’t I make you think about it?”

“Sometimes,” Ben shrugs. “But I’ve been thinking about it on my own all this time. Don’t I remind you of what happened to your family sometimes?” 

“I guess so,” Kip says. “But...not really. Maybe just because I’ve been distracted worrying I was making you think about Yumi.” He gives a quiet, helpless laugh. 

“Honestly, you probably remind me of Kent more than her,” Ben says.

Kip looks down. 

“But with me, it’s...it’s different that I...” he starts quietly, looking down at Ben’s hands.

“What’s different?” 

Kip lowers his head a little further, face burning in embarrassment.

“You...” He slides his hand to his knee, squeezing it. “If...you hadn’t known me...Yumi wouldn’t have known Kent, and...she might...”

He shakes his head.

“What?” Ben says. “...Are you blaming yourself for Yumi being killed?”

Kip doesn’t respond. He can’t think of anything to say.

“Kip.” 

Kip shrugs and rubs at his shoulder, taking a deep breath while he decides what he should say next.

“No, listen to me, Kip.” 

Ben’s voice has this urgency to it in a way Kip’s almost never heard—he looks up quickly, meeting Ben’s eyes. 

“It’s not your fault at all,” Ben says. He leans in. “Yumi would’ve known about Kent even if you didn’t know me and Molly. And...she knew what she wanted to do. It wasn’t your fault what happened to her, or Kent’s, or...or mine.”

He sighs quietly and looks down at his tea. Then back up at Kip. Kip immediately recognizes the grief in his expression.

“It’s important to me that you not blame yourself,” Ben says. “Please, don’t ever think that any of it was because of you.”

Kip looks back at him, begging him to mean it.

“You weren’t making me think of Yumi,” Ben says quietly. “The...problem was that...a lot of the time you make me think of myself.”

Kip sits up a little straighter, bemused.

“What? ...How?”

Ben leans back too, looking up towards the ceiling and rubbing the back of his neck.

“I...suppose it started after you moved here,” Ben says slowly. “I probably hadn’t noticed it as much before that, because we’d never really been in the same place as long as this. But after a while I could never help but notice all the ways you could be like me. I guess I just started kind of subconsciously comparing us, because of what we had in common, and I’d see all these similarities, but also notice the differences too, and I’d...I would think that other people must notice the same things I did, too. That you were like me, but...better.”

Kip opens his mouth to speak; he closes it again upon finding himself wordless. 

Ben smiles half-heartedly and looks down at his tea.

Finally, all Kip can contribute is a weak “No way.”

“You don’t think we’re similar?” Ben laughs softly.

“I—heh—“ Kip shakes his head and picks up his tea again. “I sometimes think that you’re like ME, except...you’re better.”

Ben pauses with his tea halfway lowered.

“What?” Ben says. “You think I’m better than you are? ...How?”

There’s a look of such genuine confusion on his face and such disbelief in his voice that Kip fights back a laugh.

“I have no idea how you think I’M better than you,” Kip says. “I thought it was obvious that you’re, like, a better version of me.”

“I was thinking just the same way, in reverse,” Ben says.

“How was—“ Kip unconsciously brushes a hand through his hair. “Sorry—just—how do you...in what ways could I possibly seem better than you?”

“...I guess all the reasons seem silly to say aloud,” Ben murmurs. “Maybe it’s just been jealousy, or—some form of self-deprecation...”

He sighs and looks back at Kip. There’s that weariness to his expression, but for once Kip doesn’t feel he’s causing it.

“You’ve done so much,” Ben murmurs. “Even right when you moved here, you’d accomplished so much already. Real things, things that helped people. I...haven’t ever done anything like that.”

Kip shakes his head incredulously, blushing.

“Ben,” he says. “If it weren’t for you, things could’ve been so, so much worse in E. I don’t even want to think about how it could’ve turned out. And if you’re talking about my blog, if it’s ever helped anyone, it’s just luck. Anybody could do it. Half of the reason I started it was just because I felt guilty, like I had to do something more to live up to the actually helpful stuff Kent did. And you’ve helped people so much all this time I’ve known you. I’ve seen it. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t seem like a big deal. The small stuff is probably more important anyways. I know how much you care about other people. I know how generous you are. I...I know exactly what someone like Yumi saw in someone like you.”

He laughs softly, dropping his head.

“You’ve always...I saw how much you helped Molly. I’ve always seen all the ways you care about people and...you always do what you can to help out, especially when things are really bad for someone. You...”

He shakes his head again.

“I’ve always felt like you do more than me,” he continues slowly. “It’s felt like all the ways I try to help were...mixed up in some performance of what people expect of me, just this...self-interest and...what I’ve been forced into. People act like E was so amazing, like I ever would’ve chosen to do any of it. I just did what I had to. I was forced into it because I’m Kent’s brother, and everything I did was about trying to survive and protect everyone else and—and finish what they started when they came after us. YOU’VE never been forced into anything, or pressured by...who strangers think you ought to be, and you STILL help everyone around you whenever you can. Just because you care about people.”

He runs his fingers up and down the seam of his shorts. He knows he’s blushing hard. 

“...You care about people, too,” Ben says quietly. “Even disregarding everything that’s been related to your brother. You’ve always been someone who...sees others, and pays attention, and does his best to help them. That’s been true as long as I’ve known you. And I know that Molly would say the same.”

Kip lifts his head slightly, looking at Ben’s tea.

“...Thank you,” he says. 

There’s a pause. Kip takes a steadying sip of hot warm tea.

“I’ve always wished I could hold myself together like you do,” Kip admits. “I’m always...I get frustrated or nervous so easily and I just turn into a mess right away. I can’t keep it together. I try to make myself all calm and collected but I can’t, and I look at you, and I see how steady you always are, even when you’re upset, and...I wish I was more like you.”

“I definitely don’t feel like I have myself together.” Ben’s voice is low. “Not in the least. The only reason I might look like I have myself together is because I hold myself back all the time. It was like...I couldn’t feel as much after losing Yumi, both because it hurt so much and because it’s like I wasn’t allowed to feel things anymore, because she’s not here to share it with. And I kind of got stuck in it. So that even when I do feel things, it never seems to reach the surface. It’s like it can’t break through whatever’s blocking it, and I can’t show it. I can’t share things the way I used to. I’m trying to push through it, but...I’d look at how YOU are and see someone who wasn’t hiding himself away like that. You can show how you feel. You have such big emotions and you share them with the people around you. I’ve always wanted to be more like that. And always felt like I must seem so colorless and dull compared to you.”

Kip can’t help laughing weakly. He can’t believe this.

“I’m—I always think I’m just being—immature and weak and ridiculous—“ he says. “I really think of you as being as strong and composed as I can never manage to be. I-I can’t—you really think I seem—like I have emotions? Like I’m—I dunno, interesting?”

Ben shrugs and smiles. Kip laughs helplessly again, hand on his forehead.

“I’d never, EVER look at myself that way. I always think I—I must be so boring and depressing compared to everyone...”

“Well, that’s basically how I think of myself,” Ben murmurs.

Kip just looks at him a moment. 

“And I’ve definitely never thought I’m strong,” Ben says. “It’s like I’m breaking down all the time. You managed to come back to this district your family died in, and meanwhile I was still having days I’d get so upset about Yumi I’d almost make myself sick. Like I hadn’t changed at all in all those years.”

“Ben...I didn’t even want to move back here. I talked myself into thinking I must have no other real choice. And, god, I was a mess when we came here. I cried every night for like, ten days straight. I had a lot of anxiety attacks. Some of them were so bad I’d throw up. I had to call out of work and leave early so often in that first month and a half that I was sure I’d be fired. And I missed my family so much. I cried over them so many times. I...I still do. I’ll have dreams about them being alive. And days I wake up thinking about them, maybe even forgetting for a second that they’re dead. Sometimes I still just...think about them and cry. I—heh—I tell Eno a lot that it feels like I’m still dealing with the same issues I had six years ago. Like sometimes it feels as though I haven’t made any progress. And I know I’ve been working at everything, and trying to be better, and be stronger, but...even after all the things I’ve gone through and suffered, even when it SEEMS like I manage to do something strong or brave, like moving here or—or being put through E, I still...feel like I’m weak and scared, and heartbroken, and I always run, and I’m...selfish and cowardly...and the only ways I’ve changed are for the worse. I’m meaner and colder and more depressing and demanding and I just...heh...”

He rubs his arm to ground himself and gives half a shrug. 

“I...I got bad a lot of times when we were dealing with E,” he says quietly. “In all kinds of ways. I don’t have it together either. I’ve been having bad anxiety sometimes even since then. And bad nightmares. And bad other things. And just...I’m not past it. I don’t think there IS getting past it. I’m just still trying to learn how to cope. But so often the littlest things seem to just break me open all over again sometimes. I don’t know.”

He takes a long sip of his tea, stopping himself before he rambles on forever. He doesn’t know how to do that kind of thing well.

Ben is quiet too, until he just barely breaks the silence with his low voice.

“It really seems silly to mention how I...sort of was jealous that so many people paid attention to you,” he says. “People looking up to you and noticing you and caring about what you do and think and...meanwhile, I’m just some random guy who keeps to himself and holes up in his apartment and nobody would notice me one way or another. Not to mention the college degree and...basically my entire twenties that I had nothing to show for.”

“...I think I...probably kept Molly and Roy and Pascal from even having a shot at college,” Kip murmurs. “I mean, Pascal took some night courses at the community college there, but...I didn’t stay away from college because I thought I was too good to need it, or anything. I just...I knew I’d’ve crashed and burned right away if I started. I couldn’t even think about looking into it. I was completely broken apart. And...I don’t know. Sometimes I wish I could’ve gone. But even before...the fire, I was really confused about everything. It doesn’t mean anything that I don’t have a degree and you do. If anything, it looks worse on me. And...well, the other stuff...”

He looks over at the corner of the wall.

“I’ve...really mostly always hated it. I know that doesn’t really do anything to change the fact that a lot of people think I’m important, and how that can be an advantage, but... If I could choose to make it all stop, I would. I wish they didn’t pay attention to me. I wish everything I do or say wasn’t analyzed and treated like some big deal. It’s not even me they think is important—it’s Kent. People wish I was Kent, and I’ve always known it. It makes me think of all the ways I’m not like him at all. Honestly...you seem a lot more like Kent than I do, in a lot of ways.”

He shakes his head and looks down at the edge of the table.

“If I wasn’t related to him, nobody would give me a second glance and my blog would have about a dozen hits a month. And I, well...I know THIS probably sounds ridiculous, but...I thought you must be stronger than me because I had to have four people around me and I STILL barely made it though. I know that probably...I know you probably wished you had more people around you, and would’ve loved to switch places, and it must’ve been so, so hard to feel lonely then. I know it seems clueless to say it had anything to do with being too strong to need anyone. I just...even now, I feel like if I didn’t have all the people in my life that I do, I wouldn’t be nearly as okay as I am now. I feel like they still think they need to look after me, and maybe they’re right. I...I’m not trying to complain about having friends. It’s...just that I...that...”

He drops his head and takes a tight grip on the warmth of his mug.

“I’m sorry Molly and Roy came with me to D,” he says softly. “I know Molly visited you a lot. But I know it’s not the same as having someone nearby. I’m really sorry for that. I’m sorry if...I’ve just been absorbing all this attention. I wish I didn’t. I haven’t been trying to. And I promise it’s nothing I somehow deserve more than you. I don’t, at all. People who do know you love you, and you shouldn’t’ve ever had to feel like nobody cares about you. I—I do, even if I’ve done a terrible job of showing it all this time. I...I know that there’s some really amazing, wonderful people who...for some reason just get overlooked by people around them when everyone ought to love them instead. I’m sorry. I wish these things were different.”

“Kip...” Ben sighs. “It’s not your fault Molly went with you. And, you know, if I’m not strong for being alone, you’re not weak for having people who helped you. It...it isn’t like I’ve ever really, genuinely been angry at you for all these ways you seemed better than me. It’s just that I’d never talk about it, to you or to anyone, and...I suppose that only let it continue and get worse. I’d compare us so often that it was just like some analysis running in the back of my head whenever we were in the same place—and it’d even get so that I’d feel like anyone else around us must be seeing it too. I’d want to avoid you just so I wouldn’t have to feel that way or think about it.”

Kip looks him in the face again. Ben glances away, then meets his eyes again with a small smile.

“...I never knew that,” Kip says quietly. “I never even would’ve guessed. I thought I was just reminding you of what had happened. And maybe you just didn’t like me. Or you were...frustrated that I’d never done anything to help you.”

“No,” Ben says just as quietly. “How could I be? I’d never particularly done anything to help YOU.”

“I was the one living with other people who were supporting me. It should’ve been easier for me to do something like that. I should’ve reached out more. Even when I moved here, I never...acted like I cared. I’m sorry for that.”

“You were always perfectly friendly to me,” Ben says. “And I didn’t expect anything more. It’d been five years, you know. I certainly wasn’t about to walk up to you and say, ‘So, about that fire—‘“

Kip has to laugh a little, and so does Ben.

“And, you know,” Ben continues, “I don’t think either of us was in a position to help each other with what had happened. I was...more than devastated by it. I couldn’t possibly have made anything better for you any more than for myself. I don’t think there WAS any making it better. There was just holding on and being there and making it to another day, over and over.”

Kip smiles at the description.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I just...wish I’d reached out more. So you at least could’ve known one more person really was thinking of you. I wish I was better at showing you I cared.”

It’s quiet a moment. Eventually Kip looks up to see Ben already gazing back at him; Ben offers a gentle smile.

“I guess I have to wish I’d done the same,” Ben says. “If this whole year you’ve been feeling like I hate you.”

Kip blushes and shrugs.

“I didn’t know how you felt,” he murmurs. “I guess I was feeling guilty about being so distant with you and thinking you might be mad about that, and then...thinking that my being around you was just a bad reminder of what’d happened. Because I guess I...noticed that it’s still hurting you.”

“Of course it is.” Ben’s voice is low.

“I know,” Kip says quietly. “I never expected any different. I just...thought that since I wasn’t doing anything to help you, the only other possibility was that I was making it worse. I was trying to explain to myself why you might want to avoid me, and...it seemed to make sense to me. I don’t know. I remind everyone of what happened.”

Ben is silent.

“...You know, I’ve never thought of myself as...some amazing, accomplished person, no matter what anybody else thinks,” Kip murmurs towards his tea. “Again, I know that doesn’t change the fact that a lot of people think I’m great just for...being alive, and who I’m related to. And I know I already said I don’t like all that attention. But I don’t think I deserve it, either. I...I’m not all that bad a person. I try to do good things. But I’m not all that special, and I’m not that great, and...if I hadn’t had those humans who came after me, my biggest achievement would be running a blog. And not dying in a fire. And even with people who actually know me, I’m...not that amazing. I’m not the greatest friend and I don’t always have such fantastic social skills to the point I-I can be hurtful without trying and...I think I’m kind of overly self-centered. And I’m too afraid to do things I know I should do. I mean, I hadn’t tried to actually talk to you yet, even though...I was afraid I’d made you guys break up. I was scared of coming down here. Even though I knew I needed to give you the chance to talk to me, I’ve still been putting it off. For my own sake. Even though I thought you’d been hurt that bad.”

He looks up; Ben gazes steadily back at him. Kip blushes.

“It’s never been real, what people think of me,” Kip says softly.

Ben blinks.

“What?” he says.

“I mean...” Kip leans in over his tea, glancing down at the mat on the coffee table. “People think about me the way they do because everybody hoped I’d be another version of Kent. I never was, but I’m his brother, and looked like him, and I had his folder, and that was enough. That’s the only reason I get all this attention and weird status. And...it makes me angry sometimes. Which makes me feel like a hypocrite.”

He stifles a heavy sigh and takes a drink of the tea.

“...How is being angry about that hypocritical?” Ben asks, nonplussed.

Kip gives a hollow laugh. 

“I...” He looks up at the ceiling with a helpless shrug. “I feel like I’ve been pretending to be Kent for...the last third of my life, just about. Maybe the whole time. It’s hard to tell where looking up to him turned into wishing I really could be another version of him. But I feel like...I haven’t been emulating him so much as imitating him. It’s...like at some point, even when he was still alive, I just started pretending I was more like him, and I waded deeper and deeper into that act until I kind of lost sight of myself. And I was changing so much every year anyhow that maybe that real self didn’t exist anymore when I turned around to try to look for it. And...after the fire...”

He laughs flatly again, hugging an arm across his stomach.

“Almost everything felt like pretending after they died,” he murmurs. “I had to start pretending I was okay so that I could start to BE more okay, and pretend I thought I had a future so I wouldn’t try—so that I could keep going, and pretend I felt like I could exist in a world without my family, because otherwise...I just felt dead. And there were some things that kept me grounded, but it felt like most of me was...was just gone. I didn’t know how to live this life. I didn’t know who to be. People saw me as some part of Kent that had made it out of the fire. They want me to be him. And I’d admired him so much that I wished it were true. I wished I WAS just like him, the way everyone wanted. And...I wished he’d made it out instead of me. And that’s what everyone else wants. And I’m angry about all this attention that I’ve only just been encouraging by—by trying to act like someone so much stronger and tougher than I really am, and running this blog like I’m here for the whole community in the way that Kent was, and—and helping Wallace because I’d always been so invested in trying to be as good as Kent that I—I played right along with what everyone thinks of me, with what I hoped I could be, even though I knew it was all fake. I might as well have been lying to people. Or using them. I knew that the perception of me would make people accept Wallace. And I went right along with it because...if I stopped being so committed to...following Kent’s example, then...I’d have to acknowledge that my whole identity for the past decade or so has been hollow and fake. I’d have no idea who I was anymore. And even now, I don’t...I’m not so sure I know. I don’t know what’s an act I’ve gotten used to and what’s just ways I’ve naturally changed and I’m not sure if there’s a real me under all of it anymore. And I’m not sure who I am besides someone trying to be Kent’s shadow, because I’m...not sure how far back you’d have to go to reach a version of me who wasn’t trying to be like him. Maybe I lost track of myself ages ago. But I don’t know that I have any right to be upset if people wish I was Kent when I wish that too. And when I’ve done less than nothing to fight back against that idea.”

He exhales something that might be a laugh or a huff or a scoff or a sigh.

“...There’s a real you,” Ben says.

Kip looks right at Ben, frowning slightly out of sheer bemusement. Ben smiles.

“There’s definitely a real version of you that isn’t just a copy of Kent,” Ben elaborates. “You’ve always had that, as long as I’ve known you. I still see it right below the surface. Don’t worry about that.”

Kip blushes and lowers his gaze slightly, staring at the pattern of the cushion against Ben’s back.

“And...I know how it is to feel you’re not yourself after what happened. It DID change us. So much. But we’re still ourselves.”

“Yeah,” Kip agrees, nodding slowly. “It’s just...it IS like we had to die, too. These lives we were supposed to have were taken from us. All the possibilities of our lives with them—that was gone, and the people we were with them in our lives were gone, and we had to be people who knew what it was to lose someone like that and—and we—oh, my god. I’m sorry. I swear to god I don’t know why I keep doing this. Wow.”

He laughs weakly and wipes quickly at his eyes with the back of his wrist.

“Sorry—“ he repeats. “Sometimes I’ll just—with hardly any warning—heh—“

He drops his head and scrubs his eyes one more time and quickly takes a drink of his tea to make himself look a bit more collected.

“It’s okay.” Ben’s voice is so quiet. “I know how it is.”

And Kip looks up at him, and Ben is looking back without any kind of discomfort or alarm or distaste, and Kip sees his grief, and knows he understands.

He nods, pressing his lips together, and makes no further effort to disguise the tears welling in his eyes. 

“...You remember what you said to me when you gave me this tea?” Ben asks.

Kip looks at the cup in Ben’s hands, then up at his face, and nods.

“You were telling me it was okay to be with Wallace, weren’t you,” Ben says, staring right at him. “Not that it was okay even though you like him, but that it’s okay even though I’d been engaged to Yumi.”

Kip feels his face grow hotter. He nods.

“I...know it doesn’t matter what I or anyone thinks one way or another,” Kip murmurs. “But I...”

He looks down at Ben’s knees, overcome with embarrassment.

“I just know it must be so...” He stops and shakes his head. “Ugh, I’m sorry. I don’t feel like I have the right words. I know that there’s...so much I don’t know about what you’ve been going through. I’m sorry. I don’t want to give the impression I think I know what I’m talking about, just because I lost people too.”

He runs his hand through his hair and pushes the bridge of his glasses up and adjusts the shoulder of his tank, then takes another drink of tea, trying to buy time to smooth himself back into place.

“I liked what you said,” Ben says quietly. 

Kip’s nervous restlessness departs. He puts his hands on his thighs and looks at the edge of the cushion underneath him. Then, slowly, he raises his head to meet Ben’s eyes.

“I don’t mean it, what I said about thinking you’re stronger for living along after it happened, instead of with other people like I did,” Kip adds softly. “I know I just felt that way sometimes so that I could beat myself up and call myself weak for needing people. But I...get upset when anyone says I was strong just because of what happened to me. I know that the way you have to suffer doesn’t have anything to do with strength or weakness. A lot of the stuff that made me nervous about you just seems ridiculous when I try putting it into words. But it kept coming back because I couldn’t get past how you always seemed to...not like having me around.”

“The reasons I wanted to avoid you seemed a lot weaker whenever I had to voice them to myself, too,” Ben says with a quirk of a smile. “So of course I had to keep avoiding you, or I would’ve had to confront everything in myself that I was comparing against you.”

“Heh. God, I know all about avoidance leading to more avoidance,” Kip says, lifting his cup to his lips. “It seems like all I do is run from things that scare me or I don’t wanna have to deal with. Even after E, when I had to confront so much shit that scared me worse than death, I’m still like this, you know? Avoidant and anxious and...as weak as I seem to myself. I don’t think E was that much different from the fire. It was so much more drawn out, and I was so much more in control of certain parts of it, and there was...things I could actually do about it all, and in those ways it’s completely different. But I was still cornered into it. It was something I was forced to go through. I don’t think it made me that much stronger. It...didn’t even change me as much as you’d think something like that would. I mean, I already had that change that trauma brings, right? What’s more of the same going to get but more of the same reaction?”

He sighs and tilts the cup so that the tea touches his lips, and then he remembers to actually drink some of it.

“...I’m just lucky nobody died,” he concludes, lowering the cup to his lap. “I couldn’t take that again.”

“...We’re all lucky nobody died.”

Kip nods vaguely. 

The feeling he got each time he feared someone would. That feeling he got looking at Pascal for what he thought was the last time.

He quickly sets down the tea so that he doesn’t accidentally freeze it. Liquids near his hands always seem prone to drawing out threads of his power like a magnetic attraction.

“...Maybe we really ARE that similar,” Kip says slowly. “I can’t say I...haven’t ever noticed things or thought about it. But...I mean, I’VE always been comparing myself to you, ever since years back when you’d come over with Yumi. I looked at you like I did her and Eno and Kent. I felt like you must know so much, like they did, and have to be so much braver because of it, and...I was just a crappy high schooler who had no idea what I’d end up doing while you were finishing up thesis stuff, and...I was getting more and more scared while you never showed that you were scared... I just thought you were...better.”

“You never looked scared to me, either,” Ben says with the hint of a laugh. “I didn’t know if it was just because you were used to it already, or if you didn’t get how serious it was or were just in denial, or if Kent was that good at hiding everything from you...”

“I think I was just trying to act as calm around you as you seemed to me,” Kip muses. “And...a lot of it was self-protection, trying to kind of keep ahead of all the fear because it could overtake me in a second whenever I let it get hold...but a LOT of it was that I didn’t want my family to know how scared I was. I guess I was protecting Kent right back. I knew he didn’t want us worrying like he had to worry. I didn’t want him or Eno to know how afraid I was anyways.”

“Ha—“ Ben shakes his head. “I sometimes felt like I was doing all the worrying for us. Between Yumi and I, I mean. I knew she knew the reality of the situation, and she always knew exactly what she was doing and did so intentionally, but it was like the fear hardly ever touched her. I’d be so concerned about all of it, but I’d try to hold off on showing it sometimes, too. She’d always just end up comforting me, when it was herself she should’ve been worried about. ...She was so impossible...”

He shakes and lowers his head with a small, strained smile.

“...It’s hard being justified, isn’t it?” Ben says lowly.

An exhaled laugh bursts from Kip.

“God, yes,” he responds. 

They’re quiet for a bit in the weight of this mutual understanding. Kip finds himself looking at Ben, and doesn’t even glance away when Ben looks back. Maybe he’s feeling less ashamed, less like he doesn’t deserve to look at Ben, less afraid of Ben looking at him. 

“Well...setting aside our mutual discomfort over our mutual similarities for the moment,” Ben says. “I mentioned that you HAVE helped me with things?”

“Y-yeah,” Kip says, posture rising slightly. “How so? I know there’s things about E, but that hardly counts...”

“Not any of that. I...” Ben sighs and looks down. It’s strange to see the darkening shifts in his expression without any suggestion his presence has caused it. “I suppose you’ve guessed that...after things settled into place, it wasn’t so easy for me to...to really internally commit to being with Wallace. To embrace it as something I’d not only reliably accept but reliably give, not allow myself to entertain one day and defensively abandon on another.”

There’s a small pause.

“Yes,” Kip says towards the table. “As soon as Wallace told me you were together, I guessed that...that you must’ve had to sort through a lot to get to that point.”

Ben gives a short, quiet laugh.

“Well...I struggled with it more and more the longer I knew Wallace. But finally, the only reason I could really accept being with someone again was because I finally realized and accepted the fact that it would never seem like I was ready. I accepted that part of me will always feel like I’m still with Yumi. That I’d never get to a point where entering another relationship would be easy and simple and completely uncomplicated by my past. So that’s how I was finally able to tell Wallace that, if he was in, so was I. I chose to be ready.”

Kip smiles gently at the description.

“So, this is something of a challenge to keep up with, but...Wallace told me that he’d told you that he’d told me what you told him about how you feel for him.” Ben looks at Kip; Kip nods to indicate his comprehension. “Right. So, there was a reason he told me...beyond simply trying to be open about things.”

There’s a quality to his tone that suggests something is impending, so that he has to forewarn Kip with this lowered pitch of his voice. Kip sits unmoving, bracing himself against whatever it might be.

“...Wallace told me that your telling him how you felt had...made him realize that he felt the same way about you.”

For a moment Kip only registers an unmoved disbelief.

“What?” he says reflexively.

“He was very nervous about telling me this,” Ben says, looking off in recollection. “But he said that he felt so sure of these feelings for you that he would feel dishonest if he didn’t tell me. He told me that he thought he’d been building up these feelings for a while, but hadn’t realized them for what they were until you told him how you felt.”

The initial disbelief is thawing out as Ben continues describing this impossibility, and the emotions breaking through its surface clash with a second wave of disbelief for what he’s hearing now.

Wallace felt the same? Realized it the same way? Approached it the same way, anxiously revealing the feelings to someone he was already involved with, who was owed the information?

He can only stare. Ben doesn’t seem put off by this. 

“I was surprised to hear it,” Ben says quietly. “But what surprised me most was learning that you told Wallace you felt that way for him even while in love with Pascal.”

Kip blushes. He nods.

“And here was Wallace, telling me he thought he was experiencing the same thing—wanting to be with two people at once.”

Kip blushes harder. He would never have predicted this, or even assumed it was possible. All along, Wallace really HAD been liking him right back? His self-diagnosed arrogance was really just an awareness of this reality?

“The thing for me was that...I suppose the expected reaction would be to feel as though this was some sort of betrayal, or that our relationship was impossible under these conditions,” Ben continues. “But once I got past the initial surprise, I found I didn’t feel that way. I didn’t feel that at all.”

He looks at Kip with a soft, kind smile. Kip is more stunned than ever to see Ben direct that at him.

“It made me want to talk to you about it all, badly. Ask your advice.”

“My...advice?” Kip echoes incredulously, weakly. 

“Yeah. You were basically saying you felt the same kind of love for two people at once. And I know how serious you are about Pascal. You’d told Pascal you had feelings for someone else, and he’d told you it was okay to pursue Wallace. That’s accurate, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Kip answers slowly. “I told Pascal how I felt about Wallace when I was telling him that I wanted to be with him again. Because I knew I liked Wallace too much to keep it from Pascal if we were together, and I really, really wanted us to be together again. But I felt like I wanted to be with Wallace, too. So I told Pascal that, and...told him to get back to me and let me know how he felt about it. If he still wanted to be with me.”

“...You must’ve been scared even thinking about doing that,” Ben murmurs.

Kip nods.

“The first time I went to meet up with him and tell him, I was so scared I backed out of it. On the way over I’d remembered this bad anxiety attack I’d had after moving here, about the idea of Pascal being with someone else, and it made me afraid I was just about to hurt him just as bad. I...had to think about it and realize that what I’d panicked over was the idea of Pascal not loving me anymore. And so I knew I...I had to make sure Pascal understood that my feelings for Wallace didn’t mean anything about feeling any less for him.”

Ben smiles at him again, still softly. Kip doesn’t know what to do with it. He doesn’t know what to do with this, not from Ben. He just looks back.

“You can understand why learning this about you would make me wish I could talk to you about it?” Ben asks.

Kip blinks and looks down at the floor for a moment.

“...Because of Yumi?” he tries.

“Uh-huh.”

“Because you still love her,” Kip continues slowly.

“Yes,” Ben answers quietly. It’s at once matter-of-fact and weighted with sadness.

Kip nods vaguely at the ground.

“Yeah. I can get why you’d want to talk to me,” he says. “...I wouldn’t have ever thought of it that way.”

“I didn’t either,” Ben says. “Not until Wallace was talking about you loving Pascal and him, and him loving me and you. I felt it before I thought of it. I just...immediately knew that this was something I wanted to know more about. You were proving that it was possible. To be in love with another person without betraying or abandoning the first.”

Their eyes meet. Kip has no idea what he wants to convey—without the self-imposed pressure to maintain a subdued composure to mirror Ben’s, without the idea that at the core of all their interactions is an amount of pain he inflicts upon Ben, without a third party against whom Kip can calibrate his external demeanor, he hardly knows how to act around Ben. But the idea that Ben feels Kip has something to offer is more disarming than the rest of it.

“...I didn’t say anything to you, though, obviously,” Ben continues. “It was so unexpected and it seemed almost too big to talk about. Not to mention that I was still embarrassed about talking to you. It was difficult to feel I’d even gained a real grasp on my thoughts and feelings about it all. Things were confusing for a long time.”

Kip breathes a laugh.

“Yeah—“ He scratches at the back of his neck, stretching his spine up. “I was really confused about it for a long time too. It took me long enough to realize I was certain I wanted to be with Pascal again, even though I’ve known all this time that I love him. Trying to comprehend having these...simultaneous feelings for Wallace too...god, it took a long time to accept that it might even possible, much less okay.”

“Thinking about this stuff on your own is a little intimidating,” Ben murmurs. “Or, it was for me. It’s easy to be with Wallace, but I was putting a lot of pressure on myself to...sort of prove that I CAN be with someone again. I didn’t want to scare him off by talking too much about these internal struggles about Yumi. It was me doing the worrying and trying to protect someone from it all over again.”

He laughs quietly, watching his tea as he tilts his cup from side to side.

“...I wasn’t completely thinking of it on my own,” Kip admits. “I told Eno about things during my appointments. Though it wasn’t really about trying to figure out whether it was right for me to feel that way—mostly we talked about how I could handle the guilt and confusion I was feeling...and being afraid of ruining my chances with Pascal...and just, maybe not force everything to fit a narrative where I’m an awful person who can’t even love his boyfriend right.”

“Ha. All that before you even told anyone else anything?”

Kip nods.

“I felt bad as soon as I had this dream about kissing Wallace,” he says. “And I liked it and realized I had...like...an actual crush.”

“...You were still single then?”

Kip nods.

“And you didn’t know Wallace wasn’t single, right?”

Kip nods again.

Ben stares at him a moment, then shakes his head and laughs.

“You might’ve even been more fucked up with guilt over this than me,” he murmurs, smiling.

Kip can’t help but laugh too.

“...The other reason I didn’t talk to you about it was for Wallace’s sake,” Ben continues. “He was confused, too. It took us both a while to figure out that we were both okay with the idea of him liking you too. And he wasn’t sure about what it meant that he liked you. As in, whether he wanted to do anything about it or not.”

“I had to deal with exactly that same question about liking HIM,” Kip laughs. 

“Yeah. He only tried to tell you just now because...well, you know the anniversary? When you came to my door and gave me the tea?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s not like he heard everything of what you said, but...I sort of told him that it was something really thoughtful and kind, not only towards me but towards us. You know—both me and him, being together. And, I don’t know, I suppose the whole moment was so unexpected and almost unprecedented, and I suppose it struck him, because a few days later he told me he...was sure he wasn’t unsure about how he feels for you anymore.”

Kip blushes harder and harder as Ben talks.

“We talked about the whole thing some more, and he...well, he’s been trying to work up the nerve to tell you. And, obviously, it...didn’t quite go the way he’d hoped.”

“He...” Kip shifts his weight, sliding a hand to his knee. “He didn’t tell me you were okay with it. I—I thought I’d...like...I’d made him want to kiss me because of how...I still liked him like that even though I knew I couldn’t anymore. I...I still feel like I should apologize for letting him kiss me when I thought you didn’t know about it.”

Ben shrugs. 

“I wouldn’t think you’d have all that much blame in that situation anyway,” he says. “By the way, he’s been worried about trying to talk to you—I think he’s afraid that even approaching you would push you further away—but Wallace knows that you thought he came on to you without...my knowledge or consent. Of which he had both, of course. But he’s been—heh—embarrassed, to say the least. He’s been wanting to apologize to you. Very much.”

Kip blushes more and drops his gaze a moment. 

“I DID like it,” he murmurs. “I just didn’t like that I thought it was a terrible thing to do. But...the kiss was nice.”

“He’s gentle, isn’t he?”

And Kip, incredulous that he’s sharing this moment with Ben, laughs and nods.

“Yeah. He was really careful with me. I thought it was sweet. Just...not as sweet that I thought he was cheating on you, and it was my fault. Although...I couldn’t understand why he would do something like that. Or why Molly said it didn’t seem like things were awful for either of you. I couldn’t understand how this horrible thing could happen without just...exploding.”

Ben laughs softly at that.

“Mm. Yeah, I get why you probably didn’t expect Wallace to kiss you. It doesn’t quite fit the usual narrative.”

“No,” Kip affirms quietly. “It...doesn’t even make sense that he likes me.”

Ben shrugs.

“You should talk to him about that part of things,” he says. “But I can tell you that it doesn’t seem like such a mystery to me.”

It’s a kind thing to say, but Kip knows Ben wasn’t there for so many of his and Wallace’s interactions. The friction and sparks that weren’t so thrilling as they were painful. Kip’s short-temperedness with Wallace’s naïveté and ignorance that carelessly and happily swept those around him into danger, the fluctuating and contradictory feelings he had towards the human, the less-than-warm attitude he defaulted to with Wallace out of defense for himself and his friends and all Wallace’s clients and, ultimately, all the monsters of the district. The fact that once Kip was sure that Wallace’s ignorance extended to the plot that had shunted him into C as its pawn, things were so bad that there was hardly any peaceful, intimate moments in which to make up for their frustration-spillover arguments and the way he suspiciously distanced Wallace and shut him out. Clinging to each other in the absence of anyone else when you both need someone, sharing the intimacy of mortal peril, the bond of tight, efficient teamwork and uninhibited trust under such pressure—it hardly counts as a courtship. And they’ve barely started to enter a period of something like normalcy to try figuring out who they now are themselves, much less figure out each other. And Kip’s gone and made more of it into conflict and tension between himself and Wallace again.

“You know,” Kip starts slowly. “When Wallace first came here, and, like, four days after meeting him I had reason to believe he might—might not be trustworthy, I...god, but I was pissed I thought he was trying to get close to you. I mean, I was really angry if he was trying to use me too, but...I guess I always get more intense if I think someone else is in danger. I thought that if he got you to like him too much, even if he didn’t do anything more to hurt you than that, I’d—god—I don’t know what I thought I was going to do. It pissed me right the fuck off, I can tell you that much. Ha. The thought of you being...hurt that way made me furious.”

Ben blushes and looks down with an almost-shy smile that sweeps Kip out even further into uncharted waters.

“It worried me a bit, too,” Ben murmurs. “He was very unexpected, wasn’t he.”

Kip tries a flat smile and nods vaguely.

“...I thought he was either as naturally clueless and...earnest as he seemed, or else he was this incredibly good actor trying to get everyone to let their guard down and like him and...trust him to be a good person. I wanted it to be the first one. I did feel like I could like him very much, even when I was suspicious. But I couldn’t let go of the second idea. Even though I wanted to, I couldn’t let go of it, because I had to think of everyone else. It didn’t matter if I was giving up the chance to enjoy liking Wallace if it meant I’d be protecting everyone. I mean, it wasn’t even a choice, you know? I couldn’t let anything like that happen again. And that was just as selfish a motivation as anything.”

“That’s selfish?” Ben asks bemusedly.

“Well...I was terrified to have to go through that again,” Kip says. “Losing people. But I also didn’t want anything to happen to anyone for their own sakes. It was a mix of both.”

“That’s how it all goes, I suppose,” Ben says. “You’re collateral damage when someone you love gets hurt.”

“...Yeah.”

He looks up at Ben, hesitates, looks away, then back again.

“You know that...when I wasn’t sure what Wallace’s intentions were, I...had these times when I would...think about...” he trails off, blushing.

“...Yeah?” Ben prompts.

“...I worried a lot about if...it came down to things...what I might have to do. I worried about if I’d have to kill Wallace. If it turned out he was trying to do something to hurt more people. I...I knew how serious things could be, and I didn’t feel ready, and it scared me, even if he WAS just interested in hurting us and only pretending to be so innocent and kind. I...knew I’d have to do whatever it took to prevent something from happening again. Like what happened before.”

He manages to look at Ben as he confesses this, and Ben doesn’t seem to become even a bit angry or shocked or repulsed. 

“Yeah,” Ben says simply. 

Kip looks at him for a moment. Ben lifts his eyebrows.

“I guess it’s just...funny thinking about that, knowing we’d all end up feeling about him the way we do,” Kip says. “I was seriously trying to get myself used to the idea of actually, personally killing him. Maybe with my bare hands. I really was. Even though I hated to think of it. And now I...”

He tilts his head and looks at his tea as though pondering it. 

“...Do you love him?” Ben fills in.

Kip moves his gaze from the tea to the rim of the cup.

“Of course I love him,” he murmurs.

“You know, though. Like with Pascal. Would you say you love Wallace and mean it in that same kind of way.”

Kip sits very still for a moment, and then finally nods.

“Y...yes,” he says, so quietly his voice hardly comes out on the first try. “I love Wallace like that.”

And Ben actually smiles at him. And that kind of smile, combined with the look Ben always gives, and Kip can’t help but be affected. Ben always looks at you like he really sees you there, like he takes real notice, like he’s giving you his actual attention for even just this one fleeting second. He means it. When he shows you anything, he means it.

Kip can’t believe that this could happen to him. 

“I...it’s so hard to believe this,” he says tentatively, face hot.

“What about?”

“I was so...so sure that you were going to hate me more than ever,” Kip says. “It just...it’s hard to register. That you don’t hate me. It’s hard to believe that you—you’re okay with Wallace liking me back?”

Ben nods.

“I understand it,” he tells Kip. “And, honestly, it was hard for me at times to believe Wallace liked me as well. I’d attribute it to his natural inclination to return any positive attention—with enthusiasm. It actually made our relationship seem even realer when he admitted he thinks he likes you. If he didn’t truly care about it, he could’ve just said he’d like to dump me, right?”

He smiles, slightly flat.

Kip reflexively mirrors this.

“When Wallace told me he was certain how he felt about you, I realized that that didn’t...scare me or hurt me. It was...actually just a nice thing to see. I like to see that look he gets when he talks about things that make him really happy, in a very deep way. I was certain too, just like he was. I knew what I was doing when I told him he could try to win you over. I still feel that way. If you want to be with him, I can tell you he wants to be with you. And I have no objection.”

Kip sits there, blinking and holding on to the now-lukewarm mug of tea, trying to let this sink in.

“...It’s hard to think of things that way,” he murmurs finally. “I hear everything you’re saying and I know you mean all of it, I know you have no reason to say it if you didn’t mean it, but it’s—“ He shakes his head with an exhale, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “It’s hard to think of it as real. I was so, so sure you’d...want nothing to do with me anymore...”

“Well, that isn’t the case,” Ben says easily. 

Kip shakes his head again.

“You could kiss me, too, if you think that would help.”

Kip takes a half-beat to process this and looks up sharply once he does. Ben’s smile is that of a restrained laugh.

“Huh?” Kip says automatically.

“If it would make it feel real to you,” Ben says, “You could kiss me. I’m not angry about Wallace kissing you, or you kissing him.”

Kip’s blush is so strong he’s surprised he can’t see the electric blue like a haze in front of his eyes.

He’s thought about it. He’s had the fleeting impulse while in Ben’s presence, even when all but convinced Ben felt anything but affection for him.

He’d even felt it that day, giving him the teas, standing before him in the doorway, talking to him.

He looks down.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Ben’s voice contains the hint of laughter too. “You don’t have to kiss me to have my permission to kiss Wallace back next time, don’t worry.”

Kip opens his mouth silently a couple of times.

“I-I—uh—“

Ben softens the smile, putting the brunt of the amusement aside.

“Don’t panic,” he says coolly.

Kip tries to collect himself somewhat top, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“I’m not panicking,” he says quickly. “It’s...it’s not that it’s bad...”

“Really?” And Ben’s laugh is back on the surface.

Kip shakes his head.

“I just—it’s unexpected, it’s...” He lifts his hand as if to offer some kind of clarifying gesture, then lets it fall back to his lap. “I was so sure you’d hate me. I thought you...kind of already did.”

“That’s no good,” Ben sighs. “You need to stop thinking that. I wish I’d known that’s the impression you were getting.”

Kip shrugs vaguely while again thinking of kissing Ben. The idea that it could be possible is so foreign to him.

He looks at Ben sitting on the other side of the table, gazing pensively into his mug of tea.

He stands up. Ben looks up at him with a quiet surprise he has no time to stifle. Kip looks back for just a moment, then turns away to slowly make his way around the coffee table. Heart in his stomach and chest and throat, he carefully perches on the other end of the loveseat, not looking around at Ben.

“...Hello,” Ben says, voice unexpectedly close and low. He manages to strike this chord of humor in his tone that’s subdued but not deadpan, playing along rather than teasing.

Kip doesn’t respond, just stares at the coffee table for a moment. Then, without any indication of uncertainty, he turns his head and looks right at Ben.

Ben no longer looks that surprised. He looks back like he really sees Kip, unflinching, unrepulsed. Like maybe he actually likes to see Kip. It’s such a disorienting inversion of everything Kip felt so sure of—and yet, here it is, and it’s right in front of him, and it’s real.

Kip looks down and puts his hand on Ben’s.

He doesn’t think he’s ever done this. Held Ben’s hand. So he does. He moves his hand forward, curls his fingers to slip in against Ben’s palm. And, somehow, Ben turns his hand slightly, lifting it a little onto its side, opening it enough so that Kip’s naturally slides further in, then closing it again to squeeze with a gentle yet decided grip.

Kip lets out his breath and tries to relax, starting from that hand, up his arm, into his chest, down his legs. He closes his eyes a moment and breathes the way he got from Eno. The way that might’ve saved him from dying six years ago. And that he’s turned to for help easing tension ever since, as if to justify this potential fact.

“We’ve never really done stuff like this, have we?” Kip says quietly. “Like...even sat together. I guess we’ve sat side by side. But not really together, huh.”

“Heh. I don’t think we really have.”

Ben moves his hand; Kip immediately slackens his to let him move it away, but instead Ben slides their palms together and gently threads his fingers between Kip’s.

Kip blushes and stares down at the carpet as he curls his hand around Ben’s, taking care not to squeeze too hard nor let his hold be too loose. 

“It’s not like we have to, though,” Kip says softly. “I don’t even know if you like holding hands, or hugging, or being touched, or that kind of stuff. And even if you do...it’s not like you have to like that kind of stuff with ME. It’s not as though you have to love being around me and want to hug me every time you see me.”

Ben strokes his thumb along the back of Kip’s, once.

“I don’t necessarily mind, no,” Ben says. “It depends on the person. In most situations, I prefer space. But from people I trust, I can appreciate being touched quite a lot.”

Kip turns it over in his head and decides this means Ben doesn’t mind this. Maybe he’s even saying that it’s nice, and, if he is, by extension he’s telling Kip that he trusts him.

Though he can’t help but give Ben another chance to walk it back. It’s a little hard to believe, after all.

“...You don’t have to like me that much,” he murmurs. “You were right, you know...what you said that time. There’s no reason you have to be close to me or even want to be. I sort of...I mean, before I lived here, it was kind of alright that we weren’t—weren’t that close, even though we knew each other so long, since we’d always lived far apart. But ever since I moved in here it hasn’t felt like I’ve had an excuse for acting distant anymore. And I know I have.”

“You can’t decide that only you’re responsible for everything between us,” Ben says levelly. “I’ve been involved the whole time, too. And if this past year you’ve been wanting to avoid me, I’ve been avoiding you too in a lot of ways. Blame me as much as you do yourself.”

“How could I blame you,” Kip murmurs. He’s very conscious of their handhold. The warmth of it. How much easier it feels than it should, even to keep their fingers enlaced like this.

“...Don’t think I’ve disliked you as long as I’ve known you, either,” Ben says. “Because I haven’t. Even back after we’d first met. Or now, when I’ve—even when I’ve been...uncomfortable about you...” His hand twitches just barely in Kip’s. “I’ve always liked you. Even times I didn’t want to see you...part of me would wish the opposite was true. That I could enjoy being around you as much as I knew I could, if I could just see you for yourself.”

Kip glances off at the wall.

“...Not to suggest I never have. It’s because I know how nice it is to be around you that it would frustrate me when I couldn’t appreciate that. I’ve always known there was no good reason to avoid you. My own frustration would frustrate me. And knowing how good it could be to be hanging out with you when I was able to get over myself. And...knowing how important you were to Molly, and how good you’ve always been to her. For that reason alone, I’ve loved you for a long time. Even if I couldn’t show it well enough. Or even feel it well enough sometimes.”

Kip blushes and reflexively squeezes his grip a little tighter in response. 

“I...” he starts quietly. “I’ve liked you this whole time, too. This whole year. Even when I’d get mad about you...seeming to not want anything to do with me. I’d wish you liked me, because I’ve never been able to get over the sense that—even though maybe we’ve never been able to get that close—I’ve liked you. And...wished we could be better acquainted.”

“‘Better acquainted’...” Ben’s tone carries a touch of humorous incredulity.

“Well...” Kip blushes harder and tries to heighten his posture. “...Yes.”

Ben puts his free hand overtop theirs. It rests there almost heavily.

“We know each other pretty well,” Ben says. “We’ve just...never quite...”

They’re quiet for a moment as the idea of what’s been missing between them hangs in the air around them. 

“...Connected?” Kip offers softly. He tightens the meet of their hands just as softly.

Ben draws a slow inhale; Kip glances over.

“I guess that’s a good word for it,” Ben says. “For all the times we’ve been together, even the times we talked...and even with all the things we shared and what we did together to...help save everyone as well as ourselves...”

Ben lifts the hand resting on top of Kip’s to scratch the side of his face—Kip hears the sound of nails dragging against scruff.

“...We did have moments where we really did interact fairly openly, both this year and in the ones before it—“

“Yeah, we did,” Kip agrees. 

“We’ve shared a lot, and done a lot together, really,” Ben says thoughtfully. “Even in the small ways. Like when you and I would be hanging out with the same people at the same place. Like at the bar the other night. I never resented you being around for things like that.”

“...Good,” Kip laughs quietly. It IS a relief to hear.

“But we sort of just...never quite hit the mark did we?” Ben says. “It’s like, even when we’d have these real moments of talking or doing something together, it all still wasn’t enough to...to kind of bring us to the same place. I think we’ve just been missing each other. Like, maybe I’d be ready to reach out to you but you wouldn’t be in a place for it, or you’d want to reach out to me and I wouldn’t be ready, and we just needed things to align for us. So we wouldn’t keep missing each other.”

Kip laughs again, a little louder, face warming.

“I kinda thought of it in those terms sometimes,” he tells Ben. “Like we were a little out of sync, and that’s why even though we’ve known each other for so long, and been through so much, things hadn’t really landed so that we could...really be close to each other in our own right. I wasn’t sure where I thought the heart of the problem was, but...I’d think of it like I missed my chance, and I wasn’t even sure when that had happened. It’s like...when I’d try to reach for you, I couldn’t get hold of anything. And the times it felt like maybe you WERE within reach, I’d be...I don’t know, I wouldn’t be in the place for it, or something.”

“Mm. It’s not like the way things have unfolded over the course of our knowing each other has really helped us along,” Ben murmurs. “I’ve been exhausted all these past six years. And I mean that—well, not really metaphorically. It’s not like being worn out, or like I haven’t been getting enough sleep—“

“I know exactly what you mean,” Kip says, emphatic strength in his voice. “I know EXACTLY what you mean.”

Ben gives a single low laugh. Kip squeezes his hand; it comes out a little nervously, like a spasm, but he just grips a little tighter to compensate.

“It’s funny,” Kip murmurs. “There’d be things where I’d be so close to you, like—remember that time you held me up and helped me walk?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was really amazed by what you were doing, even in the middle of everything else I was feeling and thinking about. And I thought about how something like this could happen, even though back then I was still already so sure I’d been letting you down the whole time I’d known you. I remember feeling like—like it was nice, even as confused as I was and as much as everything hurt, it seemed like...you were trying to be gentle with me while also...I just knew you were really, really making sure I wasn’t going to fall. And I knew I wouldn’t. And I liked being that close to you. And being looked after by you. I would’ve guessed it would’ve just felt awkward, but it only felt nice. And I wished I could believe that it’d ever happen again.”

“Wow,” Ben mumbles. “And here I hadn’t even been sure you were entirely conscious.”

“...I guess I wasn’t,” Kip laughs. “But it was enough for a whole lot of thinking anyway.”

“Well, we’re nearly that close again right now, at least in a literal sense,” Ben points out.

“...Yeah.”

Kip looks down at their hands.

“...I guess we have something to really help connect us now,” he says quietly.

“Hm?”

“Wallace, I mean.”

“Oh—“ Ben laughs with that pleasantly quiet, genuine warmth. “Yeah. That’s really something to bond over. And it’s something that isn’t quite as...heavy as some of our other shared experiences.”

“Mm.”

“I’m...really sort of excited for him,” Ben says softly. “About his liking you. He really does, you know. And...I suppose it’s strange, but it makes me feel a sort of...sympathetic enthusiasm, I guess. For how nice it is to feel that way for someone, and have the chance that they’ll feel that way for you, too.”

Kip realizes he’s holding a breath and lets it ease away.

“You know how Wallace is,” Ben continues. “He can be...kind of radiant. But it’s not so much that he can light up a room as it is how much you can tell he’ll really, truly feel things with the whole of himself. Seeing that, you can really feel his warmth for yourself.”

“...I love warmth,” Kip murmurs vaguely at the coffee table. “...You’re warm, too, you know.”

“Me?”

Kip nods.

“You’re a warm person. Just like Wallace. You care and feel so much. I’ve always known you do. It’s part of why it bothered me when you didn’t seem to like me. I always thought that if you DID like me, it’d be just...wonderful to get to experience that warmth for myself. I know that’s selfish, but...some things I want can be selfish.” He laughs flatly.

“You think I’m like Wallace?” There’s that hint of amused incredulity again. “I’d... It seems like we could hardly contrast more.”

“Yes, I do, I—“

Kip is suddenly silenced. An unwelcome shiver of anxiety passes through him like an invader.

“...Your hand’s cold,” Ben murmurs.

“Sorry—“ Kip says automatically, drawing his hand away and placing it on his own lap.

“No, it’s fine. Are you alright?”

Kip nods, again focusing in more on breathing with adequate depth and steadiness.

“Sorry,” he repeats. “Sometimes when I’m kind of—when things are kind of heightened like this, I’ll think of something and—and it’ll sort of hit me—off guard, I guess—I’LL be off guard, I mean, I guess, and...”

He shrugs the rest of it off and shakes his head.

“...What’s hitting you, then?” Ben asks. His voice is lowered and softened, as though he’s worried about startling Kip. “I wasn’t saying your hand was cold to complain. It was just that it happened sort of suddenly. I figured something was wrong.”

Kip shakes his head again.

“It’s silly,” he mumbles. “It’s always something just...ridiculous and it gets in the way and it’s always a bad time to—“

Ben’s hand presses against Kip’s shoulder and squeezes it. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking of,” he says. “We’re finally meeting without missing each other, after all. We might as well talk about whatever comes up.”

He’s right; Kip knows it. If he holds back now, what’s the point of saying he wants to get closer to Ben? How can he say he deserves this if he just lets it fall in his lap but refuses to make an effort to really reach out like he says he wants to, like he says he’s been trying to do?

If only what he thinks he ought to do was ever something effortless and pleasant and not in the least intimidating.

“...It’s just that...it’s Wallace,” he sighs.

“...What about him?”

Kip sighs again, heavier, leans forward a little and brushes some hair back.

“...I’m...I’ve been thinking about this for weeks and weeks now. How it seems to absurd to think that he could like me, or even be interested in me in that way. And it’s hard to believe this—I know you’re not lying, but it’s hard to feel it. I can never feel the things that I think. I—I can’t believe that Wallace would like me. Without—not without it being a mistake.”

“How on earth could he be mistaken?” Ben asks. “Everyone likes you.”

Kip shakes his head.

“I could maybe see...Wallace liking me before the fire,” he murmurs. “But I had all these friends from those days who I’m not even...who I’m not really friends with anymore.” He sighs. “I changed into this. And you know how upset I was when Wallace came here. I feel like I was never able to really be okay towards him until everything was practically over, and that took so long. It’s like we might as well have met for the first time after E...and maybe we should’ve... I don’t know.”

He pauses; Ben doesn’t say anything.

“Of all people, YOU have to know why it seems like—like Wallace shouldn’t like me. Like if he gets to know me that way, it’ll just be—underwhelming. What more could he want to see in me? What more could he possibly be interested in knowing about me? I’m just—he knows what I’m like. Why would he want more of this. Why would he be interested. Not when there’s so many other people around, people like you, who are—are ACTUALLY worth really getting to know and get closer to, and why would someone like him want to—waste time with someone like me, of all people—“

“Take it easy,” Ben murmurs. “You’re shivering. And I really don’t know what you’re talking about. Why WOULDN’T Wallace be interested in you. You’ve just been at the heart of the most intense, life-changing experience he’s ever had, to start. And you two have been doing so much together. It’s only natural he’d take interest. And no, it’s not a mistake for anyone to like you. Or to love you. So stop talking like that. Or I’ll ask Pascal to come over and talk some sense into you, because I’m sure he doesn’t think he’s as mistaken as you seem to believe.”

“I don’t think he’s mistaken,” Kip mumbles, trying not to shake. “But he knew me before the fire. If I’d met him after...”

“He loves you just as much today as he does back then, right?” Ben asks matter-of-factly.

“...More than he did back then,” Kip acquiesces. “I love him more, too.”

“There you go. You didn’t lose all your worth. You’re an incredible person now in your own right, and I’m not just saying that. Actually, it’s taken me a lot of effort to even feel capable of saying things like that. I can’t pretend I don’t know those kinds of thoughts you’re talking about. I really did consider myself fairly worthless after that day. I’m very much in the middle of the process of trying to change that.”

Kip looks over at him. Ben looks back. For a few moments that’s all it is—looking at each other.

“At least give him a chance, Kip,” Ben murmurs finally. “Don’t make up your mind before he’s gotten the chance to talk to you about it. He’s very serious about this. I think he knows exactly what he’s talking about when he says he wants to be with you, too. Give him the chance to show you he means it.”

“...Alright,” Kip agrees quietly. “I...just...”

“Mmhm?”

“I feel like he...what if he’s wasting time with me that he could be spending with you? Or...anyone else, really? It’s not—I’m not—it’s not like I think I’m horrible, it’s that...I don’t think I’d be half as appealing as—as a thousand other people around here. I—just because Wallace had to work with me, you know, doesn’t mean I DESERVED to have all that time with him, or—I was worth it, as a person—you know, he was only pushed towards me because of everything with Kent and the fire—“

He huffs an exhale and shakes his head, suppressing the lingering shivers as best he can.

“Aw, fuck all the reasons we ended up stuck with him,” Ben sighs. “He easily could’ve spent his whole life in A and never met any of us. It doesn’t matter. What was SUPPOSED to happen was horrible, so there’s no problem that it was thrown off course. And what else should determine where he is and who he meets, you know? It might as well have been us who he met as much as anyone else. Everything happens because you run into someone, or you’re brought together by something arbitrary, or you’re in a certain place at a certain time. Wallace could’ve ended up in a totally different place and situation, loving completely different people and having no feeling of our absence in his life, and we’d never think about him once. But he’s here, and he cares about all of us. So that’s just how it is. And it’s fine.”

Kip is quiet and still, taking this in. It feels very in line with his stance that things have ended up the way they have, and it’s useless to speculate how everything might’ve gone differently.

He’s always applying it to painful situations so he can try to accept them. He supposes he ought to be applying it to a situation that seems to have worked out in his favor. Otherwise, he’d have to throw out the whole perspective, wouldn’t he?

“...Yeah,” he finally murmurs. “You know, Pascal had this theory about it. For why, uh, I’ll feel so...insistent that Wallace shouldn’t have the least interest in me, and get kinda mad about it.”

“And what’s that?” Ben prompts, leaning back.

“He said...that I probably know that it makes as much sense for Wallace to like me as for him to like anybody else, and...since that’s really frustrating, I sort of turn it around and tell myself I can’t see any reason for him to think I’m special. And get all upset about it. And I was just trying to vent everything like disappointment and frustration and jealousy and all of it back on myself, because there’s nobody else to be angry at.”

He half-sighs, half-laughs.

“He’s right, I’m sure, and Eno’s right that I’m just jumping on another chance to demean myself, and I know that I...don’t really think I’m a waste of everyone’s time like I sometimes say or think I am. It’s just also that...well, you know how Wallace is. I know he likes everybody, I know he likes me and really cares about me, but...to have him love me like that...I can’t feel like it would be good enough for him. He’s—he’s SO much, the way he gets when he’s into something? How he just, you know, it’s like he’s flooded with it, and it shines out at you, and it’s so much, and I’m not sure I could—I’m—heh—“

He runs a hand along the back of his shoulder.

“I’m not...I feel like I’d just be like a brick wall in comparison, you know? Like he’d be giving all this emotion and passion and it’d be like pouring it down the drain, because I’d just be, well, me. I feel like I’ve always...like I’m always dragging him down. Like I’d just take everything he gives and tell him he’s being ridiculous and he’d—you know, what do I have to offer him? Why in the world should he think there’s some reason to be interested in me? You know—“ He gestures at himself. “So what? It’s just me, so what? What should seem so great about, I don’t know, spending time together and getting to know each other better and all that? All I’ve ever done is drag him down. Why should that change.”

“That’s not true,” Ben says flatly, as if it’s a simple fact. “I’ve heard the way he talks about it. This isn’t just some whim, you know. And he talks about the way you’ve been the whole time you guys have known each other, by the way. He likes all of it. So don’t think he’s ignoring parts of you that you think he can’t possibly like. He isn’t. He likes you. He’s put a lot of thought into it. You’ll know when he gets the chance to talk to you, alright? Listen to what he tells you, and you won’t have to worry about this kind of stuff anymore.”

Ben sighs deeply and stretches his legs out to cross them at the ankles.

“...I used to worry the same kind of things,” he murmurs. “I figured there was no way Wallace could REALLY be interested in me, but...when I was actually around him, I couldn’t help but forget about all those kinds of thoughts. And sometimes when I’d feel that way, I’d remember how sometimes I’d worry about it with Yumi. I was different then, like you were talking about, but as much as I loved to be with her, I’d feel as though who I ultimately was, at the core, was...too quiet or too boring for her, or just...not good enough, because there’s no way I could be as good as her, because we were so different. But—well—I got over all of that then. I just loved her too much for that to be in the way, and I couldn’t doubt how much she loved me too. Obviously. And I think that helps me now, too. It’s just like...being around them, you can think whatever you like, but you can’t help how you feel.”

Kip laughs, because he can’t help it.

“I know,” he says. “Oh god, I know.”

He feels Ben look at him and looks back to give him a small smile.

“Thanks for all this,” he says to him. “Another thing I always feel bad about is that it’s like I’m always so shaky and panicky and it means everyone around me has to exert all this effort to settle me down.”

“So what?” Ben laughs. “We’re all worth the effort from each other. There’s nothing wrong with needing something from other people.”

“Heh—“ Kip folds an arm across his chest to grip on to the other.

In his peripheral he sees Ben pick up his tea.

“Well, it didn’t really surprise me to hear Wallace was with you,” Kip says. “I mean, it completely did, but only because I didn’t know he was with anyone at all. It’s more that there was never a time it didn’t make sense to me. You’re...you’re the kind of person where...Wallace would be so rewarded for digging and pushing and getting closer to you. And I knew you must be so nice to him.”

“You think so?” Ben murmurs.

“Yes. I know that, like—who cares what I think, and obviously Wallace likes being with you, but—what I’m trying to say is that I think you’re a...well, a really great person. Who’s really worth knowing.  
And...being close to. And I’ve been disappointed that I wasn’t. And I’m just trying to say that you’re really...I’m lucky to know you. Anyone would be. I don’t think you have to be all that interested in me, but just...hearing that you like me is more than I expected.”

“I’ve always liked you,” Ben says quietly.

Kip nods. 

“I’ve always liked you, too,” he replies.

They’re both quiet. Kip doesn’t want to speak; to do so would be to move away from this moment. He wants to hold on to what’s just passed between them.

So Ben speaks first, a few long seconds later.

“Do you want a fresh cup of tea? It’d maybe help you warm up.”

“Oh—sure,” Kip answers reflexively. “Er—yes, thank you, it probably would help.”

Ben stands and walks away into his kitchen. 

Kip sits still and quiet. He reaches across the table for his mug of tea, and drinks the few remaining ounces.

He feels strange—but not necessarily unpleasantly so. It’s hard to pin down. So much has changed, and with such disorientingly quickness. 

Before he knows it, the kettle is whistling again. He tries to smooth himself over a little bit.

It’s the same as he thought it was when he first walked into the apartment. What matters most right now is Ben, and he has to stay focused on this. It’s incredible enough that they’ve confronted how they feel about each other—even more incredible how it went and how it ended up—but he needs to really make sure Ben understands his sincerity, how important he thinks this is, how determined Kip is that they don’t keep missing each other’s connection for the next decade and a half.

Kip looks up when Ben returns with the new mugs of tea—he sets one down in front of Kip, then picks up their old cups and departs again. Kip again stirs a spoonful of honey into his drink, creating spiraling wisps of steam. He presses his hands in against the curve of the mug, and the heat of the porcelain starts to ease into his hands, up his wrists, through his arms. 

Ben reappears and sinks back down onto the other cushion.

“Better?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Kip answers. “Thanks.”

“Mmhm.”

Kip turns to look at him.

“Thank you for this, Ben,” he says quietly. “You’ve really...done a lot for me just by talking with me about all this. I really appreciate the effort you took. I’m sorry I was avoiding talking to you. I think I really would’ve made myself come down here and talk face to face, but...still. I was putting it off. Thank you for—well, intervening in that.”

“Well, you DID get in touch with me,” Ben says. “And I knew exactly the reasons why you might not want to talk to me in person yet. I wasn’t offended or anything, trust me.”

He laughs a little. Kip has to give a bit of a smile at the sound.

“...You’ve...given me a lot just now,” Kip murmurs. “I really, really appreciate it and—thank you. Thank you so much.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Ben says quietly. “I probably owe it to you. It’s nothing you don’t deserve.”

“How could I deserve this?” Kip laughs. “Why should everything just work out in my favor like this when I’ve done nothing to earn it?”

“Kip...” Ben takes his shoulder. “You’ve had...an incredibly, hellishly awful year. And even before this, we’ve all been through things nobody should have to go through even once in their lives. I’d say things could go a little nicely for all of us for a change. And I don’t know that you don’t deserve this. Or that you have to earn it somehow. It’s not all on your shoulders, you know.”

Kip hesitates, then nods silently.

Ben lifts his hand from Kip’s shoulder, and Kip reaches over and gently catches the hand in his own. He turns his gaze to it. Then he pulls it closer and leans in and touches his lips to Ben’s knuckles. 

His skin feels warm. Kip closes his eyes and kisses the backs of his fingers. He pulls away and dips his head, nose grazing Ben’s skin. And then he presses another kiss to Ben’s knuckles before letting go.

He opens his eyes, belatedly lighting up with a blush. Which deepens when he sees the red in Ben’s cheeks and the softly amazed look on Ben’s face as he stares back at Kip.

“Sorry,” Kip murmurs reflexively, voice weak. “I...sort of...show affection like this sometimes, you know, hugging and kissing and all that kind of thing, ha—I—uh—probably could’ve warned—given some warning, though, right?”

He laughs again, mostly breathlessly, nervously.

“...It‘s fine,” Ben says softly. His hand is still hovering a few inches over his lap. “I...didn’t figure you’d want to, with me.”

Kip looks at him.

He has this chance to show Ben this, prove this, so he brings his knees up onto the cushions and rises up and leans in and unhesitatingly wraps his arms around Ben’s shoulders. He pushes in until his weight is mostly over Ben, he’s all but hanging on to him as much as holding him, and so he makes it closer—his chest is against Ben’s, he slides a hand over his hair at the base of his head, he turns his own head to tuck his face against the side of Ben’s, eyes closed.

He draws a deep breath.

Ben’s arms slide around his back and hug him closer. Kip exhales.

After half a minute more of this, Kip feels Ben turn his head over and down so that his scruff drags against Kip’s shoulder, right by the base of his neck, and Kip is just able to feel Ben’s warm breath against him. Then Ben slides a hand up and down the top of Kip’s back and the two sensations combined are enough to embolden Kip to pull Ben in even closer.

Finally it occurs to Kip that he ought to give Ben the chance to breathe, especially as he’s sort of thrown this at him. He exhales and loosens his hold before leaning away; Ben lets his own arms slip from around Kip’s back. Kip puts his hand on one, lets it slide through his grip until he’s got Ben’s hand in his again, turns his head to brush a kiss against Ben’s palm before letting go.

Kip sits back on his heels with a low sigh and looks at Ben. Ben looks back, quiet, blushing gently.

And then Ben’s expression flickers into a smile, real and bright. And he laughs, just as genuine. 

Kip has to laugh in response. 

He’s seen Ben like this, a handful of times. But never, never directed at himself. 

And his laughing seems to make Ben laugh some more, and Kip is just caught up in this, of all things, and it’s completely lovely, and he’s finally, finally, gotten Ben to look at him this way. The polar opposite of turning away, of wearied, darkened glances. To look right at him like he wants to, to light up, to be so thoroughly pleased. Really, actually happy. 

Kip just beams at him and laughs some more, helpless to suppress the urge.

And Ben reaches over and touches Kip’s shoulder, lifts his hand up and brushes the backs of his fingers against the hair on the side of Kip’s head while still looking at him like he’s something good. 

Kip blushes and laughs and shakes his head in disbelief.

“God, Ben—“ Kip’s laugh bubbles into a giggle. “Oh my god—“

“What is it?” Ben’s laugh still colors his voice.

“Just—all of this. We’ve never—we’ve never really ever—and I was trying to get used to the idea we never would—“

“...What?” Ben laughs again, and Kip really can’t deal with this—for Ben to be as bright and as warm as this is even more overwhelming than he’d guessed it could be—

“You—I didn’t ever think I’d make you laugh or smile or just—just be okay around me, much less—actually like it, just—oh my god, it’s so nice—“ 

He laughs and buries his face in his hands, all at once feeling close to tears.

And Ben laughs, and gently scrubs Kip’s hair the way Eno sometimes does, and Kip is overcome by all of this, these things he never thought he’d have to brace himself against.

“Oh my god, Ben—“ His voice is shaky from all of it at once. 

“Aw—c’mere—“ And Kip feels the dip in the cushion as Ben scoots over and puts an arm around Kip’s back and pulls him in; Kip lets himself be drawn right up against Ben’s side, his chest, his shoulder.

“Ben—“ he laughs breathlessly, and takes his hands from his face to hug him back, and drops his forehead to Ben’s collarbone. “I didn’t think you’d ever be around me and feel okay—I didn’t think you’d like me ever again—“

He feels Ben’s full laugh as small jerks of his chest.

“God, just forget all that, Kip,” Ben sighs. “All this stuff about trying to avoid each other—it’s just ridiculous. Let’s forget about it, okay?”

“Okay,” Kip echoes, and Ben gives him this gentle squeeze and a pet on the back of the head. Kip laughs and wishes he could say how nice that feels without burning up with embarrassment. He compromises by letting himself cuddle in just a tiny bit. And finally saying: “You hug really nice.”

“Thank you,” Ben murmurs. 

And Ben doesn’t drop the hold until a whole minute and a half later when Kip sits back up.

“Heh...” Kip brushes his hair back into place and straightens his glasses.

“...You like being held and all that sort of thing, don’t you?” Ben asks casually, taking a sip of tea.

“Um—uh, yeah...I do,” Kip admits. “Ha...I’m kind of, well, touchy, I guess. I mean that I...I like touching, and stuff.”

He glances up with a smile and a shrug to see Ben smile back at him.

Kip turns and slides a foot off the couch, crossing the other ankle over his thigh, and takes a drink of his own tea. The warmth radiates through his chest.

They’re quiet for a few seconds.

“So...I guess...well, how afraid is Wallace that I hate him or whatever?” Kip asks.

“He’s a little worried,” Ben murmurs, and laughs softly.

“I guess I should tell him I’m not angry if you’re not,” Kip says with a sigh. “It’s just a little...early, you know—I’m not sure if I’m ready to talk to him just now, right? Not—not, like, TODAY. Maybe tomorrow? Except I’ll be busy all day... But I should let him know—“ He sighs again. “Maybe write another letter. Heh.”

“I can let him know,” Ben says quietly. “I’m sure he’ll be very relieved to hear it.”

Kip smiles at the table and blushes gently.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I’m—well—a little annoyed that he didn’t explain it before kissing me, but—“

His voice cracks into a laugh. 

“That’s so Wallace, isn’t it?” he manages. “God, it doesn’t surprise me in the least—ha—“

“It doesn’t surprise me either,” Ben says. “I should’ve figured he’d fumble it somehow and get upset about it.”

“Aw,” Kip laughs softly. “Did he take it very hard?” he jokes.

Ben shrugs with a smile.

“Maybe a LITTLE,” he answers. “He was very worried about how much he’d upset you. Don’t mention I told you, but he may have cried a little over it once or twice.”

“Oh my god—“ Kip shoves his hand to his face and blushes. “Aaugh, poor guy—“

“He just gets stressed about things like he does,” Ben says. “I told him it would all get set right soon enough. And I guess it has?”

Kip sucks in a breath and nods slowly.

“I’ll talk to him soon,” he murmurs. “I think I need today to let all this settle, and tomorrow I won’t really be around, but...maybe the next day we can talk...I think it’d be good for us both to take a breath for a minute before we meet up again, right?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

“...So...what if I kissed him?” Kip asks softly, blushing warmly.

“What if you did?”

“Well...that would...be okay?”

“Kip, you two can be together in whatever way you feel is right,” Ben says. “You can kiss him, or hold his hand, or sleep with him, or marry him on the spot.”

Kip’s blush grows so exponentially it’s like it practically accrues weight.

He doesn’t know how to put this into words. 

“...Um...” he breathes, adjusting the strap of his tank.

“That alright with you?” Ben asks quietly.

“Y-yeah,” Kip says, nervously scratching at his shoulder. “But...uh...can I tell you something?”

“...Sure,” Ben says.

Kip presses his lips together and looks at the opposite wall.

“Um...this is kind of...something I’ve never told anyone yet...”

“Alright,” Ben says slowly. “Keep it secret, huh?”

“...And if you don’t want to hear about it, I’ll stop talking about it,” Kip says quietly, still looking off at the wall.

“Alright,” Ben repeats.

“Um...”

Kip lets a silence sit between them, frustrating him—he knows this is just making it harder.

“Uh, I’ve been...thinking for a while about...things with...um, with Pascal...” he trails off into another period of silence.

“Uh-huh?” Ben says.

“...I’ve been...I’ve started to—to put some money aside so I can...um...well, there’s a few things I want to do, but...I’ve been wanting to...to buy him a—a ring,” he fumbles out, and looks down at his hands which are already twisted together, wringing, twitching.

“Oh,” Ben says softly. “You’re talking about...for proposing, right?”

Kip manages to dip his head in a nod, thoroughly flustered.

“...I don’t know if he wants to be married,” he mumbles. “Officially, you know. I don’t really know what I want either. But I want some sort of...equivalent. At some point. I...want to have a ring to give him, so that I’m ready whenever it feels right to...to offer him something like that.”

“...Wow,” Ben murmurs. “Congratulations.”

Kip shakes his head, shrugging.

“There’s nothing to—it’s nothing yet,” he says quickly. “I—I just...want to know if that’s okay.”

“That’s fantastic,” Ben says. “Why are you worried it WOULDN’T be okay?”

Kip’s inhale is taut, nearly catches in his throat. He pulls his breathing in to settle down.

“Well...I didn’t know if that would make it seem weirder that—how I feel about Wallace. Or if it...would be something you wouldn’t, um, want to hear about.”

“...It’s fine, Kip,” Ben murmurs. “I didn’t assume you only want to have some fling with Wallace while things with Pascal are casual enough to allow it. Again—I trust you both. AND Pascal. Whatever you all feel is right is right by me as well.”

He sighs and brushes some hair to the side, gazing somewhere across the room.

“...And you don’t have to worry it’ll upset me if you do propose to Pascal,” he continues quietly. “I...hate that Yumi and I never got to be married. It’s like you said—I love Wallace, and also I should’ve been able to marry Yumi and theoretically never met him. Both are true at once. And, well, I would hate to think that nobody else could ever get to experience being engaged to someone they love. I would be very glad to see that happen again, even if it does remind me of what I lost. God knows we deserve things like that in our lives again.”

Kip stares at him, heartbeat thumping.

Ben finally looks back at him and offers a soft smile. Kip tries to return it.

“...It probably won’t happen for a while, if at all,” Kip says softly. “And I wouldn’t want it to be a whole big deal. Even if we got married, I...would want it...fairly quiet and everything. Not very involved.”

“You can do things however you like,” Ben murmurs. “I won’t be angry at you or anyone else for getting married, or just wanting to. Of course I’m sure it’ll remind me of Yumi. But that doesn’t mean I’ll be angry about it. I promise I don’t hate you for being in love with Pascal,” he laughs quietly. “How could I? He’s fantastic.”

Kip laughs too.

“Y-yeah,” he says. “...I just know how it is to...be reminded of things that way. Where that maybe certain things make you sad at certain times, even if you know they’re not bad, and there’s no problem, and you’re not angry, but you still feel...you feel...” He trails off.

“...Yeah,” Ben sighs quietly.

“So...if...if I DO get engaged, I’ll understand if you’d...rather I not talk about it around you. Even if you don’t hate me for it, and even if you’re not mad, it still matters if you’re just...uncomfortable. I understand it.”

“...Thank you,” Ben says. “But let’s deal with that when we come to it, alright? I can’t tell you how it feels until it happens. But I CAN tell you that it’s...nice to hear you know you want that with Pascal.”

Kip smiles softly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s nice to tell someone.”

“I’m really the first one to hear the news?”

“There’s no news yet,” Kip says quickly. “Don’t—don’t tell anybody else just yet. It’ll only matter when I tell Pascal. But...I haven’t actually talked about this with anyone yet, no. Except...when, um...when I talked to myself in front of my family’s picture. I guess if they can hear it, they know too. Heh.”

Ben looks over at him, and Kip finds himself pretending to be momentarily engrossed in cuffing the hem of his shorts.

“I talk to her in my own way, too, sometimes,” Ben says softly. 

Kip blushes and drops the act, looking over at Ben at once.

“I hardly ever talk aloud, and...I’m not sure whether I think she hears me or not,” Ben continues. “But at the same time, part of me does, because part of me keeps talking to her as if she was here in some way. Maybe she just became too big a part of my life for me to ever stop talking to her. I know I won’t ever forget her, or what it was like to be with her.”

Kip gazes steadily at him a moment.

“...Sometimes when I’m talking to my family,” he says slowly, “I think about how much they’re part of who I am, and how it’s like they still exist in the present in that way, and in the way I remember and think of them, and...I think that when I talk to them, maybe I’m carrying them around with me in a small way, and so in that small way...I’m really talking to someone.”

Ben looks at him. Kip tries to smile but it doesn’t get any further than a thought.

“It’s alright,” he weakly manages instead. “Well—no, it’s not. Of course it isn’t, not at all. But it is.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Ben says gently. 

Kip nods firmly.

“I don’t want you to think that...the only reason I’m interested in you is because we both lost someone like that,” Kip says. “But I’m...really glad that there’s been someone out there who knows exactly how it’s felt.”

And then he looks up at Ben, horrified.

“Oh god,” he says breathlessly. “No, I didn’t meant—I didn’t mean that—like that, I’m not glad. I’m sorry—oh my god, I’m not glad you know how it feels, Ben, I’m so sorry—“

“Whoa—calm down, I know what you’re saying. Don’t worry. Hey.”

He catches both of Kip’s wrists and Kip realizes how quickly his breathing grew sharper and shallower.

“Sorry,” he repeats, nearly as embarrassed by the noticeable anxiety spike as by the accidental implication. 

“You’re apologizing for nothing,” Ben says, still holding on to his wrists. His grip isn’t hard, but it doesn’t shy away, either. “I understood what you were saying.”

Kip nods, trying to ease out some of the tension in his chest.

“I just...meant that...”

“I know what you mean,” Ben says quietly. “You live with a lot of contradictory, impossible things when you lose someone. It’s hard to put any of it into words that make any sense.”

“...Yeah.”

Kip looks down.

Ben lets go of his wrists with a quiet “Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay—“ Kip looks back up at once. “It’s fine. I don’t mind it.”

He takes Ben’s hands in his as he speaks and sees Ben look back at him with the start of a blush. Kip gently squeezes his hands and rubs the backs with his thumbs, just barely, just a grazing contact.

His breathing steadies and lengthens more easily that way. Not quite as quickly as his anxiety can choke it, but if he’s going to drop any and all fronts around someone like this, what can he expect but to show some rough edges.

“Oh...” Ben glances upwards. “I meant to, uh, ask...how you were the other day.”

Kip doesn’t answer, trying to figure out on which day he specifically seemed upset.

“The anniversary,” Ben specifies.

“Oh—right.” Kip glances down. “...I was alright. I went to the cemetery, actually. To where they were buried. I hadn’t done that since...uh, the original time.”

“Oh,” Ben murmurs. “That must’ve been hard.”

“...Yeah. It wasn’t so bad once I was there. I mean, it hurt a lot, but all the other stuff...wasn’t so bad. Stuff like being nervous, or not feeling like I should, and all that.”

Ben nods.

“...But overall the day went alright. I think it was harder afterwards, really. ...How did it go for you?”

Ben leans back with a light sigh. Kip loosens his hold on Ben’s hands, but Ben doesn’t withdraw them.

“...Quietly,” Ben answers. “I spent the day thinking about a lot of things. Thinking about how things had changed in the past year. Or in the past six years.”

Now Kip nods.

“...Do you have plans tonight?” Kip asks before he can hesitate. 

Ben looks at him, nonplussed. 

“I was thinking you could come up for dinner later or something,” Kip murmurs. He’s glad his hands are occupied so he can’t start fidgeting or pretend he needs to immediately start in on some pointless but fully engaging task. “Um, Pascal was going to come over after work, and Molly and Roy should both be there. And...it’s been really amazing of you to do this. And I think Molly would probably be glad to know she doesn’t have to deal with me being nervous about you anymore.”

“...I don’t have any previous engagements, no. Except I suppose now I have the plan to catch Wallace whenever he comes back to his apartment and let him know to stop worrying so hard.”

Kip feels himself smile.

“So...you want me to text you when things are getting started? Or have Roy come tell you. Or you could just come up whenever—it’ll probably be around six-thirty or so that I start making things.”

“Whatever would work best for you,” Ben says. 

“Hm. Roy would probably enjoy getting to bring you up,” Kip says thoughtfully.

“I’ll keep an eye out for him, then.”

“Alright.”

Kip sits in silence a moment, internally fumbling for words.

“...Roy really cares about you,” Kip says. “I know he likes basically everybody, but still. And Pascal’s always liked you, too. You can just tell. It’s that—it’s, well, everyone I know cares about you, is what I’m trying to say.”

He looks at Ben to see himself given a smile that’s soft to the point of self-consciousness. The faint blush only adds to the effect. 

“I do too,” Kip adds.

“Heh—thank you,” Ben says, taking a hand from Kip’s to brush some brown hair behind his ear. “I love you, too.”

Kip blinks and his hand twitches against Ben’s and he blushes. He curls his fingers further to squeeze Ben’s hand. Ben squeezes back.

—

Kip stands in Ben’s doorway after another fifteen minutes spent finishing their drinks and primarily discussing things about Wallace that are lovely or hilarious or unbelievable or all three. Standing up and walking around has made Kip aware of this latent energy swimming through him.

“I guess I’ll see you in a little while,” Kip says. He unconsciously pushes his glasses into place. 

“Sure thing,” Ben says. 

Kip takes a small breath and turns in and hugs him. Just a goodbye hug, or a thank-you hug, or any kind of quick seriously-I-love-you hug, but he holds him close in that second and a half. Ben seems to process it after that initial second and slides a hand to Kip’s back. 

And, based on what his instincts give him in the moment, Kip just barely tightens the hug right at the end, and, as he pulls away, turns his head and rises on his toes and pauses to press a soft kiss to the side of Ben’s face, an inch or so from his ear. It’s quick too, but not rushed, not so light and fleeting that it seems a mistake or a secret.

And when he properly pulls away, he gives Ben a real, unflinching smile.

Ben returns one that’s just as genuine. It lands with a little in Kip’s chest.

“You’re sweet,” Ben says.

Kip’s laugh is loud.

“God...” He grins and shakes his head. “I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you again. For everything.”

Ben laughs this time, gentle and easy. Kip smiles brighter.

He stares a moment too long at the end, wanting to really soak in the sight of Ben looking at him with this soft, warm expression, nearly affectionate—so then Ben lifts his eyebrows a millimeter, and Kip laughs, and Ben laughs.

“Alright,” Kip exhales.

“Alright,” Ben echoes.

And Kip turns away and walks down the hall, getting lost in thought almost as soon as Ben’s door shuts behind him. When he enters the stairwell he stops, turns, stops, and then starts pacing in a tight circle.

It’s nearly unbelievable. Not only does Ben not hate him, but he never did—never even actually disliked him. 

And Wallace...

Kip stops in place and tangles his hands in his hair, squeezing his eyes shut.

“God!” 

He springs up the steps two at a time all the way up to their floor, floods into the apartment without processing it, and retreats into his bedroom for sanctuary while he’s so upended and uprooted.

—

Kip stares at the wall, sitting crosslegged on the bed.

He’s going to have to kiss Wallace.

It’s just going to happen. He can’t kid himself about it.

He wants it. He’s wanted it so much. He doesn’t know how to adjust the feeling so that it realizes it’s allowed to grow again. So that it anticipates any kind of fulfillment.

He can kiss Wallace.

Wallace likes him right back.

He knows this. He knows he wants this. And once again his emotional registration of it is lagging behind.

It’s such a dramatic shift that he can’t absorb it in a few hours—even in a single day. 

It only feels like fantasizing, but he can’t stop thinking about it. 

And there’s this electricity deep inside his stomach that’s sending the occasional sparks up into his chest—he knows that it’s a reaction to this new situation.

For the first time, he can feel this way and think these things freely. He can want this, enjoy this, without any shame or guilt or distress. For the first time, he knows all of this has a real purpose.

Wallace might really love him.

And the way he feels about Wallace might be able to become something more than his dreams and reveries and jumbled thoughts. It could become something real between them. It could gain real life, grow, unfold in unpredictable and beautiful ways.

Already he can’t imagine what will happen when he talks to Wallace again. 

But he doesn’t want to imagine anymore. Finally, he doesn’t have to. This can be real.

—

Kip puts a quick postscript on his reply to Pascal’s text: “btw ben will be over for dinner too. things are all ok. i’ll tell you about it when you’re done at the shop”

And when Pascal’s answer comes about half an hour later, it has a postscript of its own: “(Good to hear!! <3 <3)”

—

Kip lifts the phone against his left ear.

“Hey, Pasc.”

“Hi, Kip. Good to hear your voice.”

“Yours too. You close up okay?”

“Mmhm. The rest of my day is all yours.”

Kip smiles.

“And how was the first part of it? Was it a good day at the shop?”

“Yeah, very routine. I moved a lot of green tea.”

“Congratulations,” Kip laughs.

“I’m ready to be done, though, believe me. I can’t wait to see you guys.”

“Yeah, and I’ve got a dessert in the works. And I’m going to tell you what it is, because it’s this delicious cake that tastes like butter and heaven and it’s going to have this cream frosting flavored with the juice and zest of an orange and, oh, Pas, it is going to be an experience.”

“Have I ever had it before?” Pascal asks.

“I wouldn’t think so. I found the recipe after we moved here. I made it once after a bad day and it changed everything I thought I knew in my life.”

“That’s what it does for me every time you bake something new.”

“Aw—“ Kip laughs with a grin. “Well, this one is extra amazing. I’m excited for everybody to try it.”

“I’m excited to be trying it. I know I’m lucky to have access to your ability in the kitchen. And I’m grateful you like me enough to allow it.”

“I do like you enough,” Kip answers. “I’ll bake you fifty thousand cakes. You’re all-access, love.”

Pascal’s laugh is warm.

“I’ll have to make you up another personalized tea blend in return,” he says. 

“Aww.” Kip sits down on a park bench on the side of a trail. “That’d be sweeter than the cakes.”

“You bring it out in me,” Pascal says. “And speaking of all the good things you deserve—so things are all okay with Ben?”

“Oh—whew—“ Kip leans back and looks up at the underside of a tree canopy. “Yes. Things are good.”

“Tell me everything.”

“Well...there’s a lot. But the bullet points are that Ben came to our apartment door to talk to me and I nearly had a heart attack, and we went down to his apartment and then he gave me some tea and told me that there was, uh, kind of a misunderstanding.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Heh, so...well, what he told me is that...he said he knew about Wallace wanting to kiss me and he was okay with it. Because apparently after I told Wallace how I feel about him, Wallace went and told Ben that hearing it made him, um...think that maybe he feels the same.”

“Oh my god. Seriously?”

“Uh-huh. And, uh, he says that they’ve been talking about it all and figuring it out ever since, and apparently when I showed up to give Ben some of your teas on the anniversary, that was sort of...a moment.”

“A moment...” Pascal repeats.

“Yeah. And Ben says he and Wallace talked about it and they decided that it was okay for...Wallace to ask me out, I guess. Only, you know, Wallace kind of didn’t explain that before kissing me. And so he told Ben what happened and now Ben’s explained things to me instead.”

“Oh my god...so...it’s kind of like exactly what we did?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, deciding it’s cool for your boyfriend to have this other boyfriend.”

“Oh,” Kip says. “Yeah, I guess it is. Ben says he was, um...I dunno, he said he was actually...relieved, sort of, when Wallace told him that I wanted to date both him AND you.”

“Really?” Kip can almost hear the subtle tilt of the head through Pascal’s voice. “How would that be a relief? This isn’t because he’s wanted to dump Wallace or anything, is it?”

“God, no,” Kip says. “That would—be a mess. Uh...no, he said he was kind of glad to hear it because I was saying I loved two people at the same time. And wanted to be in a relationship with both of them. And you were cool with it.”

“Yeah?” Pascal prompts.

“Well, he explained that he related to that because...you know, Yumi.”

“Oh...” Pascal says quietly.

“He said he knew he wouldn’t ever feel ready to date again so he just went ahead and started anyway, pretty much, but he said he felt like...basically we were providing this evidence that maybe he doesn’t have to feel like he’s hurting or abandoning Yumi, I think. Because he says he feels like he’s in love with two people at once. And I think that...because he knows how much we love each other, and because he learned that you were cool with me trying to go out with Wallace, that kind of showed that—that maybe he doesn’t have to feel guilty forever, really.”

“...Wow,” Pascal murmurs. “That’s...”

“...Yeah,” Kip says. “I guess he relates to you because he’s got, you know, Wallace saying he’s...interested in me I guess, and then I’m also sort of representing...loving someone else without loving the first person any less.”

“Heh.”

“And, uh, he said he’s okay with Wallace, you know...being with me. And I said that I’m booked up tomorrow, because I have work and then therapy and then I’m coming over to your place. But, uh, I suppose the day after that I’ll try to talk with Wallace. ...What do you think about that?”

“It sounds like it’s probably good to give yourself an extra day anyhow. It must be a lot to take in.”

Kip laughs.

“Yeah, it is. Are you, like, still feeling okay with everything? I mean, after Wallace told me no, I figure we both sort of assumed that...that was it, you know? I’d totally understand if this felt weird to you. I don’t want you to think this is, like, everything’s in motion and you don’t have a say anymore.”

“...I mean, I DID think that the stuff with Wallace wasn’t going to work out after he turned you down,” Pascal says quietly. “But that doesn’t mean it changed how I’d felt about the whole concept. I was happy being with you when I thought you might get with Wallace then, and I’m still just as fine with the idea now.”

Kip rubs his shoes idly against the grass as he listens.

“Okay,” he says softly. “Well...we can talk about it some more tonight, too, of course. I know it’s kinda hard having involved conversations over the phone anyway.”

“Heh—yeah,” Pascal laughs. “It helps being in the same place, and getting to look at you, and all that sort of stuff.”

“Yeah, talking without being able to see you isn’t ever as good.”

“Remember when phone calls were pretty much the only way we could talk?” Pascal says. “And we’d see each other, like, once a week.”

“I do remember that.”

“And now I guess we’ll be living with each other soon.”

“Yeah. I should’ve asked Ben if there was a definite date for the move yet.”

“Yeah, way to go, why didn’t you?” Pascal jokes. 

“Eh...” Kip shrugs to himself. “We didn’t really have time.”

“What all did you talk about? More stuff with Wallace?”

“Well, we talked a lot too about ourselves, actually.”

“Really?” Pascal says. “How’d that go?”

“Uh...” Kip looks up at the sky to consider it. “It sort of went like, he told me he was okay with Wallace liking me, and I said I didn’t understand because I thought Ben didn’t like me, and he said that, uh, sometimes it’d been hard to be around me because I make him think of himself? And he...felt like I was better than him?”

“...What?” Pascal sounds bemused. “How come he... What?”

“Yeah. I know,” Kip sighs. “I mean, I guess he felt like...other people were comparing us, because of what happened. And he says he thought of me as being really similar to him, but...he felt like differences between us were just ways that I was better than him. And he felt like other people must always be thinking the same thing. Comparing us, I mean, and thinking that I’m better.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. I wasn’t expecting it. I told him I always thought HE was better than me.”

“Oh my god...” Pascal laughs. “You guys didn’t, like...argue about which of you is worse, did you?”

“No,” Kip answers. “We just sort of explained to each other why it was ridiculous, and then agreed that we’d already felt we were being ridiculous about it anyway, and told each other what we thought was crap about ourselves and good about each other...”

“Oh my god—“ Pascal says again. “How much was it like talking to yourself?”

Kip laughs and blushes.

“I think we agreed that we might be...uh...really similar in a lot of ways...” he admits.

“Sounds like it.”

“Well...we talked a lot, about a lot of stuff. And it went well. We just...there’s no real reason we’d want to avoid each other now. And I got to say some stuff I’ve been wanting to say. Explaining things, and talking about...stuff we have in common, and I got to, you know, tell him that I really care about him.”

“Aw.”

Kip laughs.

“That’s great, Kip, seriously. I’m really glad. You must be relieved.”

“I was,” Kip says. “And I still am. I was...really not happy about it when I thought Ben might want nothing to do with me anymore. I mean, I hated it enough this whole year when I just...thought he didn’t like me. But he said that it wasn’t really like that. That he never really disliked me.”

“It doesn’t surprise me at all to hear that,” Pascal says.

“Of course it wouldn’t. You love me, apparently. How could you possibly think more of me?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s possible. The more I know you the more I love you.”

“Ah, Pasc, you’re too sweet—I’m blushing.”

Pascal giggles.

Kip has to laugh, too. 

“Ahh—“ he sighs. “I’m holding you up, Pas. You could be getting ready to come over if I wasn’t keeping you on the phone.”

“I’ve been multitasking,” Pascal says. “I really just have to take a shower and get dressed and I can head over.”

“Oh, man—then I’ve been holding MYSELF up. I went for a walk to get some fresh air—I ought to head back. How awful would it be if I left you waiting outside because you got to the building before I do.”

“It’d be okay,” Pascal laughs. “But you can go ahead and go. I’ll be there soon anyway.”

“Mm—okay. See you in just a bit?

“Uh-huh. Can’t wait, sweetest.”

Kip laughs.

“I’m looking forward to seeing you, too,” he says. “Go take your shower so you can head out, okay?”

“Sure. I’ll call again soon, when I’m at the front door.”

“Okay.”

“See you then.”

“Later, Pas.”

—

Back at the apartment, Kip takes what he’d prepped earlier and starts cooking and putting it all together. He’s got orange cranberry muffins baking in the oven, a light salad in the fridge with an orange vinaigrette, and is cooking kabobs in a skillet, brushing each with orange juice. He likes a unifying theme.

Molly steps into the kitchen as Kip’s carefully frosting the cake.

“Hey, Kip. THAT smells good.”

“It tastes even better. Roy’s didn’t come back with you? Where IS he?”

“Oh, yeah, he’ll be up in a bit. He said he wanted to get something for dinner—I’m not sure what, but, you know.”

“Yeah,” Kip sighs, looking down at the half-frosted cake. “Well, I just hope he gets back soon. Pascal should be here any minute, and everything’s almost done...”

“Don’t worry. He’s looking forward to it. He’s not about to forget to show up.”

“...Ben’s coming too, by the way.” 

Molly turns from the fridge to look at him. Kip stifles a smile, dipping the knife back in the frosting.

“Don’t even mess with me about this, Kip,” she says sternly. “Did you talk to him?”

“Mmhm.”

“...And?”

Kip shrugs.

“And things are okay. We talked for a while about a bunch of stuff. And it turns out there’s no real problem. And I invited him to dinner. It’d take a minute to get into all the details, but we’re fine now.”

“Well, what about Wallace? How’d that end up being okay?”

“...He says he’s known Wallace likes me and he’s been okay with it. Like how Pascal knew about my liking Wallace and was fine with it, too. Only—Wallace didn’t explain that before kissing me. But I was the only one thinking that Ben had been cheated on, or whatever. So, apparently, nothing bad happened after all.”

Molly stands in silence for a moment. Kip looks up at her.

“That’s...good, right?” he asks slowly.

“Yes,” she says solemnly. “Yes, it is. It’s great.”

“...Really?”

“Yes.”

“You just seem...kind of serious about it...”

She shakes her head.

“It’s just all kind of a big deal,” she sighs. “I mean, do you know how worried I was about this? That two people so important to me might have such a huge problem between them?”

“...Yeah,” Kip murmurs, looking down.

“Well, I’m really glad everything’s okay. Sorry I seem this serious. I’m just...” She shakes her head again with a sigh. “Wow.”

“Heh—yeah, it’s kinda unexpected, huh.”

“A bit, yeah.”

Kip shrugs and turns the knife over in his hand. 

“I guess that’s just how it goes around here.“

He continues frosting for a moment.

“...Sorry I’m such a hassle.” He laughs quietly. “I’m trying not to be, but progress is slow, huh.”

“Oh, please,” Molly huffs. And she walks over and gives him something between a headlock and a hug. “You just really catch me off guard sometimes, is all.”

“Augh—“ Kip groans. “Don’t kill me yet, I have to finish the salad—“

She thumps him on the back, and his phone starts buzzing in his pocket as if in response.

“Ah, that’s Pascal calling me,” he murmurs, setting the knife in the bowl. 

“Go get him, already. I wanna see him.”

“Heh—okay, fine.” He takes out his phone. “Hey, Pasc. You here?”

“How’d you know?” Pascal laughs. “Come get me. I’m all freshened up and everything.”

“Okay.” 

Kip hangs up, sweeps out the door into the hallway, and flows down the stairs.

He grins as he glimpses Pascal through the front door. 

“Hello,” he laughs as he pushes it open. “Glad you’re here. Come on in.”

Pascal smiles at him and steps fluidly through the doorway.

“You look good,” Kip says. 

“Yeah?” Pascal lifts his head and arches his back, giving a little twist of his hips. He’s clearly put some thought into what he’s wearing, since he’s bothered to mess with the fly of a pair of jeans and a belt—and his soft blue shirt and dark grey knitted hat make the peachy tones of his skin stand out beautifully.

“Yeah.” Kip smiles at him, giving an appreciative glance at the neckline of his tee, where it hugs his wide chest and shows a nice swatch of red hair. “You look great. I need to change out of these clothes I’ve been cooking in.”

“You always look good,” Pascal says. “You’re too hot for something like shirt stains to make any difference.”

“Augh, do I have any of those?” Kip looks down at himself. 

“Nah. I’m just saying.”

“Ah—well, thanks,” Kip laughs. “C’mere a second and I’ll kiss you.”

“Ooh—absolutely.” 

Pascal turns and leans down as if bowing slightly to him. Kip steps up, puts his hands on Pascal’s shoulders, and presses a warm kiss to his lips.

“Mm.” He pulls away, smiling up at Pascal before stepping back. “Thanks. C’mon.”

He holds Pascal’s arm as they go upstairs. 

“We’re here,” he says as they enter the apartment. “Molly’s around somewhere,” he explains to Pascal. 

“Oh, cool,” Pascal murmurs. 

“Wanna finish icing the cake?” Kip asks, leading him into the kitchen. “While I put on something a little cleaner. And better. And you can taste the frosting. I promise it’s completely delicious.”

“I’m excited.” Pascal beams at him. “For both your outfit and your cake.”

—

Kip is sliding on his jeans when he hears Roy enter the apartment and enthusiastically cry Pascal’s name. He stumbles, braces himself on the bed, and hitches the pants the rest of the way up, then quickly slips on a button-up, fastens up the front, and pulls on a blue sweater. After a pause in front of the mirror to brush stray hairs back into place, Kip sweeps out of his bedroom and back into the kitchen.

“Kip!” Roy hugs him on sight.

“Hey, Roy—“ Kip’s voice is slightly muffled against Roy’s chest. “Good to see you. Could you do me a favor?”

“Sure, what is it?” Roy squeezes a little harder before releasing Kip.

“Uh, could you let Ben know to come up for dinner? I told him I’d send you to get him.”

Roy gasps and hugs Kip again.

“Absolutely! That’s great! I’ll bring him up right away!”

And he hugs Kip yet again before sweeping off.

Kip looks over at Pascal, who offers him a little smile and a shrug.

“How’s it going?” Kip sits down across from him.

“Good, I think. How’s it look to you?”

He rotates the plate for Kip’s appraisal.

“Great. I’ll leave it to you while I finish this salad.”

Pascal blushes and smiles; Kip leans in and kisses his forehead.

“The frosting does taste incredible, babe,” Pascal murmurs. “I definitely tried some. And you look amazing.”

He wraps his arms around Kip’s waist and slides one down to Kip’s ass.

“Oh—“ Kip laughs. “Thank you.”

Pascal tilts his head up, and Kip takes his face in his hands and kisses his mouth. 

The little hum Pascal gives stirs up warmth in Kip’s chest.

And as he finishes putting together the rest of the food, he keeps glancing over at Pascal, the sight of him bent in over the cake, every movement fluid but deliberate, the subtle draw of his brow and purse of his lips as he focuses on every detail. It’s lovely just to have him in the room, to be quietly working together like this, to see him working with the same delicacy and concentration that he applies to his sculptures and his blends and everything else in which his touch can be found.

Molly comes in and sets the table, chatting and laughing with Pascal as she does. She and Kip maneuver around each other effortlessly as she sets down dishes with her usually attention to color and arrangement, with Kip weaving back and forth between the oven and cabinets and fridge and counters, bringing the food to the table.

They get about a five-second warning of Roy and Ben’s arrival when Roy’s distinctively bright laugh sounds in the hallway.

Kip walks over to the door as soon as he hears it. It swings open and the two look at him in mild surprise; the corner of Kip’s mouth twitches up into a smile.

“Oh!” Roy says. “Hey, Kip!”

“Hey, guys...” Kip laughs slightly. “Thanks for coming, Ben.”

Ben smiles.

“Why thank me?” he asks with a hint of a laugh.

Kip shrugs, and for some reason his instinct is to greet Ben with a hug, so he does. After just a moment’s pause, Ben’s hugging him back.

Kip pulls away, hands on Ben’s arm, and gives him a real smile.

And Ben returns that too, cheeks a little red. Which makes Kip’s smile brighten into a grin.

“Heh—well, things are almost ready,” he says, stepping back and brushing some  
hair from his forehead. 

“It smells fantastic in here,” Ben says. “Very...orange.”

Kip laughs and nods, thoroughly pleased.

—

At first, Kip again finds himself letting the others do most of the talking. But somehow, without really noticing a turning point, he’s drawn into the conversation, and soon is talking and laughing eagerly—and Ben’s presence, which he used to find made him more solemn and subdued, is now having an entirely different effect.

Kip’s cake is treated by everyone like a wonder. He can mostly only smile and blush and insist that it’s a simple enough recipe while Pascal casually doubles down on every bit of praise thrown Kip’s way.

He’s a bit quieter when everyone’s simply sitting around in the living room and talking. Roy is as enthused as ever to have people over, but Kip can tell that Molly’s really enjoying it just as much, even more. He figures it must be a relief to her to have both Ben and himself in the same place without either circling or avoiding the other or simply behaving awkwardly and uncomfortably. 

He sits next to Pascal on the couch, occasionally feeling the slow rub of Pascal’s arm against the small of his back and smiling softly into his cup of tea.

Kip thinks that Ben nearly seems upbeat, but maybe that’s thanks to the skew of his own mood. Still, Kip’s attention drifts to him often, and Ben’s smiling frequently, and not just when people are talking to him, and laughing easily, and offering up input even without being directly prompted. His posture is comfortable and natural. He jokes lightly every now and then. His style of humor is kind of like Kent’s—offering itself without demanding attention.

Once he catches Kip staring. And Kip glances away but quickly glances right back, offering a shrug and a smile. Ben’s responding smile is genuine and amused—Kip blushes slightly and grins.

A couple solid hours slip away in conversation before Roy has to head to bed. But he offers to escort Ben back to his own apartment first.

And Kip feels like it would be a bit much to hug him again, but takes his hand and thanks him again and tells him he hopes he’s had a good night.

“I have,” Ben says, giving Kip’s hand a small squeeze. “This was very nice. Thank you.”

Kip glances down, then looks back up with a small smile.

Ben is the one to initiate a hug this time. Kip’s heart thumps. He draws Ben close.

They look at each other as they lean apart. Kip laughs softly and steps to the side. And, without any prompting, Pascal comes up and wraps Ben up in a hug as well.

Kip stifles a giggle and watches Ben’s face redden as he reaches around Pascal’s broad torso, returning the embrace.

Pascal murmurs something Kip can’t quite hear before releasing Ben, and Ben looks up at Pascal with a more solemn expression, and nods. Then, after Pascal moves away, Kip sees that Ben seems almost flustered—the fact that this increases when Kip catches his eye makes Kip stifle another laugh, grinning, making Ben blush a bit harder.

Kip gives Ben’s shoulder a comforting pat as Roy walks over, and says goodnight, and heads to Pascal’s side.

Pascal takes his hand, and Kip puts his forehead against Pascal’s shoulder.

—

“Here, let me.” Pascal holds out his arms.

Kip comes over and sits in front of him on the bed. Pascal reaches for his chest and starts working open the buttons of his shirt.

“So,” Kip says quietly. “What do you think about things with Wallace?”

“Mm...I still feel the same. Should something have changed my mind?”

“Not particularly—“ Kip laughs. “I just want to, you know, be sure there’s plenty of communication about all this. It’s really, really important to me to know what you’re comfortable with.”

Pascal pauses in his efforts with the second button to give Kip a warm smile.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I can tell you that I think it makes sense for Wallace to like you, and it makes sense to me why you like Wallace. Maybe it’s easier to be comfortable with the idea because I know him. But...I don’t know. The thought of you guys loving each other... It just seems...nice.”

Kip gazes at him.

“Really?” he says softly.

Pascal nods, resuming his work on Kip’s shirt.

“...Wallace is sweet,” Pascal says. “And it just seems like it would be...you having more love in your life. It makes sense that another person would love you. That anyone would. And...I trust Ben, too. I know if he thinks Wallace really, genuinely cares about you enough to want to love you, then...well, I bet he does. And...I don’t know. It seems like it would just be nice.”

Kip smiles, blushing. Pascal opens the third button, baring Kip’s chest.

“...I think...” Kip starts slowly. “If Wallace says he likes me, he really means it. I...I don’t think he’d be...asking something like this of Ben if all he felt was that he wants to kiss me, or whatever. I mean, apparently he does, but...”

“I know what you mean,” Pascal says. “He’s a good person, and so is Ben. And, you know, I trust you most of all, Kip. I just...don’t feel at all afraid that this is going to hurt me. I know EXACTLY how much you care about me. I know how important it is to you that nobody hurt me. I know how much you love me, Kip.”

“You know how much I love you?” Kip echoes. 

Pascal sits up and looks at him steadily.

“I know it so well that I can’t even be nervous about you and Wallace getting to be together. It’s you finally getting to have something you’ve been really wanting, something that could be so, so lovely.”

Kip feels warmed, all the way to his hands.

“Pascal,” he says gently. “I really want you to know that...you don’t have to feel like you need to go along with this to make me happy. Having you again, and...knowing we really get to have a life together, for as long as we want...that’s already more than enough.”

Pascal touches his face. 

“I know, Kip. I’m not lying to you.”

“I know you aren’t. I don’t want you to be pressuring yourself even a little. I mean, you’re not even the least nervous?”

Pascal smiles with a little shrug.

“I’m not—“ He laughs. “I guess that’s strange, huh? But, how can I be nervous? I know you love me. I know you’ve loved me and wanted me just as much the whole time you’ve had these feelings for Wallace. I KNOW you. And I love you.”

Kip grins and kisses him, smiling against his mouth. He pulls away with a little sigh.

“Just...know that you never have to keep quiet about how you feel about anything, Pascal. This, or anything else. It’s more important to me than anything that I don’t hurt you or—push you away, or make you feel any less loved than you are. Or than you deserve. You’re as amazing to me as ever. More than ever, actually. You’re always...”

He laughs softly.

“I just know that I wanna stay a part of your life,” he continues. “I know it so deeply that it’s not even a question anymore.”

Pascal looks at him, red blooming further across his face.

Kip takes his arms, smiling softly.

After a few quiet moments, Pascal speaks.

“...You know when we were in E?” he begins.

Kip’s smile automatically falters; he nods, gripping Pascal’s arms a little harder.

“The way you looked at me when Wallace led me back to you,” Pascal murmurs. “I knew you loved me as much as ever. And I already knew I felt the same, but even if I hadn’t, the way it felt to see you then would’ve proven it. But the look on your face...”

He shakes his head slightly.

“I knew exactly what I meant to you right in that moment,” he says. “I never mentioned it later, because I knew it wouldn’t’ve been fair. I wanted you to tell me when you were ready, and when you wanted to. I’d never want to strongarm you back into a relationship. Or take advantage of a moment like that. But...I’ve gotten that same feeling from you ever since. The same as I got in E, this certainty of what I mean to you. I don’t doubt you, Kip. I know you. And I love you. And I’d trust all of this over anything else in the world.”

Kip feels his own expression subtly mirror the way he’d looked at Pascal back then, seeing him alive and whole. It was an emotion he can neither forget nor describe.

“Man, Pasc,” he breathes. “...You were right, as always. I...I’ve always known I love you since, like, two weeks after we met. Even when I left you and tried to convince myself I could stop. It was just a complete failure. I can’t pretend I wasn’t confused about things for a long while, but...I knew I loved you the whole time. How could I stop? Even if I thought we couldn’t be together anymore—that’s not enough to stop loving you.”

He shakes his head vaguely, reaching over to cup Pascal’s jaw.

“And, the way I felt in E,” he murmurs. “...The way it felt to think that—that they were going to—“ It’s enough to make his voice shake. “And the way it felt to see you again—and—and to—“

He elaborates by rising up on his knees and kissing Pascal hard. He grips the shoulder of Pascal’s tee, pushes his other hand up into his hair, and kisses him, and kisses him.

A knock at the bedroom door just about sends him tumbling to the floor.

“Hey, sorry—“ It’s Molly’s voice. “I forgot to give this to Pascal earlier.”

Kip and Pascal look at each other, then Pascal slides off the bed while Kip hastily rebuttons his shirt.

“Hey,” Molly says again as Pascal opens the door. “Heh—sorry if I interrupted anything. I’ve been making this for you for a while, and I’ve finally finished it.”

And Kip sees her hold out both hands, with some kind of fabric draped between them—after a moment he registers that she’s giving him a scarf.

“Oh,” Pascal breathes. “Oh, wow, Molly, this is beautiful—thank you—“

He carefully lifts it in his own arms.

“Oh my god, it’s so soft,” he laughs. “This looks so good, thank you so much! I love it, gosh...”

“It was fun to make,” she says. “And, see, I made it Kip colors, so you guys can match when you wear it.”

Pascal laughs again and holds it up for Kip to see—it is, in fact, a sea of muted blues and deep greys.

“Thank you so much,” Pascal says again. “This is great, Molly. I really appreciate this.”

“Aw, you’re welcome,” she says. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I do. It’s fantastic.”

Kip can tell from Molly’s laugh that she’s pleased. He smiles to himself. 

“Alright, I just didn’t want to forget to give you that. Goodnight for real, you guys.”

“Thanks a bunch,” Pascal says. “And goodnight.”

“Night,” Kip chimes in.

She closes the door softly, and Pascal slings the scarf around his neck.

“How’s this look?” he asks. 

“Nice,” Kip answers, grinning. “It even matches your outfit. Look in the mirror.”

Pascal smiles at his reflection.

“It’s really soft,” he says. “Come feel.”

Kip gets up and walks over behind Pascal, reaching up to his shoulders.

“Wow,” he says. “It is.”

Pascal turns around and takes Kip’s forearms.

“Uh-huh?” Kip says, looking up at him.

Pascal smiles softly.

“I have to start over unbuttoning your shirt,” he observes quietly.

“Oh,” Kip says. “I guess so.”

“Come here.”

And Pascal leads him to the bed, and leans him over with a kiss until he’s lying on his back. Kip sighs with contentment, gazing at the ceiling as Pascal slowly opens his shirt. 

“There you go,” Pascal murmurs, undoing the last button. 

“Thanks.” Kip sits up and shrugs it off. Then smoothly unfastens his belt and slides out of his pants and underwear in one movement. “You want me to help you out of your jeans?”

Pascal laughs softly.

“How could I say no to something like that?”

—

Kip pulls the sheets up around them as Pascal settles next to him against the mattress.

“Mmm...you’re so warm,” Kip breathes. He nestles a little closer to his boyfriend.

“You tired?” Pascal asks.

Kip nods against the pillow.

“Me too.” Pascal slides an arm over to rest against Kip’s chest. “I like being tired next to you.”

Kip smiles.

“Me too.”

They lie quietly for a minute, every little shift of their bodies drawing them nearer to each other.

“Pasc,” Kip mumbles.

“Mmhm?”

“What would...a day in your ideal life be like?” Kip stifles a yawn.

“Mm...”

There’s a pause; Pascal breathes deeply.

“I dunno,” he murmurs. “I guess an ideal day...I’d see friends...wake up whenever I want and not be tired...you’re in bed with me...”

Kip smiles softly.

“What’s your ideal bed?” he asks.

“Uh...big. Soft mattress but with good support. A lot of pillows. I think I’d like...maybe...purple blankets. In a bedroom with a window and...soft carpet...wood furniture...moonlight through the curtains...”

“Mm...what’s the rest of the house like? Or is it an apartment?”

“I guess it’d be nice to have a house,” Pascal murmurs. He traces shapes against Kip’s skin with the tip of his arm. “Not too big or too small...a garden somewhere...have flowers growing up along the wall to the bedroom...a window to sit in...a nice kitchen...porch for when it’s nice outside...we’d have three bedrooms, one to share, one each for ourselves, and those can...become guest rooms if someone stays over...and there could be an art studio...a library...a big front hall...soft lighting...windows facing north...plants in each room...lots of...really comfortable chairs...and beds...”

“Mm...” Kip closes his eyes and rests his arm atop Pascal’s. “It sounds nice.”

“...What’s YOUR ideal home?” Pascal asks.

“...I dunno,” Kip mumbles. “It’s hard to decide what I’d even want. I’d be happy to live in a place you really like. Your ideas sound great.”

“Aw,” Pascal sighs.

“...In your ideal life, I’m with you?” Kip asks.

“Uh-huh,” Pascal murmurs. “We’re together.”

“Together?” Kip repeats, feeling himself drifting off.

“Uh-huh.”

“Together together?” 

“Uh-huh.”

Kip absentmindedly strokes Pascal’s arm.

“...That’s my ideal life, too,” he mumbles. 

“...Yeah.”

Kip already feels his thoughts slipping down dreamlike tangents. So he musters his consciousness for just a few more moments of coherency.

“...I love you, Pascal,” he breathes. 

“Love you, too.”

“I really...really love you.”

“I know,” Pascal mumbles. “I love you so much, Kip.”

And Pascal cuddles up to Kip’s side, head on Kip’s shoulder, breath washing warm against his skin. 

Kip’s drift into unconsciousness slides into a fall.

—

Kip dreams of smoke pillars on every horizon around him, becoming smoke surrounding him, knee deep ash, opaque darkness, stumbling against bodies, on floors slicked with blood, until finally he’s scrambling into cabinets to hide from silhouetted figures, playing dead, eyes squeezed shut.

He lies there so long that when he opens his eyes again, he’s looking up at an infinite blue sky, flecked with glittering stars. The ground rolls and bubbles beneath him—he turns his head and sees glassy waves reflecting the cerulean glow of the night. He’s resting on an ocean.

He hears his family’s voices echo from somewhere in the water beneath him. He rolls over and looks below the surface—there’s patches of light and shimmering streams within the depths, but he knows his sight isn’t penetrating even a fraction of the way down.

“Guys,” he says. “I’m here.”

They echo up at him again, their words only blurs, mixing with musical laughter.

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. “You can come get me. It’s safe.”

A bigger wave rolls underneath him, slipping him into the water. It’s like a cloud. He floats weightlessly. He drifts back up towards the surface, but it’s gone. It’s just an expanse of stars and glowing waters and their voices echoing around him, touching him from across vast, infinite distances.

When he starts awake, the dream lingers—and it only feels more beautiful. He draws a deep breath, feeling for Pascal. His hand finds Pascal’s arm; he pulls it up to his chest and lets himself sink back into the mattress and pillows. He aches for the dream to continue—to be put back into that feeling that his family is there, somewhere, and maybe they’re not aware of him, maybe they can’t ever reach each other, but he knows they’re still there, still with him, even if THEY can’t know it.

If the dream continues, maybe he’ll be able to see their faces. Hear their words. 

Even speak back to them.

In his semiconscious state, he can only long for this. He doesn’t care if he again has to suffer nightmares first. He wants to dream of them. Reach them there.

He hugs Pascal’s arm against his chest and lies as still as he can until he falls asleep once more.

His dreaming is of neither nightmares nor the celestial ocean. He finds himself in a thicket of pink flowers, but can remember that he wants—or at least expects—something else. He’s wrapped in a soft sweater. It’s raining, and in the near distance there’s a little house with warmly glowing windows.

He sits in the nest of flowers as raindrops fill up their cores and spill down the sides of their petals. It’s warm and comfortable and he knows there’s something good about it all.

“Hey,” Wallace says. “Do you want to come inside?”

He stands at the edge of what Kip now realizes must be his garden. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Kip says. “I like it here.”

Wallace is beside him. He plucks a brimming flower and hands it to Kip.

“Have some,” he murmurs. “It’s supposed to keep you warm.”

And as soon as Kip touches the flower to his lips, he feels the heat and smells the honey. There’s a warm, familiar sort of spice in the taste, like nutmeg.

“Wallace,” he says. 

Wallace’s arm slips around his shoulders. Friendly, comforting.

Kip looks over at his friendly, comforting smile.

“Wallace,” he says again.

He leans in and kisses him.

Wallace is gentle with him. His arms slide around Kip’s back, drawing him closer. Kip is in his lap, kissing him, tasting the warm honey rain on his lips. 

He curls his body tighter around Wallace’s, kisses harder. Wallace’s hand is up his sweater, down the back of his pants, gripping him, pulling him closer. Kip feels so amazingly good.

He blinks awake more slowly this time. He can feel the patch of slickness on his underwear and the aftermath of his orgasm through his whole body. He only retains jumbled fragments of the rest of the dream, but he’s fairly sure he gets the gist of it.

Focusing in on the beginning makes him think of how Wallace kissed him. Its brief duration is recorded so intimately in his memory—the sight of Wallace turned slightly away, head bowed, fingers brushing against petals, the softness of his lips, his warm hand on Kip’s shoulder, on the bare skin of his neck.

To think it could happen again. That he could enjoy it without guilt, without pushing Wallace away. He still can’t really believe it’s now possible.

Pascal’s arm is curled on his chest. Kip carefully slips out of bed from beneath it, goes to the bathroom, strips out of his briefs and rinses the stain for a minute while patting lukewarm water on his face and neck, shoulders and chest.

He darts back into the bedroom and drops the briefs in the plastic hamper at the foot of his bed, puts his tanktop back into a drawer, and lifts Pascal’s arm again to crawl back underneath it. Pascal shifts in his sleep and resettles closer to Kip with a quiet sigh. Kip sighs as well and relaxes against his pillow.

The next thing he knows, the room is illuminated with a gentle light.

“Hey,” Pascal says. “Hey. I’m right here. Kip? I’m here.”

Kip stills, opening his eyes.

“...Pascal?” he mumbles.

“Yeah. I’m right here. It’s okay.”

Kip’s inhale is unsteady.

“What...” he starts. “What is...”

“I think you were having a nightmare,” Pascal explains quietly. “I just woke you up. You were crying in your sleep. And saying my name.”

“Calling for you...” Kip murmurs, blinking a few times.

“I think so.”

Kip can remember that now. He had dreamt he was calling for Pascal—he had been screaming his name—because—he had been so upset by something, and that was—

“Are you alright?”

He had been screaming for Pascal because—

He gasps roughly and reaches for Pascal.

“Are—are you okay?” Pascal hesitates for a moment before letting Kip draw him in. He puts his chin against Kip’s chest. “What did you dream? Everything’s okay.”

Kip just hugs Pascal against himself, then pulls them both upright and takes his face in his hands, looking at him hard. Pascal doesn’t speak, just gazes back at Kip with quiet concern. Kip takes in the tiny flickering movements of his brown eyes, the gentle ridge of his nose, the part in his soft lips, the scruff along his jawline, the hairs of his dark eyebrows, his gently curved lashes, the subtle undulations in shape from forehead to temples to cheekbones to chin. The texture of his hair, how it falls so handsomely over his forehead, down his neck, just barely resting on his shoulders.

Kip looks back to his eyes, shakes his head softly at the worry there.

“What did you dream?” Pascal asks again, voice quiet and gravelly.

“...Dreamt I’d lost you,” Kip answers, sliding his hands to Pascal’s shoulders. “Things about E. Things I saw in those files. Thinking they’d kill you like that.”

“...Oh.”

Kip sighs and closes his eyes. He finds Pascal’s arm, squeezes it, lifts it up and kisses it. 

“I’m sorry,” Pascal murmurs. “I’m sorry you have these kinds of dreams. I’m sorry these things happened to you.”

Kip flickers a smile for him.

“...Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, it’s shit.”

He studies Pascal’s face again, puts a hand against his warm throat to feel his steady pulse.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Pascal,” he says, barely above a whisper. “If...they’d killed you...if they’d even touched you...”

Pascal quiets him with a kiss.

“...It didn’t happen,” Pascal murmurs. “I was fine.”

“It happened to so many people.” Kip does speak in a whisper now.

“I know,” Pascal answers solemnly. He takes Kip’s hands.

“The...things they did to them...” Kip squeezes his eyes shut. It’s already starting to flash through his mind, pages of reports filled with photos and phrases that had made him gasp and dry heave until dizzy and short of breath.

He has to keep it from spiraling out—just like he had to learn to do with memories and thoughts from the fire—grab on and acknowledge what’s going through his mind, let it pass by him rather than dragging him down in a whirlpool—at the very least, let him flow along with the surging wave, unharmed.

He breathes deeply and squeezes Pascal’s arms.

“How can I help?” Pascal asks. “What can I do?”

Kip shakes his head.

“I-it’s okay...I just have to stop thinking about things...I...”

Ribcages cracked open. Organs ruptured, pooling blood and fluid. Everything photographed, labeled.

“I just...just need you to...uh...”

Needles in spines, the base of skulls. Charts of increasing voltage levels.

Limb removed for staff protection.

Vocal cords cut for staff protection.

Blood drained, transfused, spilled in hasty operations, unanesthatized amputations.

Decapitations. Lifeless heads, photographed lying on trays, skulls opened, brains dissected, labeled with notes.

“Kip—hey—listen. I’m here. Listen to—“

“S-sorry—I’m sorry—“

Cross-sections cut out of muscle. Out of organ tissue.

Eyes still visible in a scribbled-out photograph of a face. Looking right out at Kip next to the stamp of failure. The bullet point in the summary that noted some tendons had been severed, for staff protection.

“Kip.” Pascal’s voice cuts through again. Kip tries to grab on to it.

Carefully bisected torsos.

A folder full of vivisections, labeled one through twenty-seven, each a failure.

“Kip. Hey. Come on. Listen.”

“I’m trying—I’m—keep talking, I’m trying—“

The file with the monster Kip had recognized. The one he’d seen in the hallways at school, an older student. The note about their broken bones. About the fatal internal hemorrhaging. 

“Look at me. C’mon.”

Kip lifts his head to do so, which makes him realize he’s crying hard. The surprise of this jerks his thoughts off track. The imagery grows more fragmented, blurrier. Harder to focus on. If he can just let it slip by a little quicker—

“S-sor-sorry—“

“No, you’re good. C’mon. I’m right here with you. C’mon.”

Kip grasps at Pascal, gets a handful of the front of his shirt. 

He knows he’s breathing too shallowly. He tries to wrench a deep inhale from the rough sobs—it just hitches partway through. He tangles a hand in his own hair, tries again to breathe slower, quieter.

“Come on, you have this. I’m right here. You’re right here. You’ve got it.” At least he seems to be tuned in to Pascal’s voice again.

If he can just push his thoughts to focus on the more harmless details at the fringes of the memories—the specific texture of the side of the black filing cabinets—the tan vinyl tiling—bracing himself against the cold metal of a drawer as he dropped a folder with progress photographs of a dissection—the sound of the papers spilling on the floor—the choking feeling as he retched up an ounce of acid, going so cold so fast that frost flowers bloomed on his wrists.

Seeing the pictures of—

Seeing Wallace.

Wallace grabbing his shoulders, turning Kip around to face him, telling him to stop, that this wouldn’t help anyone anymore. 

Wallace unflinching grabbing Kip’s icy wrists, tightening his grip, begging Kip to stop looking, to leave it, you’re just hurting yourself—

And the expression on his face as Kip struggled to pull his hands free while furiously asserting that he deserves this, he owes it to these monsters to learn everything that was done and carry that knowledge, he doesn’t deserve to look away, they didn’t get to, they didn’t get to live their lives in ignorance of these nightmares, they didn’t get to live their lives at all—

Kip is sobbing, but the worst of the scraping gasps have eased, the attack is slowly dampening into something more manageably terrible. He drops his head and lets go of Pascal’s shirt and covers his face with one hand, curls the other into a fist against the mattress.

“Kip...”

“I-I—I’m sorry—“

“Don’t be,” Pascal murmurs. “Breathe, come on. Slow down. Just slow it down a little. You have this.”

He tries. He focuses in on Wallace in those memories. His face, his expressions. His eyes turning to Kip’s. His hands on Kip’s shoulders, on his sides, his arms. His voice, shaky and urgent. Pleading with Kip that punishing himself wouldn’t do any good. That they couldn’t possibly go through all of these files. They shouldn’t even attempt it, if only for the sake of everyone still alive who’s still counting on them.

That had brought Kip around. And he had turned away and stood there, breathing hard, shuddering with adrenaline, and Wallace had stepped up behind him, taken hold of his freezing hand, and squeezed.

And he didn’t let go, even though the cold had to be hurting him—not until he got Kip to turn around.

His face right then. Kip grabs on to that memory. The weakly offered smile that only served to highlight Wallace’s fearfulness, made him look so pathetic that Kip was instinctively moved to want to rescue him from that fear.

The way he kept looking at Kip after they realized they were actually going to live. Like the euphoric relief he was feeling was at all thanks to him. Maybe it was some kind of love, even back then. 

The way Wallace has looked at him before kissing his cheek. Before kissing his lips.

He replays that last kiss in a loop. So that there’s no room to visualize anything else. 

Just kisses. Being held. Hands in his. Arms around him. Being kissed.

He pulls the hand from his face and opens his eyes. Tears spill from them at once, he knows his face must be flushed so blue, he’s panting wetly through his mouth and he can feel snot running down to his chin—he’s embarrassed to lift his head, wrecking another peaceful night like this, crying as messily as a child, making Pascal take care of him.

“Shit—“

He sobs pathetically.

“I-I’m sorry, Pascal...”

“Shh. Just keep breathing. You’re doing fantastic. Keep going just like that.”

The faces of people he loves, looking at him with love.

Ben looking at him with that glowing warmth, smiling genuinely, sparking up into real laughter.

“I-I—“

Pascal takes Kip’s shoulders and gently pushes him further upright. Kip hangs his head to hide his face, as if Pascal hasn’t seen this scores and scores of time, hasn’t seen him even worse—as though his sniffling and rasping sobs aren’t already telltale enough.

“You’re good,” Pascal murmurs. “Keep breathing. You’re doing absolutely amazing. Don’t worry. You can do this.”

Kip shakes his head. He can tell the imagery is still lurking underneath his thoughts—if he lets his mind wander it might rise to the surface again. He needs to make sure he’s really, solidly diverted from that train of thought. The last thing he wants is to keep Pascal up even longer with one of those multiple-hour periods of surging and ebbing attacks. 

“I-I think I’ll be okay, I just...” He wishes he’d kept clothes on so he could now scrub his face off with them. 

“What can I do?” Pascal asks him. “What would help you right now?”

Kip shakes his head again. 

“Y-you need to get more sleep,” he mumbles. His following sob is, at least, promisingly weak. 

“We’ll go back to sleep when you’re ready to go back to sleep,” Pascal says matter-of-factly. “And if I can help you, that’ll happen sooner. What can I do for you?”

Kip sniffs and looks up at Pascal, and that grounds him even further. That was the first thing to comfort him from the nightmare, after all. Pascal, alive and well and beautiful, right in front him, looking back at him as Kip held his face.

“Sorry, Pasc,” he murmurs.

Pascal smiles and shakes his head and leans in, wrapping his arms around Kip’s back.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Pascal responds. “You’re amazing.”

“It’s embarrassing,” Kip mumbles, dropping his eyes. His breathing is still shaky and shallow.

“There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Feeling so much pain—having to fight through it—what do you have to be ashamed of in that?”

Kip coughs a weak laugh and manages something of a smile.

Pascal beams at him, leans in, and kisses his forehead. Kip puts his hand to Pascal’s jaw and strokes his thumb across his skin.

“How can I help?” Pascal murmurs in Kip’s hair. “Do you want me to bring tissues from somewhere?”

“I h-have some in the drawer right here,” Kip says. “Just...just stay with me for now. ...Keep holding me.”

Pascal wraps his arms a little more snugly around Kip and gently pulls him closer. Kip wavers for a moment, then slumps in against Pascal’s chest with a quavering sigh.

Pascal tilts his head to rest his cheek against Kip’s temple. He starts rubbing Kip’s back, which always melts him down further.

“Pascal,” he whispers. He slides his hand up to the crook of Pascal’s neck. “The things they did...”

Pascal curls further in around him.

Kip sniffs and buries his face in the shoulder of Pascal’s shirt. He tries to hold back a sob, but it comes out as a little gasp, and he knows Pascal feels the jerk of his body. Sure enough, he rubs Kip’s back some more.

“I remember a-a lot of the pictures I saw in the files we found and—and things I read in them...”

Pascal kisses his neck.

“Kip...” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

“I think I dreamt of—of looking at a file like that about you,” he mumbles into Pascal’s hair. “Knowing I’d lost you. That things like that had happened to you. Having to see it.”

“Kip,” Pascal breathes. “I’m sorry.”

“None of it’s your fault—“ Kip pauses for a shaky breath. “The things...in those files...”

He clings to Pascal.

“I can’t forget it,” he sobs. “I’m scared of—of forgetting my family—their faces and voices—but I have to know I’ll always remember these photos I saw for a few minutes one day. Of—o-of—“

“...You don’t have to say,” Pascal murmurs.

Kip gives a rough, hollow laugh.

“Nobody would want to hear,” he gasps. “The details they put in the news were bad enough. But t-to see the files firsthand...they were so—s-so...”

Pascal tugs him in closer, tucking Kip’s head under his neck. Kip sobs, pushing in nearer, trying to flood his senses with Pascal.

“...I’m getting snot all over your shirt,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care,” Pascal says, and hugs him in tighter.

They spend about a quarter of an hour like that. Soon, Kip feels somewhat absurd over falling into an anxiety attack like that. His crying is quiet and slow—a few times a minute a fresh tear will slip down his face. His body isn’t so tense. His breathing is ragged, but steady. 

He pushes himself more upright. Pascal looks back at him.

“Do you want some tea?” Kip asks quietly. “I think I’d like to make some. I think it’d help to be walking around and doing something, just for a minute.”

“Sure,” Pascal answers. “Can I join you?”

Kip slides on boxers and a tee and leads Pascal into the kitchen. Kip leans against the counter after putting the kettle on the stove, turning over an oven mitt in his hands, while Pascal sits at the table, making it look even smaller next to his large body.

“Thank you for helping, Pas,” Kip says. “I really appreciate how patient you are. I know you try hard to be calm, even though it’s stressful for you, too. You help a lot, every time.”

Pascal smiles, blushing gently.

“Of course,” he replies. “I’m happy you’re feeling better. It’s not your fault you have nightmares. Or that there’s all these things for you to have bad dreams about.”

Kip blushes too, rocking a heel against the floor.

“...I’m sorry when it...” He stops himself to rephrase. “Thank you for staying up with me in times like this, even when you have to get up in another hour or so. It sucks starting off a workday by being tired.”

“Eh—“ Pascal shrugs. “Tired work mornings happen. Maybe it’ll suck for a few hours, and then crawling into bed with you tomorrow night will be even sweeter, and by the morning after that it won’t even be an issue anymore. But if I left you on your own to deal with something like that, of course I’d feel like shit for...I dunno, my whole life.”

Kip laughs weakly.

“Seriously,” Pascal says, softly laughing too. “The downsides don’t even compare. I’d never want to do anything other than everything I can to help you out. That’s what I’m here for, huh?”

“I wanna help make your problems smaller, too,” Kip murmurs. “Not add to them.”

“Nah. Come on. You know that’s not what it feels like when somebody you love is hurting. You’re never a problem to me.”

Kip catches Pascal’s eye to send him a smile. 

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “You put a lot of care into your words.”

Pascal blushes and shrugs again.

“I know they matter,” he responds. “I wanna let you know how I feel and think about you.”

“Heh—I think we all know I’m not always...quite as good with putting things into words sometimes. But when I need to, I’ll find whatever other ways there are to say stuff.”

Kip ambles over as he speaks, takes the ends of Pascal’s arms in his hands, and leans in to press his forehead against Pascal’s, bumping their noses together.

“Like this?” Pascal asks, voice light.

“Mmhm.”

The kettle starts to sigh and hiss at them. Kip smiles to himself and leans back upright.

“What blend?” he asks Pascal. “Green?”

“Yes, please.”

“Yeah,” Kip says, turning towards the cabinets. “It’s a good time for that.”

—

They take their teas into Kip’s room and climb back into bed to drink them.

“Ugh,” Kip sighs. “I wish I didn’t have these times where I cry like a two year-old who’s gotten lost in the sandbox. Like...I get that there’s reasons I cry more easily now. That’s—y’know, that’s fine. But does it have to be such a mess?”

Pascal slides a leg overtop Kip’s.

“Everyone‘s a mess when they cry, even if they’re being all quiet about it,” he argues. “Besides, with the stuff you’re dealing with, you can’t be expected to look like a movie star the whole time. Like, looking all elegant and only crying one tear—nobody in the world actually does that,” he laughs. “So what if you cry hard? The things you have to carry more than justify it. I dare anybody to say you’re an embarrassment.”

“...You don’t think I’m ridiculous when I cry that hard?” Kip murmurs half-rhetorically. “I know it must make it more stressful for you...especially when I breathe too fast like that...”

“Kip.” Pascal’s voice is serious. “You are not ridiculous to me. Not in the least.”

Pascal corkscrews an arm from Kip’s bicep to his wrist; Kip brings the arm in and plants half a dozen slow kisses against Pascal’s smoothness and suckers alike.

“...I’d say it’s a pity I’m having such a...bad time with a dream, when it’s like...so many things feel like they’re going so well for me...better than I’d ever have predicted, and yet I still have such a horrible dream...but you know what?”

He takes a drink of his tea.

“I know what?” Pascal replies.

“...Eno sort of told me about this before the anniversary,” Kip laughs. “Because I felt like I was doing so okay, considering the day was getting closer and closer. And he told me not to be disappointed if I had a strong reaction anyway, and not to feel like it must be that much worse because it was wrecking a streak of good days. Not to juxtapose it with a good mood, or feel like...I’m failing somehow by feeling bad instead of just...recognizing that it’s something ordinary and expected for me.  
Guess I get to tell him this afternoon how I’m trying to take his advice. He’ll be pleased as punch about that.”

“...Hm.” Pascal squeezes Kip’s arm with a gentle ripple of his own. “I think I follow that, yeah. Don’t believe you’re sabotaging what seems like an extra good period just because you’re...still feeling things about bad stuff as usual anyway, basically?”

“Yeah,” Kip says, smiling over at him in the early dawn effulgence. “And just to...not judge a breakdown as being worse than usual somehow just because it was preceded by a good mood.”

He drinks the last of his tea and sets it aside.

“Not that that one wasn’t rough,” he acknowledges. “Just...what else is new, right?”

He rolls onto his side, closer to Pascal.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Pascal murmurs. He turns his head to look at Kip, smiling gently.

“Handsome,” Kip whispers, touching his cheek with the backs of his fingers. “I’ll be  
happy for the rest of my life just because I know they didn’t get to hurt you.”

Pascal blooms redder beneath his touch. He leans in, reaching across Kip to set his mug on the nightstand, then lies down right where he is, half-draped over Kip.

Kip smiles at him, bends his knees to brush Pascal’s thighs. 

“Pascal,” he murmurs. “I know there’s all these times like just now, where...for however long it lasts, I...can’t be here for anyone but myself. But that doesn’t mean I love you any less until it stops. Or that I wouldn’t do whatever I’m still capable of for you if you needed it in that moment. ...I love you on the bad days just as much.”

Pascal flickers a beaming smile as though about to laugh and pulls Kip further in.

“I know. ...I lived with you when it was all you could do to just keep being alive day by day. I could see you choosing to do things that wouldn’t’ve even been considerations if you didn’t still love me. I don’t...”

He does exhale a laugh, touching Kip’s shoulder.

“I’m not looking to be constantly swept off my feet and dazzled by someone,” Pascal murmurs. “Anyone could put on that act whether they feel love or not. You can’t rely on that. You can’t feel closer to each other through that. I’m with you because you love me, you look out for me, you care about how I feel, how safe I feel, how happy I am...you want me to be happy and safe and have as much as I want and need as possible. You want me to love you back just the same way. You managed to love me even when you didn’t want to be alive. And it means a lot to me that I get to see the real you all the time. Good days and bad. I wouldn’t ever want you to pretend to be invulnerable, or anything else other than whatever you’re really thinking and feeling. I love who you really are.”

He touches Kip’s cheek too.

“I’m not gonna leave you for someone who never cries,” Pascal whispers. “I would HATE it if I had a boyfriend who never cried.”

Kip giggles helplessly, hugging Pascal as close as he can, tucking his head against his shoulder, burying a hand up in his hair.

“I like how you can make me laugh,” he whispers. 

Pascal kisses the corner of his jaw.

“You say such sweet things to me,” Kip murmurs, sliding a hand along Pascal’s chest. “I love hearing it. And knowing you mean it just makes me feel...like...”

He drags his hand to Pascal’s throat, then jaw, and kisses him with warmth.

“Mmh...” Pascal sighs. “...Kip?”

Kip pauses, opening his eyes.

Pascal looks back at him with a hint of worry.

“What’s wrong?” Kip asks. 

Pascal glances aside and sighs.

“...I know I brought up E last night,” he finally says. “I’m sorry if that made you have that dream.”

Kip blinks.

“I had all kinds of dreams last night,” he says. “And that wasn’t even the only bad dream I had. Not to mention I think about E every day anyway. My nightmares just...blend together and happen whenever they want.” 

He offers Pascal a smile.

“Even if talking about it did give me that dream, it’s not your fault. We should both be able to talk about that kind of stuff. You told me you were always okay with hearing me talk about E or the fire. I’m okay with hearing about it from you, too.”

He brushes Pascal’s hair from his eyes.

“It’s not your fault at all,” he murmurs. “And you helped me deal with the whole  
aftermath. So don’t blame yourself in the least. I can think and talk about E without getting all in a loop about those files. The loops just happen when they happen. Being half-asleep and stressed out from a nightmare is probably what caused it.”

Pascal smiles faintly and takes Kip’s hand.

“...Wanna try to get in this last, like, forty minutes of sleep?” Kip asks quietly. “You could put your head on my chest. My warm embrace and all, you know.”

“I’d love to,” Pascal laughs softly.

They shift closer; Kip wraps his arms around Pascal’s back. Pascal’s hair spills across Kip’s chest; he relaxes against Kip’s body with a sigh.

“Goodnight,” Pascal murmurs.

Kip breathes a laugh. He rests a hand in Pascal’s hair, the other on the back of his neck, and closes his eyes.

“Yeah,” he answers softly. “Night, Pasc.”

—

Though he drowses, Kip doesn’t fall asleep again. Neither does Pascal. Seeing him off at the front door, Kip kisses Pascal, and tells him that he hopes working the lost hour and a half or so of sleep doesn’t make work too terrible. Pascal smiles and says it’ll be canceled out by thinking about getting to see Kip later.

Periodically, Kip gets a little foggy at the café. It’s in part being tired, but in part because he keeps thinking of his family. He has to wonder if it’s some involuntary defensive maneuver—to be preoccupied with the memory of them rather than anything about E.

But then, maybe he’s just having one of those days where he dwells on the thought of them. He’s glad it doesn’t feel like anything that could bring on an anxiety attack. It just feels like he’s especially haunted by their absence, reminded of them by every other thing. All but everything. Washing his hands, adjusting his glasses, hearing people talk, the scent of strawberry, the slide of paper against paper.

But it doesn’t seem to manifest itself externally. He slips through the routine, with his absentmindedness only sometimes rising to the surface. He occasionally, quietly, feels like crying.

When he gets back to the apartment, strips out of his work clothes, and crawls into bed. He’s woken out of a sound sleep by the alarm. He rolls over and stares up at the ceiling for a while. Then he gets up and goes over to the picture. Despite how he felt at work, looking at their faces doesn’t make him want to cry. 

When he gets to Eno’s, the first thing he talks about is this—the thoughts of his family, the dream he had about them, the dream he had about E, and Pascal, and the anxiety attack, and how he remembered what Eno had told him about not being disappointed in himself for having that kind of setback in the middle of a particularly good period.

“Are you proud?” he laughs. “For once I did what you said I should do.”

“I’m glad,” Eno replies. “Did it seem to help?”

“Well...I was doing alright by then,” he says. “Not great, but I wasn’t breaking down at the moment. But...yeah, I’d say it helped a little.”

“...You’re in a particularly good period?” Eno asks.

“...Kinda.”

Eno shifts in his chair, leaning forward across the desk expectantly, eyebrows raised. Kip looks at him for a moment before settling back with a sigh.

“...Promise no teasing.”

“I’ll be very professional.”

“Well, first of all, it turned out that Wallace wasn’t trying to cheat on Ben with me.”

“...Was...um...has this been a concern for you?”

“...Earlier this week, Wallace kissed me,” Kip explains.

“Oh.”

“Mmhm. I was angry at him for it, and I was angry at myself for wanting it and liking it, and I went to where the house used to be, because I was upset and I wasn’t sure where to go, and I wanted to feel brave for once, because...I thought I’d just wrecked this thing for Ben and he wasn’t ever going to want to have anything to do with me again.”

“Oh,” Eno repeats.

“I was very worried about all of it for a few days. I told Ben I was sorry, but just in writing. I was still putting off talking to him when he came to talk to me. And he told me he wasn’t angry at me. And that Wallace had told him about having feelings for me, and they’d both agreed they’re okay with it. And that he’s always liked me, but sometimes I make him think of himself, and he’d compare us and feel bad. And so, you know, apparently Wallace likes me and wants to be with me, and Ben is fine with it and doesn’t hate me forever. So, there’s that.”

“...Okay,” Eno says. “That’s quite a lot.”

“Yeah. I was expecting disaster and then suddenly...it turned out completely okay. Kind of disorientingly quickly.”

“I imagine so.”

“Also, I told Ben something I haven’t even told you yet. Or anybody else.”

He rubs his thumb against his index finger a moment.

“I’ve been setting aside money to buy Pascal a ring.”

“He...can’t really wear those, can he?”

“I was planning to put it on a chain for him.”

“Ah. Okay. And this is...an engagement necklace, then?”

“Um...” Kip stretches his legs out a little. “Ah, yeah. I mean, or the equivalent, right? I haven’t managed to ask him yet whether he wants to get, like, actually married. But either way, I want to tell him that I’m as serious as I can be about wanting to stay with him.”

He looks over at Eno, who’s half suppressing a smile, chin in his hand.

“I asked you if you wanted to propose to him,” Eno laughs. “You said you weren’t ready to even think about things in those terms, remember?”

“That’s close to teasing,” Kip says.

“It’s pure fact!”

Kip sighs heavily.

“Yes, I remember, but...well, things change fast around here, apparently. The point is that I have a boyfriend I’m completely in love with, and Wallace likes me back, and for the first time in like, the whole year since I moved back, I know that Ben actually likes me, too.”

“That’s your particularly good period,” Eno says comprehendingly.

“Mmhm. So that’s why I thought of your advice.”

“Got it.”

“...I’m...it’s hard to transition into thinking about Wallace in terms of actually...being able to be with him, and I’m planning on talking to him tomorrow, but I’m only a little nervous about that. I’m actually...you know, in the context of this appointment, I’m actually thinking more about stuff like...the garden, and how I still avoided talking to Ben, and how I...got stuck thinking about those files I saw in E, and how...I dunno, in all of this, I still don’t know who I am when I try to define it in terms of myself alone. Because maybe I’m just a guy who just wants to live with his boyfriend and have whatever job he finds tolerable, and maybe writes sometimes, and that’s it. Maybe I’m not ambitious or exciting. I don’t know. I lost track of myself about a decade ago.”

“Okay, well, yes, we can discuss those things. Which would you like to begin with?”

“...Maybe the stuff that happened last night,” Kip says. “I remember how it was having flashbacks to the fire. This wasn’t a flashback, really, it was just that I wasn’t able to stop thinking about these things I’d seen. It was definitely intrusive.”

“But you said you did stop fairly quickly, right?”

“Um...yeah, sort of. I only had the attack for a few minutes, I guess. I tried to think about other stuff, and it kind of worked, but if I hadn’t had Pascal...physically there with me, talking to me, and all, I dunno. Maybe it would’ve gone on a lot longer.”

“Possibly,” Eno acknowledges. “Well, remember, it’s not about learning how to avoid thinking about it, it’s—“

“Oh,” Kip interrupts. “Sorry—wait—I do have this one thing about the stuff with Wallace, and the good period, and all—just, you know, before I forget—“

“Go ahead,” Eno says patiently.

“Well...I’m glad it all happened, and it’s all a huge relief—better than that, even. Instead of terrible things, I got all these good things. That I really want to have.”

“Okay.”

“But it feels...almost like it’s wrong? Or...like I wish it didn’t happen. That’s not quite it. I’m not sure how to describe the feeling, exactly.”

“Hm. Did your feelings for Wallace change while you thought he was unavailable?”

“...Not in the sense that I stopped liking him. I really enjoyed it when he kissed me—ignoring the fact that it was only a second and I got pissed off about it. I don’t think it’s that I don’t want to...uh...pursue this with him anymore, or anything.”

“Okay. So when you think of talking to him, how do you feel about it?”

“Kind of...excited-nervous. It’s still sort of an abstract concept to me, you know? I haven’t actually seen or talked directly to him since he kissed me and I thought I’d have to avoid him for the rest of our lives. And the whole situation I’ve been struggling with for weeks and weeks has just suddenly flipped on its head, really. It’s hard to flip my understanding of it just as fast.”

“Right,” Eno says. “Is there a sense that it’s happening too quickly, do you think?”

“Ah...I don’t really think so, because it’s not even that anything is happening, exactly. I’ve just had...things explained to me, and put in a new light. It’s not that I wish it had happened more gradually. I can’t even imagine how it COULD’VE been more drawn out. I...”

He pauses. 

“I guess I kind of feel as though...even though Ben said it’s fine...I don’t deserve to have Wallace like me?”

He shrugs as he says it.

“I guess that’s just the same feeling I’ve always had. That I’m conceited and selfish for thinking he’d be interested in me. Even now that I know he’s said he actually is, I...still feel like I’ve cheated someone.”

“If Ben wasn’t involved, do you think you’d have these same feelings?”

“...I think so, yeah,” Kip says slowly. “That’s what makes it so confusing. Even if Wallace was totally single, and totally uninterested in anyone but me, and told me so himself...it’d feel kind of unfair, somehow.”

“Do you think it has to do with Pascal, instead? Does wanting to propose change things?”

“Not really,” Kip says. “I was never thinking that my relationship with him wasn’t serious or long-term, even when I was wanting to ask Wallace out, too. And I’ve talked with Pascal about it, and he says he hasn’t changed his mind about it being alright. I’m still kind of tense about making sure he’s really okay with it, each step of the way and all, but he says he is, and I’m pretty sure he means it. And, you know, if he ever tells me he’s not fine with it anymore, I’ll stop.”

“What if it doesn’t feel that simple anymore when that time hypothetically comes?” Eno asks. “What if, by that point, you’re as invested in your relationship with Wallace as you are in your relationship with Pascal?”

Kip hesitates, turning this over.

“Well, me and Pascal knew each other about six and a half years before I even knew Wallace, but...if that happened, I...”

He sighs.

“I mean, I don’t really know. Could it even get to that point? I wouldn’t feel that close to Wallace just overnight. It’d take time. And it’s not like I’m planning to assume Pascal is okay with things until he says otherwise. I wanna, you know, keep talking with him about it. Checking in, and all. Still...I guess I really can’t predict what I’d do if that happened. But I don’t think that’s what I’m worried about. It’s not really that I’m afraid of anything that might result from this stuff, it’s more like...I feel like it shouldn’t’ve been this way in the first place.”

“Which way shouldn’t it have been?” 

“Like...Ben shouldn’t be telling me he thinks I’m fine and that I can kiss Wallace because he likes me, and I shouldn’t be with this person who loves me this much, and we’re both safe, and I want to stay with him, and...I made it out alive, and so did all these people I love, and...I shouldn’t just...”

“...You shouldn’t be alive? Your friends shouldn’t be alive?”

Kip sighs and winds his fingers together.

“I don’t actually think that,” he says. “I’m really, really glad things didn’t go worse than they did. But...it’s like...why should I have survived everything? Why should things...be so okay for me?”

“...Why do you think it shouldn’t be this way?”

Kip presses his lips together and stares up at the ceiling.

“...It’s that...I’m not that great of a person, and I...I’m not at all brave, or tough, and I always run away and hide from things I know I need to do, and I’m selfish, and...and I’m not that nice, and all I do is wish things were different and never actually do anything about it...”

“...You’re trying to say you think you don’t deserve to be okay?” Eno asks.

“...I...” Kip sighs again. “I guess so. I mean, I didn’t even have it in me to try to talk to Ben. And all that time I thought he didn’t like being around me, I didn’t really try to work it out somehow or even find out what he wanted. And I never did anything that should make Wallace like me. And...I know I’ve never deserved to have someone like Pascal care so much about me. And I didn’t deserve to survive that fire any more than my family deserved to die, you know? I bet all these people who died in E didn’t know what was going on and just wanted to keep their head down, just like me. But here I am, alive, and my friends are alive, and Pascal loves me and I love him, and Ben’s okay with me, and Wallace likes me, and I’ve done nothing to make it this way. I’ve just...been...avoiding everything and...being a completely mediocre person, and all of these great things just...fall into my lap.”

He closes his eyes and brushes a hand back through his hair. Eno is quiet for a moment—Kip finally glances over to see him writing a note at a leisurely pace.

“Well,” Eno says, swiveling the chair back towards Kip. “To begin with, you realize most of these things you’re talking about is the absence of something bad? To not have died, or been hurt, or have lost friends, to not be hated? And the rest are things most people would consider to be standard desires. And, in the context of emotional wellbeing, are really needs. To feel loved by people you trust and care about. To have intimacy where you desire it.”

Kip listens closely, blushing. He rubs his fingers along the seam on the outside of his thigh.

“...What it seems,” Eno continues, “is that you not only consider regular, beneficial things to be too good for you, but also that you should have suffered more than you have. And that even the alleviation of some suffering is distressing to you, in the absence of any effort from yourself to prove you deserve it.”

Kip is quiet. He curls his hand into a loose fist to stop from fidgeting.

“...Basically, it seems like this might be the evolution of your survivor’s guilt,” Eno says. “Now about District E in addition to the fire.”

“...Is it?” Kip murmurs quietly.

“You judge yourself by harsher standards than anyone else, consider yourself generally inferior, and question all your wants and motivations for some kind of destructive selfishness,” Eno says. “You know that your family and everyone else who died did nothing to deserve it. And you know that surviving isn’t a matter of being more or less deserving. But you want to prove you don’t think you’re superior to anyone who didn’t survive or more deserving than them. You overcompensate by focusing on any flaws you perceive in yourself so much you amplify and condemn them in your mind, and see yourself as worse than others around you. You don’t want anything good to happen to you that you don’t feel you directly caused by yourself, because you think that suggests you think you inherently deserve good things. Which, on top of not wanting to feel you deserve even to be alive, is an upsetting concept.”

“...Wow,” Kip finally says. “I think you might be right. For once.”

“Heh. I do try. I was bound to get something eventually. And, you know, your self-loathing doesn’t JUST seem to stem from this one area. I’ve known you a long time, after all.”

“I’m sure I’ve made, like, a whole tapestry of reasons to look down or feel bad about myself,” Kip murmurs. “Like how I avoid things. I can’t just have one cause. I need it to be so involved I can’t ever disentangle the matter.”

“Yeah,” Eno laughs. “Let’s just blow off the rest of this appointment and go get drinks. It’s hopeless.”

“At four in the afternoon?”

“Absolutely. You’re my last appointment today.”

“Oh, really? Great, I get to hang around for a while.”

“You don’t think I’m too good for you?” Eno teases.

Kip looks over at him with a smile.

“I think all sorts of things about you, Eno.”

Eno grins at him.

“Well, you can tell me about it after your appointment is done. Don’t think you can get out of hearing about coping methods for PTSD.”

Kip lies back against the chaise.

“...Fine.”

—

Kip spends an hour in Eno’s apartment. He watches as Eno moves around the kitchen, making a tray for them to share over tea and coffee. He keeps thinking of the moment in front of his family’s grave, when Eno said he sometimes feels he doesn’t deserve even to look at Kip.

And it’s maybe this thought that makes Kip particularly affectionate, but before the visit is done he’s hugged Eno half a dozen times, once in a long, upright hold that lasted several minutes, and kissed him on the corner of the jaw while saying goodbye.

Between this and the imminence of both Pascal and Wallace, Kip forgets to generate a protective pocket of coldness in his corner of the train car, but the human who takes the seat in front of his seems to have no interest in paying him any attention. Kip hopes they ride for more than just a few stops.

—

After touching base back at the apartment and chatting with Molly and Roy for a minute, Kip heads out to meet Pascal at his apartment. Pascal is waiting for him when he arrives, dressed in jeans and socks and a mossy green tee. Kip can feel the slight dampness of his hair when he kisses him hello, the steam-bathed softness of his skin, smell his soap.

“Was being awake at work too awful?” Kip asks him.

“Mm—not really. I got into my stride after the first half hour or so. Right now I’m hardly tired at all.” He lifts Kip up against his chest and spins him in a semicircle to prove this. “What about you?”

“I was a little out of it. But then I got to go home and take a nap.” 

Pascal drops Kip to the floor with a mock-wounded gasp. Kip giggles and hugs his bag to his front.

“I’ll make up for the betrayal,” he promises.

—

He ends up helping Pascal with some paperwork, then helping him with dinner, then giving him a backrub that lulls him to sleep on the couch. Kip climbs up and puts a blanket over him and peruses Pascal’s small bookshelf, pulling out a novel and curling up in the armchair to read while letting Pascal regain his lost hour of sleep. 

Pascal eventually rouses for no apparent reason, rolling over and sitting up with a slow inhale, arm over his eyes.

“...What time is it?” he mumbles. 

“It’s only been, like...forty minutes,” Kip says, checking his phone. “Sorry. I wanted to let you sleep a little while.”

“It’s cool...I just wasn’t expecting to nap or anything,” Pascal laughs softly. “Augh—“ He shakes out his hair.

Kip sets the book aside and kicks the footrest up, leaning the armchair back.

“Let’s just pass out here for the rest of the night,” he suggests.

“Nooo,” Pascal groans, pushing himself up. He walks over and kneels down in front of the armchair, dropping his head in Kip’s lap. “That’s for later. In bed. I wanna do more stuff with you.”

Kip laughs and blushes, patting Pascal on the back of the head.

“We could go for a walk,” he says. “All the businesses that are open late on Friday nights and everything. All the stuff they set up outside. The plazas with the lights and fountains and all that stuff.”

Pascal hums in consideration.

Only about seven minutes later, they head out. Kip has Pascal’s arm in his hand, and one of his hoodies wrapped around his waist in case he needs it in the cooled night atmosphere. They go first to a slightly tucked away avenue towards the water, wandering slowly up and down the sidewalk, chatting, laughing, looking at the shops and people around them. They wander to another street, and another. Kip knows one end of it intersects with Berkley, and he slows his pace as they head further and further down. Seemingly attuned to this reluctance, Pascal casually suggests turning around, possibly going down an adjoining street next. Kip smiles and agrees with this plan.

Kip buys a mimosa and a piece of strawberry-infused cake, and shares both with Pascal, sitting with him on the stone border of a copse of mulch, bushes, and trees. Kip keeps stealing glances at Pascal’s face in the soft glow of the lights around them, his expression of warm serenity made even more lovely by the illumination of his handsomeness.

Kip’s mind wanders and he’s caught in the act; Pascal only smiles, and Kip smiles back, slipping his arm around Pascal’s waist.

Back at the apartment a half hour later, Pascal pulls Kip into a hug, then into a kiss, then another. They fall onto the couch, tugging at each other, the passion of their kissing tempered by their easy pace.

“Pas,” Kip murmurs against his cheek, eyes closed. He gropes at his wide chest. “You’re so warm.”

“Mm...” Pascal catches his mouth with his own. Slips his tongue inside to brush against Kip’s. Kip shifts his hips restlessly. “...I’ve been thinking about you all day.”

His voice is low and thrillingly textured.

A minute later Kip pulls out of a deep kiss to rest his forehead on Pascal’s shoulder and line his erection up alongside Pascal’s.

“...I do think about you lots at work,” Kip breathes. “I imagine you touching all over me and...fucking me...even when the place is full of people I think about you being there, pushing me up against the wall, fucking me over the counter...”

His hips are gripped by Pascal’s thighs—Pascal bucks up against him. Kip gasps and grinds back.

“I think of fucking you too,” Kip murmurs. “I’d love to just...have you underneath me...or put you on a table and fuck you nice and hard until we both finish...climb on top of you and ride your dick...or put mine in your mouth...”

Pascal grunts and softly bites down on the crook of Kip’s neck. He puts his arms tight around Kip’s back, pulling him in as he works Kip’s skin between his teeth. Kip sighs happily, eyes flickering open and drifting closed again, humping Pascal’s lap.

A quarter of an hour later, Kip is pushed up against the bedroom wall, gripping Pascal’s hair, trying to keep from fucking his mouth. Pascal slides his head down Kip’s length and sucks hard; Kip jolts and whines sharply.

“Mm...” Pascal pulls off, dragging the tip of his tongue against Kip’s dick all the way. “D’you like that?” he asks, a little breathlessly.

Kip looks down at him, Pascal looks up and locks eyes with him, leaning forward, teasingly slow, to kiss the very end of Kip’s cock. He curls his arm around the base and slowly drags it against his lips, spreading the leaking drops of precum over them like a gleaming balm.

“I wanna swallow your cum,” Pascal murmurs, almost to himself.

Kip inhales tremulously, hands flexing against Pascal’s shoulders.

“I want you to cum in my mouth. I wanna swallow it all.” His voice has that low texture, an erotic friction of its own. “I love it.”

“Fuck—“ Kip exhales. “Pasc—“

“I wanna fuck you.” Pascal looks up at him, face red, gaze heated. He slides his arm between Kip’s thighs, tip curling up to nudge all but inside him.

Kip parts his lips, sinks down gently against the arm.

“So...go ahead and suck my cum out of my dick and then fuck me,” he breathes, mouth twitching with a smile.

Pascal groans low in his throat and pulls Kip back into his mouth. Within seconds, Kip can scarcely stay upright—his legs actually buckle a minute later, and Pascal whisks him up in his arms and onto the mattress, climbing back over him at once.

Kip pulls him off when he’s getting close, props himself up to look at Pascal’s deeply flushed face, the sweat on his forehead and the aquose spit wetting his chin, the eager burn in his gorgeous brown eyes. Pascal’s torso sinks and rises as he stares back, laboriously catching his breath. Kip lets go of his hair and thrusts up towards his face and the sound of Pascal’s panting is replaced with his hard, wet sucks, the occasional brief, rattling hiss of air slipping in through his lips, the shift of the mattress as he crawls closer in and bears down, the moans reverberating in his deep chest. Kip knows he’s making plenty of enthusiastic noise of his own, but all he cares to process is Pascal’s.

When Kip cums, Pascal takes so much of his cock down his throat and swallows so hard that it feels like he’s pulling the orgasm out of him. Kip cries out again and again, grasping at Pascal’s hair and back, spasming weakly against the bed, pinned down by the hips.

“Oh...FUCK, Pasc,” he whimpers, finally sinking back. “Oh god...”

Pascal smoothly pulls away with a gasp; Kip’s fingertips slide along his shoulders.

“Heh—“ Pascal is panting for air, slowly pumping himself. “That one lasted a while... You look so good, Kip.”

Kip flickers a smile, soaking in the last ripples of his climax.

“Thanks, babe,” he mumbles. He looks at the deep red of Pascal’s face, the brightness of his eyes, the gleam of his own cum on Pascal’s flushed lips. “So do you.”

For a moment they’re quiet and still, both breathing heavily.

“...You wanna fuck me, Pasc?” Kip asks.

“Fuck, yes,” Pascal groans. “I—yes, please.”

Kip smiles and rolls over onto his stomach. He pulls a pillow over and buries his face against it, drawing his knees up, spreading them slightly out. He maneuvers himself into his best ass-up fuck-me pose, elegantly arching his back, rolling his hips subtly with each breath, shifting himself side to side as he hitches his knees up a little further, raises his ass a little higher.

“C’mon, Pasc,” he encourages. “I wanna feel you in me.”

“Fuck—“ Pascal gasps under his breath.

Kip smiles to himself.

Pascal climbs up onto the bed and takes hold of Kip’s waist, sliding the underside of his cock up along Kip’s ass. He groans quietly; Kip grinds back.

“Start slow,” Kip mumbles against the pillow. “Work me open.”

Pascal does, lubing up the end of his arm, sliding the tip into Kip. The relaxation of his afterglow makes things especially easy for Kip, but he wants this to build up, and wants to have the time to regain an erection. A couple times he tells Pascal to take his arm out and fuck his thighs for a minute. The force of Pascal’s thrusts, the tightness of his grip, the huffing edge to his exhales—Kip can tell how bad Pascal wants this, how worked up he is. He loves it.

After having Pascal fuck him with his arm a while—for the pleasure moreso than the need to be relaxed further open—Kip tells him to go ahead and push inside. Pascal is so shaky he fumbles with the bottle of lube while slicking up his dick, but when he takes Kip’s hips and pulls them up, he pauses.

“...Is anything wrong?” Kip murmurs, pushing his ass back towards him.

“Not at all. I just like to look at you for a second.”

And he puts the head of his cock into place, and Kip holds still for him, and Pascal presses what feels like a quarter of the way into him in one smooth slide. Kip opens his mouth soundlessly, rubbing his face against the pillow, twisting the blankets in his grip.

“God, you’re so good...” Pascal moans, rich and low. “Kip...”

He pushes in deeper. Kip arches, shifts restlessly. 

“Pascal,” he breathes. “Nnh...get all the way in...”

Pascal rocks slowly back and forth, then pushes the last couple inches inside until their hips meet, shoving Kip forward, making him gasp.

“Yes,” Kip moans. “Oh—god yes, fuck me—“

Pascal adjusts his position, grabs hold of Kip’s waist, and bucks quick and shallow, smacking up against Kip with an eager rhythm.

“Ah—!” Kip grasps at the bed. “H-harder!”

Pascal obliges at once.

Both are fairly breathless when Pascal slows things back down into a lull—Kip is starting to get hard again, aching to take hold of himself.

“Touch my dick, Pas,” he murmurs. “Please.”

Pascal rocks smoothly into him, reaches around to feel out his cock. He finds it easily, immediately giving it a loose wrap of his arm, stroking him. Kip whimpers and thrusts into it.

Pascal shifts his position again, and suddenly each forward rock of Kip’s hips shoves his cock into Pascal’s coiled arm, each backwards rock nudges the end of Pascal’s dick against his prostate.

Kip shoves his face against the pillow, helplessly bucking harder. Eventually Pascal starts to move again, shifting a couple of inches back and forth every time, deliberate, precise.

The angle is perfect and Kip is still being pumped in time with the steady rhythm. Pascal gradually intensifies it all, coiling his arm tighter, fucking Kip with deep, even strokes. 

“Yeah, Pas,” Kip breathes. “Fuck me just like that...”

Pascal moans softly, pushing in even a little deeper.

“Fuck me,” Kip repeats enthusiastically. “C’mon—fuck me—hard as you want. Cum inside me.”

“Oh my god—Kip—“

Kip feels Pascal lean in over him, sliding his arm up Kip’s waist, then letting go entirely to grab on to the wall.

Kip shoves his face against the pillow as Pascal starts thrusting quicker and harder.

“Where’s good?” Pascal asks, shifting his weight slightly forward, tilting his hips. “How’s this?”

He has it exactly right, of course, and Kip lets him know with an arch of his back and a pleased moan.

Within the minute, Kip is striking a balance between keeping a grip on the sheets and mattress and pillows and letting his body be as relaxed as is practical, leaving forcefulness and strength to Pascal’s side of things.

He’s panting, feeling a drop of sweat work its way down his neck, when he senses Pascal getting especially close. 

“Oh—yes—“ He sighs his encouragement, pushing his hips back. “God, yes—Pasc—I-I want your cum inside me—c’mon—“

“Fuck,” Pascal breathes.

Pascal drives into Kip, fucking him hard, panting a heavy moan with nearly every breath. Kip groans and whimpers, letting Pascal have all the control, weakly bracing himself against the wall.

It continues just like that right to Pascal’s climax—he pulls Kip back all the way onto his cock, cums deep inside him with one hard pulse after another, and finally relaxes with a rough, shaky breath, releasing Kip’s side.

Kip stays still a minute after Pascal gently pulls out, catching his breath as well, eyes closed, slowly flexing and relaxing his hands as he processes every sensation, puts them all together. 

Finally he lets his legs slide down, lowering his body to the bed with a deep sigh. He shifts his hips reflexively back and forth when his erection is pinned between the mattress and his stomach. He reaches down, bunches up a handful of the blankets and pushes it against his cock, grinding against the soft resistance.

“Kip...” Pascal breathes. 

Kip rolls over. Pascal is sitting back on his heels, shining with sweat, hair messed, face flushed—most beautiful of all to see is the loose relaxation of his body and the deep affection and contentment of his expression.

Pascal moves towards him, gazing at his face until leaning down to press kisses across his chest. Then up to his throat, then all over his face—Kip seeks out Pascal’s mouth with his own, but Pascal often pulls away to instead kiss his cheeks and jaw and nose and ears, maybe to let Kip breathe. Because Kip drops a fair amount of self-control at Pascal’s arm spiraled tight around his cock.

Pascal encourages him softly, murmuring to him sweetly, pulling him in against his body. Kip lets his head sink back, grasps at Pascal’s arms and sides as he thrusts towards him. Pascal buries his face against Kip’s arched throat, nuzzling it, kissing it. Kip’s mouth opens slightly. He hooks his leg around Pascal’s and fucks his arm.

Pascal bites gently as Kip hits his peak, gathering him in, sucking at his neck as Kip cries out and releases all his tension with a snap of the hips and a shuddering gasp.

Kip goes limp in Pascal’s embrace, breathing hard. Pascal holds him just as close, pulls away from his throat to push a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then returns to the former.

Eventually Kip stirs and slides a hand up Pascal’s chest, opening his eyes.

“Mm—“ Pascal gives an almost-hard suck and a nip before sliding his lips down to Kip’s collarbone, then pushing himself up to look at Kip. “You good?”

Kip nods.

“Good.” Pascal laughs and cuddles them closer. Kip leans his head against Pascal’s shoulder.

—

Kip showers off thoroughly in hot water, then slowly strips the bed and puts on a fresh set of sheets while Pascal takes his turn. He lies down in various positions, trying to stretch, to relax, to ease away any slight aches in his body. He’s lying flat on his back and hugging his thighs to his chest when Pascal reenters the room.

“What’s up?” Pascal sinks down next to him. 

“Just stretching,” Kip sighs, rolling over to face him. He catches Pascal’s eye and smiles at him. “How’re you?”

“Hmm.” Pascal flops onto his back. “I feel pretty nice.”

“Good.”

When they’re settling into bed, Kip runs his nails up and down Pascal’s back. Pascal arches subtly into it, then grows more and more relaxed minute by minute. 

Kip eventually feels too tired to continue, instead draping his arm over Pascal’s side, snuggling a little closer to him.

“You’re great, Pascal,” he mumbles.

“...Yeah?” Pascal breathes. 

He takes hold of Kip’s hand. Kip curls his fingers around Pascal’s arm.

“I love you,” Kip murmurs, eyes closed. He presses a soft kiss to Pascal’s back.

“Mm—“ Pascal lifts Kip’s hand and kisses his knuckles. “I love you, too.”

Kip’s dreams are quiet.

—

Kip has another early shift, and despite both him and Pascal having slept soundly through the night, the whole time he’s at the café he thinks of going back to the apartment and crawling into bed for an hour or two. He’s a little sore, a little tired, and a little nervous about facing anything else today beyond a satisfying nap.

Something like talking to Wallace, as Wallace may have been informed he would.

Luckily, the thought has a nice kind of excitement to it as well, so he can’t feel TOO anxious.

When he does head home, he gets out of his clothes and buries himself in blankets as hoped. Lying down feels good on his legs and backs and shoulders after being fucked hard in the ass and then spending hours carrying boxes and hefting trash bags and walking around on tile. Though he easily relaxes, he doesn’t particularly notice his consciousness drifting until he seemingly drops off all at once.

After his alarm wakes him, he slips on jeans and a thin sweater, puts his keys in his pocket, drops his bottle of detergent in his hamper, and carries it out the door and down the stairs. He feels a little flustered just being in the laundry room, so close to Wallace’s apartment, remembering the time that Wallace talked to him in this room, telling him he missed him, wanted to stay close to him, hugged him.

Kip wonders how much Wallace had or hadn’t liked him back then. He supposes Wallace might tell him if they talk.

But first Kip has to do this laundry, obviously. And maybe vacuum his room. And maybe take another shower.

Besides, he tells himself, it’s not like Wallace would even be back from work yet. Except then he remembers that it’s Saturday, and Wallace is off. 

But he still doesn’t know that Wallace would be hanging around his apartment all day. He tells himself that Wallace is definitely probably out, and picks up his empty hamper, and quickly carries it back upstairs to his bedroom.

—

But a few hours later, he’s a bit more restless about the matter. After sending a text to Pascal, he wonders if it would be any sort of good idea to text Wallace too, or if showing up at his door with basically no warning would have any advantage. After about three dozen failed attempts at composing some kind of casual, two-sentence text, Kip decides that the plan to randomly knock on Wallace’s door does have the advantage of actually seeming within the realm of possibility.

He does go ahead and take another shower. He lets his hair dry in the air for a while and then blowdries it the rest of the way, puts on deodorant, shaves, stands there for a minute of two, staring at himself in the mirror.

The thing is, he really has no idea what he wants to say to Wallace, or in what direction he hopes to guide the encounter. No clue what he can expect will happen, how he can expect to feel. All he can think is that he’ll show up, tell Wallace he’s ready to talk, and then...things will depend on what Wallace says.

Kip sighs and puts his clothes back on. He goes into his room and puts his keys and wallet and phone into his pockets. He puts on a comfortable pair of shoes. He feels like he ought to do something else, put on something else, but he stands futilely in the middle of the floor, unable to think of what might satisfy this. He just combs his hair and wipes off his glasses.

He tells himself to mentally pretend he’s just heading for the front door, and steps out of the apartment. He’s definitely feeling a little fluttery as he descends the stairs, and by the time he’s walking down the hallway, he’s a little chilled from his nerves.

He approaches Wallace’s door slowly, as though expecting something to burst forth from it. He somehow knocks without first hesitating for several minutes.

After hearing nothing from inside the apartment, he waits a minute and then tries again, a touch louder.

Nothing. 

Kip feels himself blush, as if this is something he should be embarrassed about. He turns and walks more quickly back the way he came, hoping he won’t be seen by anyone. He escapes back into their apartment, into his room, and kicks off his shoes and sits on his bed, staring at the wall. His gaze moves to his family’s picture. He gets up and waters the plants, then takes out his laptop and fairly effortlessly converts a document of notes into a coherent post for his blog.

He lies back on his bed with a sigh, closing his eyes. He stands up again to get his sleeve from the drawer, stripping naked again, lying back down, slowly stroking himself. Minutes later he’s working his erection with the sleeve, head back, eyes closed.

He cums across his front, then slumps back against the mattress, panting quietly. He pulls out of the sleeve, sets it on his nightstand, and then closes his eyes and lets gravity direct him. After a minute or two, he bothers to get out a few tissues and wipe off his stomach and chest. He rolls over to toss it in his wastebasket, then lets gravity take over again. 

—

Kip texts with Pascal on and off throughout the course of the afternoon, cooking himself a late lunch in the meantime, hoping the activity helps him feel more put-together. He wonders if Roy and Molly will be back from their day out before dinner, or if they’ll stop at a restaurant somewhere. He wonders if he should try again with Wallace, or if he’s only likelier than ever to be out on a Saturday evening, and whether maybe he should just wait to run into him at some point.

It’d be funny if Wallace had his weekend night plans while Kip sits at home, as usual, not even bold enough to make the move to initiate talking. He’d deserve THAT, that’s for sure.

At around six, he quietly slips downstairs and knocks at Wallace’s door one more time. For a split second he considers asking Ben if he knows what Wallace is up to, then quickly decides against it.

After no answer, he goes back to the apartment. Roy and Molly are still out a couple of hours later; he makes leftovers and chats with Pascal on speakerphone for a while.

“I’m so boring right now, Pas,” he says. “I didn’t even close at work and I’m still just...in the empty apartment, making myself some leftovers after a day of pretty much just doing laundry, and no plans for the rest of the night. What am I even doing, you know?”

“I doubt it’s much comfort to hear I’m sort of in a similar situation,” Pascal says. “That pottery class was pretty much the most consistently exciting thing I’d do on my own. I guess I’m boring, too.”

“...It’s not like hanging out or going out is stuff I’ve never done,” Kip sighs. “I’m just...I was boring after the fire, and then when we moved back here it probably just intensified, and now...ugh. And you’re not boring, you know.”

“You aren’t actually boring either,” Pascal laughs. “But...I dunno...after everything, it’s kinda harder just to do stuff like...make plans, or go do stuff on a whim. It’s still only been a few months since we’ve been able to relax, after all.”

“...Yeah,” Kip says. “You can’t really shake things off and have everything feel just the way it did before. Maybe we’re depressed, and it’s hard to tell because life is going so well.”

“Hmm. I dunno. Are you feeling depressed?”

“I mean, sometimes, yeah. Nothing all that bad. I’m sure it’s playing its part in things, as usual, but overall I’m doing pretty okay. Just not that popular or energetic, I guess.” He shrugs.

“Tell me about it,” Pascal sighs. “...Do you think maybe I intimidate people? Because I look like I could pick them up with one arm? Because, I mean, I know it’s been a terrible time for making friends and all, but man, it’s hardly any different from when I first moved here. Like, in terms of not knowing anyone.”

“Aw, Pasc...”

“I’m not really all that quiet,” Pascal says. “I mean, I’m not LOUD, but I talk to people a decent amount. I think I’m okay at it.”

“Yeah, you are,” Kip affirms. “You’re really, really good at it. Honestly, I don’t know—maybe people DO get intimidated by you. But they ought to love you as soon as they talk to you. Maybe you should just keep finding stuff like the pottery class. Things to get involved in with other people, and all. Maybe there’s community events and projects and stuff that would be fun. I know it’s not very...it’s not exactly like going clubbing...but, I mean, just doing shit with people is nice when you’re, you know, lonely, or sad, or whatever.”

“Have you been doing anything like that?” Pascal asks.

“Not even,” Kip sighs. “I’m just saying stuff. Don’t listen to me. I don’t know where to find friends. Maybe there’s like, a gay bookstore? And it’ll have a book club we can join.”

“That sounds like a pretty good plan,” Pascal says.

“I just keep thinking of the kinds of stuff you’re only supposed to want to do when you’re, like, twice our age. I’m pretty sure we’re just supposed to go to bars and get invited to parties.”

“Well...have you been invited to any parties tonight? That let you bring a plus one?”

“No.”

“Me neither.”

There’s a pause.

“...We could go to this hill in the park and meet up with this astronomy thing in an hour,” Pascal says. “I just searched for community events going on tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I think it’s, y’know, looking at stuff through telescopes and finding constellations. It IS pretty clear out. And just a crescent moon, and all.”

“I don’t have a telescope, though. I don’t suppose you do?”

“No, but I think they’ll just...have some there we can look through.”

“Hm.”

“Yeah.”

“...I like stars,” Kip says. “I had this nice dream about them the other night.”

“Let’s go and hang out on top of a hill for a while,” Pascal says.

“Okay.”

—

About half an hour later they’re sitting in the grass, looking up as constellations and planets are mapped out for them.

“I think the big telescope is being pointed at Saturn,” Kip says. “It’s probably good enough to see the rings.”

“Want me to go check it out and let you know?”

“Sure.” 

Pascal stands up, and Kip flops back against the grass and gazes up at all the scattered points of light above him.

A minute later Pascal returns. 

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s not, like, a photograph, but you can see where the rings are. It’s like a dot with a line across it.”

“Well, I’m not missing out on THAT,” Kip laughs, pushing himself up.

There’s a lot of humans around, but Kip keeps his attention skyward, and most people are already talking to each other anyway.

Looking through the telescope is another time he’s annoyed he wears glasses. But he sees the planet and its rings all the same, just as Pascal describes. He lifts his head to see it again as a speck in the sky, then back to the telescope, back and forth a few times. He lingers with the telescope for a few seconds to fix the image in his mind, then returns to Pascal.

“That was pretty cool,” he says, sitting down next to him.

“Yeah. It’s amazing.”

Kip looks over at Pascal looking up at the sky; he smiles and rubs his hand against Pascal’s arm and shoulder.

“...What’re you thinking?” he asks him.

Pascal shakes his head slowly.

“It’s beautiful,” he says. “I love to look at the night sky. The moon, and the stars...I could just sit for an hour or even longer, just watching.”

“I bet you have,” Kip laughs. “You’ve spent an hour stargazing before, haven’t you.”

Pascal nods.

“Usually more like...somewhere between twenty and forty minutes,” he says. “But sometimes, yeah, I’d spend a long time just watching the stars come out, and thinking.”

Kip gazes steadily at him. After a few quiet moments, Pascal looks over at him with a soft smile.

“I’ve done that a few times thinking about you,” he laughs. “Like back when I first realized I was seriously falling in love with you.”

Kip blushes and laughs.

“You didn’t,” he teases. “Were you, like, sitting in a garden at the time? Or in a gondola?”

“I wish. I’d just go outside and find a quiet spot, or look through my window, or whatever. I always liked it better than staring up at the ceiling.”

“Mm...what’s your favorite thing about it?” Kip asks. “Looking at the sky, I mean. At night.”

“Well...” Pascal lies back in the grass with a sigh. “I like that nothing that happens here can touch anything up there. And it’s gorgeous, and peaceful, and so impossibly far away, but also just...right here. And whenever I look at the sky, it kind of feels like...what it might be like if time wasn’t an issue. Like what it’d be like to be outside of time, somehow. Like everything that ever has or will exist is just...all with you in the present.”

Kip blushes deeper as he listens, gently lying his hand in Pascal’s arm.

“...What was the dream you had?” Pascal murmurs.

“Hm?”

“You said you had a dream about stars the other night.”

“Oh, right.”

Kip settles more comfortably on the grass, folding his legs underneath himself.

“Well, I was looking up at the night sky, like this,” he says. “It was a really pretty blue, and the stars were glowing, and they were closer, but still really far away. Still unreachable. And they were floating up there, and I was lying on top of the surface of an ocean. And the ocean was the same as the sky, y’know? Like, it went on forever too, and there was the same kind of glow all throughout it, as far as I could see down there. And I could hear my family’s voices, kind of coming from nowhere in particular, and it was kind of distant and echoey, so I couldn’t actually tell what they were saying. But it was like they were talking and laughing with each other. I was trying to talk to them too, but I think they were too far to hear me. And then I was floating inside the ocean, and it and the sky had pretty much become one thing. And I woke up after that, I think.”

Pascal turns his head to look at him.

“...Wow,” he says.

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “I didn’t exactly realize I was dreaming at the time, but it was one of those dreams where I remembered they’re gone, so...it was really pretty, and...it felt like we were actually in the same place, even if I couldn’t reach them.”

“...Wow,” Pascal says again.

“Yeah.”

“How’d you feel about that?” Pascal asks.

“Well...I thought it was real as I was dreaming it, so I was just...pretty excited about being able to hear them, and maybe being able to talk back to them. It’s not like I was aware of the full picture, that they had died and all, but I knew that I missed them and really wanted to be with them. Usually when I dream of them, I’m with them in the past, before anything happened, or they’re dying. This was different. And...it was nice.”

Kip winds a long grassblade around his finger. 

“Does Eno do a lot of dream analysis stuff? Because that one sounds all symbolic.”

“Heh—I do tell him about, uh, themes I notice sometimes. Or if I’m having nightmares more often than usual—things like that. If I keep having dreams about underwater night skies and my family’s voices, I might bring it up.”

“I mean...like, these peaceful, infinite spaces...and you being at this liminal border between them, and then they’re not even separate anymore, and your family being there, but also not...”

Kip shrugs.

“I’m not very romantic about these kinds of things,” he murmurs. 

“If it shows anything about how you perceive your current relationship to them...I don’t know,” Pascal says. “Them being both out of reach, like...you can’t interact with them, but they’re also still around you in a way... It kind of sounds like the way you talk about things. Sorry if I’m overstepping. I mean, a nice dream doesn’t have to be anything better than a nice dream.”

Kip shrugs again.

“I mean, maybe. I turn all these anxieties and junk into dreams, so why not thoughts about my family, too? I just don’t quite...I mean, I guess in the dream it could’ve been that they were still just memories. I dunno. Maybe it WAS all like...this artistic interpretation of how I feel.”

Pascal stretches his legs out and rubs Kip’s arm.

“It’s YOUR dream,” he says. “It’s whatever you think it is.”

Kip responds with a hum and looks at the moon, a sharp, waxing sliver of a crescent.

“...It feels nice out,” he murmurs. 

“That’s good,” Pascal says. “...I think I found that toucan constellation.”

Kip lies back in the grass next to him, shoulder to shoulder, putting the side of his forehead against Pascal’s.

“Show me,” he says.

“Okay, well...see that bright star a little way above the moon?”

“Mmhm.”

“If you kinda travel this way—“ Pascal moves his arm diagonally. “You see another star like that, and then there’s one this way—“ He gestures with his arm again. “And they kinda make a triangle.”

“Is that the toucan?”

“No. It’ll just help me explain where it is. You see the triangle?”

“I think so.”

“Okay, well if you look at the shortest leg there, and travel out pretty much perpendicular from the center, there’s this little arch of four stars. They’re not as bright, but the second one from the top is the brightest.”

“Hang on...” Kip tilts his head slightly, tracing a careful line with his finger. “Okay, yeah, I’m pretty sure I see it.”

“See, it looks like the picture on the chart,” Pascal says. He passes Kip the sheet and points.

Kip looks back and forth between the paper and the sky.

“Shit, it totally does,” he laughs. “You’re an astronomer.”

“Thanks.” Pascal laughs too.

“I wonder if there’s any observatories around?” Kip muses. “You know, the really huge telescopes inside the domes? That must be something, to look through one of those.”

“I dunno,” Pascal says. “I bet they’d be able to see the rings of Saturn really great.”

“Yeah.” Kip exhales and closes his eyes. “It’s pretty nice just like this, too.”

“Mmhm.”

After a minute, Kip sits up again.

“God, this weather is seriously nice,” he sighs. “I wish I could be naked out here.”

“Ooh—“ Pascal rolls onto his side and drapes his arm across Kip’s stomach. “That would be nice.”

Kip grins and strokes his arm.

“Well...” He turns and looks at Pascal. “You look as beautiful as ever in the starlight, you know. I would definitely fuck you outside at night.”

Pascal giggles.

“Aw. Good to know.”

Kip smiles, lifting his face to look at the moon.

“...We should’ve brought snacks,” he says.

“Oh my god. You’re right.”

They both sigh, then laugh.

Kip kicks off his shoes.

“I was gonna try to talk to Wallace today, but I didn’t ever catch him at home, so. That was my thrilling Saturday night plan. Well, Saturday afternoon plan. But I guess he’s been out in the world outside his apartment, or whatever.”

“Where does he think HE’S going?” Pascal laughs. “That’s disappointing, though. You make up your mind to do something hard, but stuff doesn’t line up.”

“Yeah. I guess maybe I’ll text him tomorrow, or something. Or just wait until whenever I next run into him. We have to talk at SOME point.”

“That’s true. I dunno—maybe he’s just waiting for you to be the one to get in touch. Like, maybe he feels bad and figures you want space.”

Kip shrugs.

“Yeah, maybe so. It’s just all kinda hard to guess at. Like, I’m just...figuring I’ll give him the chance to say whatever he was planning to say. I dunno. I guess I’ll just text him. Who needs the suspense?”

“That works,” Pascal says, shrugging. “And, like, he should want to hear from you. However you get in touch shouldn’t be a big deal.”

“Yeah...” Kip leans in and kisses Pascal’s forehead. “Well, I’ll try. Hopefully I don’t get stood up again.”

“He’d better not,” Pascal laughs. “It’s, like, my responsibility as your boyfriend to protect you from any bad dates.”

“Would not being texted back about meeting up count?”

“Mm...sure, yeah.”

“Oh, okay.” Kip laughs and lies down against Pascal, head on his chest. “Watch out, Wallace.”

—

Kip walks Pascal home, kissing him goodnight on the arm and the lips. 

“Later,” Pascal says.

Kip smiles up at him.

“Goodnight.”

He walks slowly back to the apartment, taking a longer route and savoring the pleasantness of the air against his body, the temperature precisely comfortable. He looks up at the stars every other minute.

He passes a small group chatting in the lobby, then hears Wallace’s voice amongst theirs and automatically turns back around.

He isn’t there. But Kip hears him again, and quickly sweeps around, scanning for him.

Wallace is walking the short distance down the hallway to his apartment. His back is to Kip; he’s talking and laughing into his phone, holding it in place between his tilted head and raised shoulder.

Kip is momentarily frozen in place. Then he wheels around and retraces his steps, bypassing the chatting group to go over to the mailboxes. He slowly locates theirs and peers inside, though he’d emptied it earlier. He thinks he hears an apartment door open and close, and after a few seconds spent pricking up his ears for any sound of Wallace’s voice, he’s satisfied that the coast is clear.

He slips into the stairwell. He can’t really account for the paroxysm of almost-shyness. Maybe he should have jogged over and caught Wallace by the shoulder, told him he’d been looking for him. Maybe it’s just nerves, butterflies, sheer lack of confidence.

Maybe it’s that if Wallace saw him, they’d have to go ahead and talk, and it’s already so late on a Saturday night. Then he scoffs at himself, shaking his head—as if there was some real chance that Wallace would’ve tried to pull him into bed.

But the thought comes back when he’s showering off again, and he exhales slowly and palms himself until he’s fully hard, then wraps his hand around his erection, pumping steadily until he climaxes. 

He sits in the steam for a little bit afterwards, wrapped loosely in a towel. There’s something sweet about the idea of lying in bed with Wallace. The thought of cuddling up behind him, wrapping his arms around the human—it’s simply nice.

It isn’t like he hasn’t, technically, slept with Wallace. And they’ve touched and held each other. But the two have never really mixed. Though there was the time they slept sitting next to each other on a train, and Kip had awoken with his head on Wallace’s shoulder, their sides pushed together. He’d felt this little shiver pass over him as his heart skipped, and had quickly sat upright, turning to face Wallace with an apology half-formed in his mind. But Wallace had been solidly asleep—Kip had chosen to assume that Wallace had never known Kip sank against him in his sleep. Then he had gotten up and gone to the bathroom just to smooth himself over a bit.

He remembers the times he’d held Wallace in an attempt to comfort him the best way he knew how. He’d put his forehead against the side of Wallace’s, hugged him tightly around the shoulders. He’d considered kissing him then, just on the cheekbone, in the hair, behind the ear, but instead brushed tears from his face with his thumb and held him tighter.

He wonders how or if it would feel different to touch Wallace now. If there was already an undercurrent coloring the contact between them before they realized the nature of their feelings for each other. Why it is that now it seems so hard to predict what will happen, what will be felt, said, done.

He’s stepping into the unknown here, but that won’t be so bad if he can just be sure that all of the possibilities are good ones. And maybe they are—it certainly seems like everything’s lined up for him. Everyone’s okay with it, Wallace likes him too, there seems to be no problem. But who has a better creative talent for making up dozens of worse and worse and worse-case scenarios than him?

Lying in bed, he decides he’ll just have to do what he can—which is to play it on the safe side. He’ll make only casual moves until and unless Wallace does otherwise.

—

It’s another opening shift for him that Sunday. There’s fewer to-go orders from those heading to work, more friends meeting up, people stopping in to read the paper over a cup of coffee, sit and chat, linger. Despite the relaxed atmosphere, it gets busy a few times, and the door rings seemingly every minute. Once or twice, while he’s making cappuccinos and lattes, he half-expects to turn around and see Wallace sitting at the corner table, looking over and spotting him and giving that slightly awkward, brightly pleased smile.

Wallace doesn’t come in, and neither does anyone else Kip knows. He gets through the shift steadily and quietly, and after he clocks out, he lingers in the back for a moment and writes out a quick text to Wallace, asking simply if he’d think he’d like to meet up again to talk sometime.

He sends it before he can think about, puts his phone in his pocket, and heads to the apartment.

—

Kip gets a reply an hour later.

“I would love a chance to talk. What would be good for you? Do yoy have an evening off sometime soon?”

Kip puts his phone away and finishes eating before writing a reply.

“i close tomorrow, but i’m off on tuesday and wednesday.”

He bites his lip and mulls it over for a minute before adding—

“and i’m off for the rest of today. would any of that work?”

About half a minute later he gets a response.

“You’re off now? Are you at the cafe?”

Wallace had texted back so rapidly that Kip doesn’t insert a delay before his next text, either.

“no, i got back a little while ago, sorry”

He spends the next few minutes expecting the reply any moment. None comes, so he shrugs it off. It’s so clearly a terrible place to leave off in the conversation that there’s just no way Wallace won’t text again sooner or later. At least—he’s pretty sure.

He sighs and slides his hands into the hot water in the sink, swishing it around to mix in the dish soap. The suds rise quickly until bubbles are clinging to the hairs halfway up his forearm.

Knocks on the door. Quiet, but startling enough to make him jolt and splash some water across his front regardless.

“Shit—“ he hisses. He slides his arms up out of the sink, looking around for where he sat the dishtowel. “Oh my god.”

Finally he spots it hanging on the oven door. He makes his way over to it, trying not to drip on the floor too badly, and hurriedly scrubs off his hands and arms.

He tosses it onto the counter and strides over to the door.

“Wallace,” he says, pulling it open. “Hello.”

“Hey,” Wallace says. Already giving him that friendly, awkwardly apologetic smile.

“You could’ve said you were just going to come up here,” Kip says. “I was just about to start washing dishes.”

“Oh—man, sorry.” Wallace scratches at his arm, glancing down and away. He’s a little breathless and red in the face, though whether that’s from nervousness or climbing the flights of stairs is somewhat ambiguous. “I guess I maybe got a little caught up in the moment.” 

“Well...do you want to come in?” 

“I—sure, yeah, if that’s okay.”

Kip opens the door wider and steps back; Wallace enters, one arm folded across his chest, looking around as though most interested in the view.

Kip shuts the door and hovers there. He’s sure he’s now feeling as nervous and self-conscious as Wallace might be, but his outward demeanor is made a bit cooler for this. If he’s going to be unsure of where to go or what to say, he’s going to try to act like doing nothing is just fine by him. Wallace came to him, this is where he lives—he should get to be the comfortable, unbothered one.

“Is it, uh...are you the only one here?” Wallace asks, standing in the middle of the room.

“They’re out shopping for their trip,” Kip says levelly. “And then Molly goes in to  
close later.”

“Oh,” Wallace says, nodding thoughtfully. 

He looks around with interest for another few seconds. Kip still waits near the door.

“Did—“

“Do you—“

Kip flickers a smile and sighs.

“Sorry,” Wallace laughs. “What were you gonna say?”

“...I was asking if you’d like something to drink.”

“Oh,” Wallace says. “Uh—sure, yes, thank you. Tea?”

“That’s usually my default,” Kip says, smiling softly. “What kind do you think you’d like? I’ve got a pretty good collection going.”

“Um...maybe a kind of black tea? With, like, fruit, or something...anything’s fine, really...” 

“Mm.” Kip turns and heads into the kitchen to open up the cabinet. “Lemon and honey?”

“Sure, yeah, thanks.”

Kip is certain Wallace would’ve said yes to whatever he offered. He runs some water into the kettle, turns a burner on high, takes out some cups, sets the kettle on the stove, and turns around to face Wallace.

“So,” he says.

“Uh—yeah—“ Wallace steps forward. He’s definitely blushing now. “Did you, um, want to talk? About—things?”

Kip blushes too. He pulls the hem of his sweater down, smooths the front of his jeans.

“...Sure.”

Kip lifts his head, immediately catching Wallace’s eye, and reflexively glances away. So much for playing it cool.

He turns his head, picking an arbitrary spot—the corner of the floor—and stares at it with a slight frown.

“...Ben told me a little bit,” he finally says. His face warms.

“Yeah, he—he said he did.”

Kip nips at the inside of his bottom lip and shifts his weight slightly, sliding his left hand into his pocket, thumb hooked through a beltloop.

“I was just glad to hear I hadn’t hurt him,” Kip continues quietly. “But I’d like to hear about the rest in your own words.”

“I...” Wallace exhales heavily. In his peripheral, Kip sees him lean back against the wall, run a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’m really, really sorry I didn’t explain things first. I kind of...let myself get too caught up in the moment. I really wanted to kiss you, and I—I let that come before more important things. Like letting you know that...it didn’t mean Ben was getting hurt.”

Kip glances over at Wallace once or twice, blushing even harder.

“Yeah. I wish you had explained that first,” Kip says. “I was really worried I’d made something terrible happen to him. That kind of thing would’ve been a huge deal for me, and for other people too. And I had to think that was the case for days.”

Wallace nods, flushing, looking chastened.

“I...I’m really sorry for that,” he murmurs. “I wasn’t...I didn’t try to consider things from your perspective well enough. I mean, I was assuming you’d probably be surprised and confused and everything, but I didn’t really factor in how personal it would feel for you if you thought that I was involving you in—in Ben getting cheated on, or anything. I...sort of forget sometimes how long all you guys have known each other.”

Kip fixes his gaze on Wallace now. He folds his arms and leans back, tailbone against the edge of the counter.

“Well...thank you for apologizing,” he says evenly. “I was really upset. It was...very difficult to think I’d played a part in doing that to Ben.”

Wallace nods slowly, head slightly hung. 

“And I...” Wallace hesitates, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m sorry that I didn’t try to explain things to you sooner—at least so that you’d know you didn’t have to worry about Ben. I wasn’t sure you’d even want to see me. ...I was really glad to hear that Ben told you.”

“...I think it was good to hear it from Ben, anyway,” Kip says. “I’m glad he and I got the chance to talk. I guess, in a way, I can thank you for that.”

Wallace looks up, surprised. Kip offers him a faint smile.

The kettle is just barely beginning to sputter. Kip sighs softly and turns slightly towards it.

“...Kip?”

There’s something careful in Wallace’s tone. 

“...Yeah?” Kip returns, opening up the tin of honey lemon tea.

“...Do you...want me to talk about the other stuff?”

“The other stuff,” Kip repeats, reaching towards the hissing kettle.

“The stuff about...how I feel about you. Do you want to hear it?”

Kip stops, fingers inches from the handle. A few seconds later it gives a faint whistle and Kip is spurred into movement again, turning off the stove, lifting the kettle, and pouring the water into both cups.

“...We don’t have to talk about that part of things if you don’t want to,” Wallace murmurs. “If you want to just...agree to forget what happened, I’ll do it. I definitely owe you that much.”

Kip blushes and slowly sets the kettle back on the stove. He stares down at the cups and the fabriclike wisps of steam emitting from their surface. He curls his hands into fists.

“...We don’t have to forget it,” he mumbles.

“...What?”

“We don’t have to forget it,” Kip repeats, too loud this time.

“Oh—okay.”

Kip stands in silence a little longer. He tries to work out something coherent and productive to say, but all he does is take out a teabag and drop it into Wallace’s cup. He then opens up the cabinet again, gets a teabag for a green blend for himself, lowers it into the other cup. He puts the other tin back, closes the cabinet. Stands there and watches the tea dye the water in clouds of rich sienna and faintest green.

“S-so, uh...should we...” Wallace trails off.

Kip presses his lips together and squeezes his fists, squeezes his eyes shut. Then he slowly relaxes and turns back around to face Wallace.

Wallace blushes, smiles, shrugs shyly.

Kip shrugs weakly in return.

“You know,” Wallace says quietly, “I get it, like, if you’re not comfortable talking about this, and stuff, we can...we can just—you know, not. I know it’s all been...kind of a lot thrown at you.”

Kip is beginning to suspect Wallace is reading his discomfort and reluctance as distaste. And yet he can’t make himself say anything to clarify the matter for him.

“I mean, I can totally go, and we can meet up later, or...we can just figure out something else. It’s whatever you want.”

Kip looks at him, and tries to think of an answer. 

Wallace just smiles.

“Look,” he says. “I just turned up here without asking if that was even something you wanted. I’m just gonna...I’m gonna head out, and I’ll text you, like we were doing, okay? Sorry for all this. I’m just gonna...kinda rewind things here.”

He laughs at himself and steps sideways out of the kitchen, then turns and heads to the door.

Kip watches silently as Wallace opens it, turns and gives a casual wave and a smile, and steps through, closing the door carefully behind him.

Kip stands there, feeling a little detached. Removed.

Slowly, he turns around and looks at the sink full of water and soap, at the two cups of tea. He picks up a plate and slides it into the water. One by one, he puts each dish into the sink. Then he picks up his tea, and drinks it so absentmindedly that he’s surprised when he finishes it in just a couple of minutes. 

He looks down at Wallace’s tea. He puts his hand on the porcelain cup. It’s still hot. He loves tea too much to stand wasting it—he picks it up and starts drinking it too, taking more care to savor this one.

He puts both cups in with the rest of the dishes. He slips his hands back into the warm water. Takes them out. Rests them on the border of the sink.

He sighs heavily, staring down at the gently shifting landscape of soap bubbles. Finally he turns and goes into the bathroom. He brushes his teeth, three times over, to settle himself a little. He stares at his reflection. 

He goes into his room and looks down at his family’s picture. He gives it a weak smile and a shrug.

“Hi,” he says flatly. “What should I do?”

They don’t say.

“I don’t know how I feel,” he murmurs. “It’s like, the closer Wallace got to maybe saying he likes me, the less sure I was I wanted to hear it. It’s like all my emotions just...” 

He pantomimes turning down a volume dial.

“...I know I feel things about all this,” he says. “Where IS any of it, though? Why am I still freezing Wallace out when I know he didn’t actually do anything that bad? And I know he actually likes me too. How come when he’s actually in front of me, I can’t...”

He shakes his head. 

“I wish you guys were really here. Using your photo as an imaginary sounding board is just...” He sighs. “At least I know you wouldn’t try to tell me what I should or shouldn’t choose to do. Kent, you’d probably ask me to try to list what stuff scared me. And I could tell you...I guess I’m scared about the chance of starting a new relationship. And I’m scared if it turns out I don’t want to anymore, and I have to push Wallace away. Maybe it even scares me just to let Wallace talk about this stuff. Or...to say that I want him to.”

Kip frowns and looks at the frame.

“...I...guess Wallace isn’t going to do anything to move this further unless I say I want him to,” he says thoughtfully. “And I guess I’m afraid to say I actually want him to tell me how he feels about me. I guess that’s pretty close to admitting I still like him, too. But...”

He touches his lip absently.

“But I have to, or else this is all just going to go away. But it wouldn’t. Because I’d keep thinking about it. It won’t just fade away. So I have to tell him I want him to tell me. Even though I’m scared of that. I have to not be scared. Or just...pretend I’m not for a minute.”

He sighs and closes his eyes. 

“...Okay,” he murmurs. “Thanks for the advice. Now I need a pep talk. ...I can do this, right? You guys would think I can, at least.”

He smiles faintly and shakes his head at himself.

“Great.”

—

Kip walks down the hallway too quickly to allow himself to hesitate mid-stride. He draws right up to Wallace’s door and knocks.

He definitely hears something happen inside the apartment in response. He looks down, a few inches above the doorknob, his left hand squeezing into a fist.

Wallace opens the door.

“Oh,” he says.

Kip looks up at him.

“Hey,” Wallace says.

“Hey. Sorry. I’d like for us to go ahead and talk. If that’s what you’d like to do, too.”

“...Yeah, I think it is.”

“Okay.” Kip glances away. “Sorry for not saying so back upstairs. Sometimes I have problems with talking when I’m nervous.”

Wallace grins at him.

“Yeah, I know you do,” he says. “It’s cool. Are you nervous now?”

“No,” Kip says.

“Okay. Well—what do you think we should do? Should we retry doing this in my apartment instead?”

He opens his door wide.

“Um...” Kip hesitates, staring inside. “I dunno.”

“Okay. Do you have somewhere else in mind you think would be good to talk?”

Kip shakes his head vaguely.

“I lied just now,” he tells Wallace. “I said I’m not nervous, but I am. Saying I’m not was just a reflex.” 

Wallace looks at him with mild surprise. Then a smile blooms across his expression.

“I’m kinda nervous too,” he says. “I’ll try not to rush you to answer anything. You don’t like to feel put on the spot when you’re nervous, do you.”

Kip has to smile faintly at that.

“I don’t,” he affirms. “I can usually give better answers if I have a second to think it over.”

“Got it.”

There’s a pause.

“...What if we went for a walk somewhere?” Kip says. “Maybe to a park or someplace like that. I don’t know—I’m just not sure I feel like talking in the building.”

“Yeah, sure,” Wallace says brightly. “You can pick where to go. You know this area a lot better than me.”

“I dunno,” Kip says. “There’s a lot of other places to go around here. Like...there’s a restaurant that has outdoor seating in this little courtyard behind the building. It’s pretty quiet there. The food is good. And it’s not really expensive or anything.”

“Yeah, we could go eat someplace and talk. That sounds good.”

“You don’t have to automatically agree with me.”

“No, it really does sound good!”

“...Okay, well, it’s about a half mile away. It’s not a bad walk.”

“Okay, hang on, lemme just grab my keys—and my wallet is somewhere over here, just a sec—“ 

He jogs out of view, leaving Kip standing in front of the open door. Kip looks up and down the hallway, hoping nobody is going to show up and stare at him. But Wallace reappears within seconds.

“Okay! Ready to go?” he says cheerfully.

“...Yes,” Kip says. 

He waits where he is as Wallace steps out into the hallway and closes the door. Wallace turns to him and offers a smile.

Kip nods and pivots around, leading the way to the lobby, then out the building, then down the sidewalk.

Kip asks Wallace about work before they’ve reached the end of the block, and they talk about that the rest of the way to the restaurant. 

Wallace seems fascinated by everything about the place. It takes ages for him to finish looking around at the interior before they even reach the back entrance into the small courtyard. Despite Wallace’s enthusiasm, Kip figures he might be nervous. But whether Wallace genuinely aches to inspect every piece of local art on the walls or not, Kip is nervous too, and glad of an externally-provided excuse to drag his feet. 

The borders of the outdoor area are lined with plants. There’s a middling-sized tree in one corner, leaning in so that its canopy shades half the tables. They take a small table off to the side, near the trunk of the tree and a clutch of ferns. 

Three of the other tables are taken, none very nearby, all occupied by groups already engaged in conversation. Kip is relieved by the peacefulness and privacy, but feels slightly shyer now that they’re sitting down face to face, so close that their feet might knock together if Kip didn’t have his ankles crossed beneath his chair. It only helps that Wallace takes his time thoroughly perusing the menu; every now and then Kip answers a question of  
his or gives recommendations.

Finally Kip gets up to place their order, walks back slowly with the pager, sets it on the table, and sits back down.

They look at each other for a second.

“It’s kind of dark over here,” Wallace says.

“Huh?”

“I mean—between the clouds, and the shadows of the buildings on each side, and the tree, it’s pretty dim lighting for this time of day.”

“Oh,” Kip says. “Yeah, I guess it is. Do you wanna move out from under the tree?”

“No, no—it’s fine—I was just noticing it. It’s nice, really. Like, it’s sort of gentle.”

Kip glances up at the sky.

“...Is it supposed to rain?” he asks. 

“Oh...I dunno.”

Kip lowers his gaze to look at Wallace—he’s studying the sky with a slight frown.

Wallace looks back down and catches Kip watching; Kip smiles and blushes and looks down at the table.

“Sorry.”

He pushes the sleeves of his sweater up to his elbows and tucks some nonexistent hair behind his ears.

“Um,” he continues. “So—we should talk, then.”

“...I guess so, yeah,” Wallace says. A light blush spreads across his features.

Kip makes himself look at Wallace, right in the face. He can’t be so afraid of all of this. If their eyes meet, if their knees bump, it’s not some kind of disaster. It’s certainly nothing he can’t handle. It’s not even something bad.

“Okay,” Kip says. “Did you have anything you wanted to say?”

“Heh—“ Wallace rubs his shoulder, blushing more deeply. “Yeah, there’s been some stuff I’ve been thinking of saying. It’s just like...” He laughs. “Where to start?”

“Well...there IS the part where you kissed me,” Kip offers matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah...” Wallace blushes even harder. He smiles faintly and glances away. “...I, um, had sorta been wanting to do that a while.”

“...How long?” Kip feels his own blush heat up.

“It’s...kind of hard to say. Maybe since not that long after we first met.”

Kip huffs a laugh through his nose.

“Right, because I’m sure I had to be so appealing to you back then...”

“What can I say? You’re really good-looking,” Wallace laughs. 

Kip rolls his eyes, shaking his head. He curls his toes and tries to tell himself not to back away from this or spend the whole conversation evading Wallace.

“Well, anyway...I can’t really mark many certain before or after points, basically,” Wallace says. “It’s hard to say for sure. But I think that, uh, the desire’s definitely been there for most of the time I’ve known you.”

Kip blinks, folds his arms across his front.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “So you’ve wanted to kiss me.”

“Um—heh, yeah, well...and...”

The pager blinks and gives a little hum.

“Oh,” Kip says. “Our orders are ready.”

“I’ll get them.”

“It’s okay, I’ve got it—“

“Aw, you placed the orders and everything, I’ll bring them over here.”

“The drinks too? And through the door?”

“Hm—alright, yeah, I see what you mean. Do you wanna help me?”

Kip sighs and stands up to start walking back inside. After a second he hears Wallace’s chair push back, then Wallace appears at his elbow.

Kip taciturnly leads the way to the counter.

“This is us at the side, here,” he tells Wallace. “Here’s yours.” He holds the tray out to Wallace.

“Oh—thanks.”

Kip picks up his smaller tray and sets both drinks beside his plate.

“I can help with the drinks,” Wallace says.

“It’s okay,” Kip says quietly. “I’m the one who waits tables sometimes. I’m used to balancing a few of these.”

“Oh,” Wallace says. “Okay.”

Kip lets Wallace lead them back out to their table. Wallace awkwardly holds the door for Kip with his knee.

“Thanks,” Kip murmurs.

He places the glasses on the table first, then sets down his plate and bowl. Wallace comes up behind him and sets down his own dishes.

“I’ll take the tray,” Kip says levelly, extending his hand. Wallace looks at him, then passes it over to him. “I’ll take them back inside so they won’t be in the way.”

“Oh—okay, thanks.”

“I’ll be right back,” Kip murmurs, turning around. 

He walks off slowly, back inside the building. He puts the trays on a preexisting stack next to a container of other used dishes. He stands there for a moment, staring down at them.

He’s freezing Wallace out. He’s defensive, deflecting and avoiding Wallace’s attempts to connect with him. He’s frustrated. Maybe with Wallace, maybe just with the situation. 

All he knows is that he’s going to smother any chance this encounter has of causing any real development in his and Wallace’s relationship, whatever that might mean.

He has to change things somehow. 

He sighs and looks towards the door into the courtyard. He can see the leaves of the tree through the small rectangular window near the top.

Instead he goes into the bathroom. In part because he wants a few extra moments to collect himself, in part because he does actually have to pee already after all that tea.

He knows he’s been gone for a few solid minutes by the time he returns to the table.

“Sorry,” he says as he sits down. “I’m still nervous.”

“Oh,” Wallace says, setting down his drink. “That’s okay. I know what you mean.”

Kip slides his salad towards himself and pushes it around a bit with the fork.

“Um...” he starts quietly, voice low. “...I’m having a hard time, uh...sort of letting my guard down.”

He stabs a few leaves of lettuce and a carrot. He looks up to see Wallace already looking back at him. He glances away, then makes himself return his gaze to Wallace’s.

“...It’s hard for me to stop on my own,” he explains further. “But it’s not really like it’s anything that you can help with.”

“Dropping your guard? How do you mean?” Wallace asks.

Kip shrugs halfheartedly.

“I mean, trying to keep my distance and all. I guess this whole thing really isn’t about keeping a distance, so that’s sort of counterproductive. I’m sorry I’ve probably been acting kind of frustrated towards you. That’s sort of what I’m talking about.”

“Oh,” Wallace says. “Right...I mean, I kind of know you well enough at this point that it doesn’t surprise me, or anything. I wasn’t expecting you to act like you’re all excited and having fun or anything. I know this is all kind of...awkward. And sort of scary. For me, anyway.”

“...You’re scared?” Kip murmurs.

“Well—“ Wallace laughs. “Yeah, sure, a little. It’s kinda scary to be...trying to tell you all this sort of stuff.”

“What sort of stuff?”

“That...you know, how I feel about you, and all.” Wallace laughs again.

Kip looks down at his food with a blush. He traces a tine of his fork along the face of a cucumber slice. 

“...How do you feel about me?” he asks quietly.

He stares at the pale white seeds, the thin ring of dark green rind.

“W-well...” Wallace starts hesitantly.

“I know you said you’ve been feeling like you want to kiss me for a long time,” Kip says. “Is that it?”

“It’s...it’s not all of it, no,” Wallace says.

Kip looks up at him; Wallace blushes and rubs at his shoulder.

“I...well, I like you,” Wallace says, glancing away with a small shrug. 

“...Thanks,” Kip says slowly. “What does that mean, though?”

Wallace gives a soft laugh, but his smile fades slightly when he sees Kip’s level expression.

“You know,” he says, raising a hand in another shrug. “It means that I LIKE you.”

Kip sighs.

“I got that,” he says. “But it’s not...I feel like we’re a little too involved already to just talk about it in those kind of terms. I already know I like you, Wallace. I’ve already known I love you. I need to know more for something like this.”

Wallace blinks.

“Well...I mean, that is what YOU said earlier when you were telling ME,” Wallace says. “You said you like me.”

Kip blushes and spears through the cucumber.

“I know I did,” he sighs. “But I was thinking we’d talk longer if you didn’t turn me down. I would’ve said more. And if I was gonna turn YOU down flat out, I wouldn’t even be here right now, so...I kind of need to know details. And specifics. About what you think about me.”

He finally brings the bite of salad to his mouth, slides the fork slowly out from between his teeth.

“Hmm—“ Wallace shifts his weight in his chair. Kip hears the ice knock against the sides of the glass as Wallace lifts it. “Well—okay. Yeah. I can get into the details.”

“Cool,” Kip says around the salad. “Thanks.”

The ice cubes rattle again as Wallace sets down the glass.

“Well. Okay. First of all it was really nice to kiss you. I’m still sorry that I did it; I know it was awful timing. But...just...removed from all other context, it did feel really good to kiss you.”

Kip blushes, nods slowly. It’s indisputably nice to hear. But not exactly earthshaking. And he’s not quite ready to tell Wallace that he enjoyed the kiss, too.

“And I do think you’re really, um, handsome, by the way. I was never, like, joking about that or anything. I know most people think that, and I know it must not be the most impressive point to make, but...well...I think you’re really attractive.”

He trails off at the end to almost a mumble. Kip looks up to see Wallace blushing hard, rubbing the side of his neck, looking down at his soup.

Kip stares at him a moment.

“...Do you wanna fuck me?” he asks.

Wallace’s gaze immediately snaps over to his. He blushes even harder; Kip knows he’s doing the same, but he doesn’t flinch away from Wallace’s stare. If they’re going to do this, they’re going to have to be completely open about what exactly is happening between them.

Wallace’s lips part, but he doesn’t say anything. The red in his face is becoming fairly spectacular.

Kip feels a little sorry for him. He did just sort of go for the throat, after all—he decides to try to help Wallace along.

“I don’t mean right now,” he clarifies. “But is that something you’ve ever thought about?”

Wallace bites his lip and breaks eye contact suddenly, as if it’s only just occurred to him that he could. 

“Um...ye-yeah, it is.” 

He stares off at the ferns.

“...You can still look at me, you know,” Kip says. “It’s not like that’s something bad.”

“Sorry...” Wallace says, laughing a little breathlessly. He looks back at the table, pulling his bowl towards himself. He smiles softly down at it. “I was sort of thinking you might not want to hear something like that.”

“It would’ve been my fault for asking, then,” Kip says. “I think about it too, just so you know. In the spirit of honesty and everything.”

That makes Wallace look at him again, surprised. Kip offers a little smile and half of a shrug before breaking eye contact to take a sip of his drink.

“...I figured it might make things a little easier if we got something simple like that out of the way,” he says. “Break the ice, sort of.”

“Heh—“ Wallace grins. “Yeah...I guess it does.”

They’re quiet a moment. But Kip does feel a little thawed towards Wallace.

“So...” Kip starts gradually assembling another bite of salad. “You think I’m nice-looking, and you’ve wanted to kiss me, and have sex. What else do you think?”

“...I think about you a lot,” Wallace murmurs. “Even after everything was over and done with, you know? You’re...you’re important to me.”

Kip looks at him. Wallace looks back with a quiet intensity, serious and steady.

“I’ve known I want to stay close to you. I want you to keep being an important part of my life. You mean a lot to me.”

Kip blinks. He curls his hand and smiles softly.

“I-I love you,” Wallace says. “I’m serious. I really care about a lot about you.”

“I know you mean it,” Kip says quietly. “You’re important to me, too.”

Wallace nods, looking down.

“...You have really nice shoulders,” Wallace mumbles.

Kip tilts his head slightly.

“Er—yeah?”

“I just always think you look really good when you’re, like, wearing sleeveless shirts and stuff.”

“Oh...uh, thanks.” Kip smiles weakly, glancing away.

“Not that you don’t look good in other stuff!” Wallace hurriedly amends. “I just...that’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while, but...it probably would’ve been confusing for me to say it before now.”

“...That you like my shoulders?”

Wallace nods, blushing.

For a shred of a second Kip imagines being in a thin tanktop, Wallace’s hands on his bared arms, Wallace’s warm lips pressing against one shoulder, drifting slowly to the other, planting a trail of kisses along the way.

He blushes, too. He’s not sure how appealing the thought would be in execution. But he’d be willing to try it to find out.

“...I really like when I can make you laugh, y’know,” Wallace says. “Even if it’s not on purpose. You used to never laugh around me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Kip murmurs.

“I do really love it when I make you laugh on purpose, though. I’m always really proud of that. And...you have a really good laugh, too.”

“...Thanks,” Kip says, lowering his head slightly as he blushes. 

“I dunno, it’s just that you have a really nice voice, and that makes your laugh good too. It’s really solid. And contagious.”

“Heh—I think that might be the first time anyone’s ever tried to say that.”

“Huh? Tried to say what?”

“Calling my laugh contagious,” Kip explains. “That isn’t exactly...I don’t know. I think I just have an average laugh. And I don’t use it a lot. And I seem boring to most people now.”

Wallace shrugs.

“Well, it always makes me smile to hear it, anyway,” he says. “Maybe I feel that way because I’m still not used to it. But I like it.”

“...Thanks,” Kip says again. He takes a slow draw of his drink to give himself a moment to collect his thoughts. “...So, you, um...”

Wallace looks at him. 

“You like my shoulders and my face and my laugh,” Kip says. The corner of his mouth twitches with a small smile. 

“...Yeah, I do,” Wallace says. “I like a lot of stuff like that. I like, uh, your arms and hands.”

Kip pauses, made aware of his hand on the table, curled around a fork. He glances down at it as though he might spot what’s so great about it.

“My hands kind of suck,” he says. “The only thing about them is they’re cold pretty much all the time.”

“...Are they cold right now?” Wallace asks.

Kip straightens his posture up a bit.

“Not that bad,” he murmurs. He slides the hand at his side underneath his thigh.

“Well, you touch really gently,” Wallace says. “Like, you’re careful with your hands. Sorry if it’s weird to say...I guess it’s more that you always seem kind of...soft and precise about even touching stuff.”

Kip suddenly feels self-conscious.

“...Uh...I guess so, maybe,” he mumbles, shifting his weight in his seat. “I don’t really try to do anything like that. I guess I wouldn’t really notice that sort of stuff about myself.”

“I don’t mean it like a bad thing,” Wallace says, laughing. “I think it’s neat.”

“No, I know...it’s just kinda weird to think about stuff like how I use my hands.”

“Well—I’ll talk about something else, then, to distract you. Give me just a second and I’ll think of what I’ll tell you next.”

Kip smiles faintly.

A few quiet moments pass during which Kip has some pasta and tries not to be overly aware of his hands.

“Okay,” Wallace says. “So I guess I should explain that, uh—well, so, you know when you came over to try to tell me that you liked me?”

“Um—“ Kip blushes and needlessly fixes the collar of his sweater. “Yeah.”

“Yeah, so...like, that was kind of a moment for me. I mean, it caught me by surprise, and so at first it was all just kind of really confusing trying to figure out what I was feeling, but...I mean, I figured out pretty quick that I actually liked you back. I don’t know if I needed to hear it from you first or whatever, but I definitely...”

He laughs under his breath, shaking his head.

“It was unmistakable, you know? Like, all of a sudden, it was just—there. Like I was just hit with it. And I could be confused about the fact that it sort of came over me like that, but I couldn’t really be confused about what it was. Which...maybe it would’ve been easier if it had sort of happened a little more gradually. But I guess there’s kind of advantages to being hit across the face with it, too. I couldn’t really be in denial. It was just that clear to me what I was feeling about you.”

“Have you ever been in denial about anything?” Kip asks. “It just seems like you basically take everything as it comes and accept it right off.”

Wallace smiles and shrugs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a choice this past year,” Wallace says. “Like, things change and happen so fast that I have to accept it, since it’s right in front of me anyway.”

Now Kip shrugs.

“But, anyway...” Wallace sighs, leaning back in his chair. “That’s when I knew how I felt. But I couldn’t really tell when exactly it might’ve started. I still can’t say for sure. It’s...definitely got some history.”

“Yeah,” Kip murmurs. “I know what you mean. I figured it out pretty fast after having that dream about you, but as soon as I did...I wasn’t so sure I hadn’t already known, even before that.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet a moment.

“...I don’t really get why you’d like me back, though,” Kip admits, voice low.

“Hm?”

Kip scratches at the side of his nose and sets his fork down. 

“I mean...it makes sense why I’d like you, right?” Kip says.

“Does it?” Wallace asks.

“Sure,” Kip shrugs. “I’m mean and withdrawn, and you’re always trying to be friendly with everybody. I’m always in bad moods and bringing other people down, and you’re all...positive, and you try to put a good spin on things, and you always try to make other people feel better.”

Wallace blushes.

“That makes sense for me,” Kip says. “But if you reverse it, it doesn’t make sense why somebody like me would have any appeal for you. You should want people who are similar to you, y’know? Somebody who’s...actually nice. And warm. And isn’t gonna just drag you down.”

“You’re nice,” Wallace says simply.

Kip can’t help but scoff.

“C’mon,” he says. “Seriously. You remember what it was like earlier on.”

“Heh—well, I learned why you were like that around me, didn’t I? I get that. Even back then I knew I was lucky you’d tolerate having anything to do with me. It was asking a lot of you, even without knowing your reasons for being wary of me.”

“...I kind of hated you back then, you know,” Kip says. “Like, I half-hated you, and I was half-okay with you. Simultaneously. Because in my head I had to always be treating you like somebody who might actually be innocent, but might be somebody dangerous, with every intention to hurt all of us.”

“...Oh,” Wallace says. “Yeah. I’m sorry about...about all of it.”

Kip shrugs.

“I mean, it was completely strange. You know I had to consider that I might have to kill you?”

“W-what?” Wallace blinks, sitting upright.

“I thought you might be involved in trying to kill US,” Kip explains. “And I mean, I was technically right, wasn’t I. But if you were one of the people doing it on purpose, I knew it was possible that some situation might come up where I had to like, actually physically protect myself or somebody else. It’s not like I was itching to murder you, it’s just that I—I’d have to sort of try to accept the fact it was a possibility. And it was...weird, because whether it was all an act or not, there were always times you came across as really genuinely nice.”

“Oh—heh. Thanks.”

“Also it’s just weird to think of having to do that kind of thing,” Kip murmurs. “You really stressed me out, you know. And I would get so angry at you sometimes. There was all this stuff you didn’t have a clue about, and more than anything I didn’t want you to hurt any of my friends. And ever since you showed up I’d keep seeing all these ways you might. It’d make me so angry. You saw that sometimes.”

“Well, see, that’s not being mean. You cared so much about other people that you were angry about the idea of them being hurt. You—you wanted to protect people from me. I might not have ENJOYED all the ways you didn’t seem to like me, you know, but that was just because I didn’t get what was going on for you. I’m not mad about it now, or anything. I totally get why you’d be—y’know, defensive against me and the stuff I was doing. I was kinda too close for comfort, huh.”

Kip laughs softly.

“Yeah, that was part of it,” he says.

“Look—I just don’t think of anything that happened back then as an issue of you not being ‘nice.’ You were angry because you’d been hurt and so had your friends and you were afraid. None of that is, like, you just being a mean person.”

Wallace picks up his drink and takes a sip.

“...And, yeah, you were right about everything really, except I didn’t know about what was happening. So...I pretty much just feel lucky that you DON’T hate me. I mean, even though I didn’t know what I was involved with, it’d still pretty much make sense if you’d never want anything more to do with me after we were done working together, you know? I’m glad you’re actually, like, even just willing to be my friend.”

“Oh,” Kip says quietly. “Yeah.”

“So—I’m just saying, I don’t think that you having shit to be mad about is the same as you being mean.”

“...Okay,” Kip says slowly. “But I’m kinda...short-tempered, aren’t I? That’s still, like...”

He shrugs.

“...Aren’t you just...worried I’m gonna be annoyed with you all the time?”

“Heh—not really, no. Do you think I SHOULD be, or something?”

Kip shrugs.

“...I just still don’t really know how to let my guard down around you all the time,” he murmurs. “I’m...tense, sometimes. And that can make me kind of impatient. I’m all irritable. I figure it’s, like, why would that be worth dealing with? It’d just be exhausting.”

“That hasn’t even happened yet,” Wallace laughs. “I mean, we’re talking now, right? You wouldn’t have to be tense all the time. And you’re able to talk to Ben and all, now, right?”

Kip flushes deeply. He looks away.

“...I was able to talk to him before,” he says tersely. 

“Yeah—I just mean, you know, you feel better about it now, right?”

Kip bites at his top lip.

“...I suppose so,” he murmurs. “It’s not really the same situation though, you know.”

“No, yeah, I just mean that...if you DO feel tense about things, maybe that can change, right?”

Kip sighs silently and tries to get a start on that.

“Yeah,” he allows. “I just still—I don’t get why you’d be interested in me, Wallace. Even if I was never frustrated with you—I’m not that interesting.”

“Sure you are,” Wallace laughs. “You’re definitely at least as interesting as ME, c’mon.”

“I’m boring to be around,” Kip says. “I’m depressed. I like boring stuff. My job is boring. Nothing about me is exactly intriguing or exciting.”

Wallace laughs again.

“That’s fine,” he says, grinning.

“I’m serious,” Kip says flatly. 

“I don’t think you’re boring,” Wallace says.

“Okay, well...there’s just nothing so great about me, okay? I really can’t, like, recommend myself to you. I can’t think of any real reasons for you to WANT to be interested in me beyond, like, what we already have. Like, if you were telling me you wanna make out or spend a night together, I get that. But like, what’s the appeal of wanting to spend time with me. Or find out whatever there is to find out about me. And get closer, or whatever. What about any of this is attractive? How does it feel like there’d be some kind of reward to that?”

His voice rises a little as he speaks; he blushes when he finishes and looks down, determinedly focusing on his pasta.

“...Because I like you,” Wallace says, as if it’s obvious.

Kip looks back up at him.

“You like a lot of people, Wallace,” he says. “That’s something really great about you. Why not be interested in any of them?”

Wallace shrugs, smiling.

“...I mean,” Kip continues, tossing a hand up. “Why not, y’know, go up to any of these other people here and strike up a conversation? Like, you could just go out and pick the first person you run into who seems nice, and like, sit down and stare at each other for a minute and then tell each other about your most painful memories, and already that stranger would probably be a better date for you than me.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess I COULD do that, if I wanted to,” Wallace laughs. “Why would they be better than you, though?”

“I dunno—the odds are in their favor,” Kip says, shrugging.

“Why?” Wallace repeats.

“Just...most people are less of a pain to deal with than I am,” Kip says, shrugging. “I can’t justify you having to deal with my shit just to get to be closer to me. There’s thousands of other cooler, nicer people around, and you could be close with them AND not have to deal with all the times they got pissed with you. Or the threat that they’ll probably get annoyed again. And they might even be more interesting than me—that’s not hard to achieve.”

“...Okay,” Wallace says slowly. “I could, yeah. Only, I don’t want to.”

“Yeah, but why me? There’s nothing better about me than about anyone else.”

“I’m not saying there is. I’m just saying that I like you.”

“Why?” Kip says flatly.

“Why SHOULDN’T I like you? Why should my being uninterested be the reasonable option, and liking you be...suspect, somehow?”

“Because it doesn’t make any sense!” Kip leans forward. “You’re way more likable than me! I’m the complete other way around! You should only be after people who are as nice as you are. I don’t deserve some kind of attention or status in your mind over anybody else—there’s so many other great people out there, even just amongst the people we know—what the hell is so great about me that I’m—that I should get any of your interest in the first place? How long have I tried to push you away and—given you the cold shoulder, and lost patience with you and argued with you and—“

He feels himself getting worked up, so he cuts himself off and pulls it back, setting the very tip of his tongue between his teeth and staring at a spot near the edge of the table.

“Kip,” Wallace sighs. “What’s so upsetting about the idea that I might just actually like you?”

“It’s not upsetting,” Kip says. “It’s—I’m definitely—it’s flattered—I’M flattered—but it’s...” He sighs too, dropping his head.

“Do you not want this anymore?” Wallace asks, leaning in. “Because it’s like I said, you know, if you’re not interested in this, I’m not going to push it on you.”

“I...” Kip blushes brilliantly. “...I-I’m interested, but it’s that...I...”

He shakes his head.

“Do you WANT this?” Wallace asks.

Kip blushes harder and an intangible hand curls around his heart. He keeps staring at the edge of the table.

“...I...”

He’s fidgeting rapidly, restlessly with the hand under the table, rubbing his fingers together, tapping a nail against his leg.

“...You can take a second to answer,” Wallace murmurs. “I said I wouldn’t rush you.”

Kip feels a little pulse of warm gratitude. He gives a tiny nod, brow furrowing, now bouncing his leg. The ideas in his head tumble and roll around each other. The hand around his heart is digging in its fingertips.

“...I don’t know,” he finally manages, face hot, throat tightened. “It’s...it’s confusing. I’m trying to figure it out by doing this, I think.”

“...Okay,” Wallace says. Kip glances up; he’s blushing too. “Well...do you still like me, the way you said you did before?”

Kip squeezes the hand beneath the table into a fist and bounces his leg harder. He’s glad the legs of his chair are level.

He’s quiet a little while again. Wallace lets the silence sit undisturbed.

“...I think so, yeah,” Kip finally admits.

“You’re...not sure?” Wallace says, a hint of a laugh in his voice. 

Kip shrugs halfheartedly.

“I think I do,” he repeats. “It’s confusing. This is all just...really confusing.”

“I mean...did it ever feel like you stopped feeling the same way about me after I told you no?” Wallace asks. “It’s totally alright if you did—I mean, I’m the one who turned you down.”

“Not really,” Kip murmurs. He pushes himself to stop fidgeting and turns his attention to getting some pasta instead.

“Welllll...” Wallace tilts his head and swirls his straw around his glass. “If you liked me when you told me you did...and you didn’t stop liking me even after getting the brush-off...doesn’t that mean you still like me now?”

Kip stops and looks at him. Wallace flashes him that cocky, laughing sort of smile, apparently pleased with himself. Kip wavers between irritation and amusement, his anxiety shivering beneath both options.

“Like...how would it feel to you if I called this a first date?” Wallace asks.

The answer is that Kip gets a little flutter in the chest like a gentle, electric stroke down his sternum.

“What if I asked to hold your hand?” Wallace continues. “That seems like it could be a pretty good experiment for figuring out how we feel about all this.”

“Y-you’ve held my hand before,” Kip mumbles, trying to recover himself.

“Yeah, I’ve held your whole body before,” Wallace says. “But if those times were dates, they were fucking terrible. So let’s not think about them right now. Can I hold your hand?”

He leans further in across the table, looking right at Kip, smiling, hand extended. It occurs to Kip that if he moved to the edge of his seat and leaned in enough too, they could probably kiss like this. He gazes back at Wallace, turning this moment over. 

It’s definitely an appealing offer. Wallace, so satisfied with himself and this situation, just wanting to hold his hand, seeming to even want Kip to like him back. To actually want Kip.

Kip flicks a glance down to Wallace’s hand, back up to his eyes. Wallace doesn’t flinch away. Just smiles a little more enticingly.

Kip sighs heavily and puts his hand on the table, stares at the midpoint between his hand and Wallace’s. It hardens into something of a glare; he can feel himself frowning. Again, Wallace seems not to be put off by this. 

As inappropriately, frustratingly misplaced as Wallace’s optimism can sometimes be, the man’s disarming earnestness can make one want to protect it, to add weight to any argument for fulfilling his hopeful expectations. Kip sighs again, lifts his hand, and drops it into Wallace’s.

Wallace absolutely beams, which knocks Kip lightly in the chest.

“Cool,” Wallace laughs. He gives Kip’s hand a slight squeeze and lowers their hands to the table. “Here.”

Kip doesn’t move as Wallace rotates his hand and pushes it forward—Wallace slips his thumb beneath Kip’s loosely curled-in fingers—slides his own fingers to rest on the back of Kip’s hand.

And then he drags his middle and index fingers in towards Kip’s knuckles, straightens them back out, repeating it slowly, stroking him gently.

Kip’s body grows tense, his face grows conflagrationously hot, he stares immobile at the center of the table. All that’s happening is this moment. Focusing so intently on this feeling that he feels he can all but make out every individual ridge and curve in the whorl of Wallace’s fingerprints.

“Is this okay?” Wallace asks.

Kip’s expression flickers into a harder frown; he nods.

“...You sure?” Wallace drags his fingers in a little circle on the back of Kip’s hand. Kip closes his eyes a moment. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Um—yeah.”

It’s undeniably nice. Oh god, but it’s nice. Wallace’s hand is warm; Kip’s sure his own is cold. Wallace’s touch is soft, steady, seductively pleasant.

Kip slowly relaxes, pushing himself to be less on edge about feeling good. He summons the courage to actually look at Wallace—for a second he glimpses that Wallace wasn’t already looking at him, but rather smiling faintly and staring down at a spot a few inches beside their hands. 

The fact that Wallace could zone out a little during this kind of moment is actually kind of further flattering. Kip blushes, and Wallace looks up at him, and Kip blinks and looks back at him.

Wallace offers him a smile, slowing and drawing out the stroke to the back of his hand. Heart thumping, iciness thawing, Kip manages a flicker of a smile in return.

“So...this kind of thing feels okay?” Wallace asks. He slowly rubs another little circle as if he knows that will tilt the scales towards the affirmative. 

“Yeah,” Kip murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I mean—that kinda seems like a good sign, right?”

Kip draws a deep breath.

“...It means holding hands is nice, at least,” he says.

“Oh, so it’s nice?” Wallace laughs.

Kip bites the end of his tongue and looks up at the cloudy sky.

“Yeah,” he says flatly.

“Do you not want it to be nice, or something?” Wallace asks. “Why’s it hard to like this? Or hard to SAY that you like it?”

Kip blushes.

“...I dunno.”

Wallace slides his hand around again, turning it over, fingers curling complementarily with Kip’s, drawing them into his hold, backs against his palm. 

“You totally know, Kip,” he says. “You analyze yourself so much. You’ve got a whole argument for why this is so difficult for you—I just know it.”

Kip grunts, shrugging, looking away.

“Seriously, do you not want this?” Wallace asks. “I’m not trying to push you into it. I specifically don’t wanna do that, actually.”

Kip sighs through his nose. He definitely can’t say he doesn’t want the handholding, at least. He would be fine with it lasting an hour or two or three, with Wallace maybe taking his hand every time they meet from now on.

And he doesn’t know that he can tell Wallace he DOESN’T want to do this. He just doesn’t know how to tell him so. Or how to explain that Wallace, with his rosy, think-well-of-everyone-you-can outlook, is so probably setting himself up for little but time-wasting disappointment here.

“...You could hold anybody else’s hand,” Kip finally says. “And it could be nice. It doesn’t prove anything good about being with me.”

“What’s up with the idea of you versus anyone else?” Wallace asks. “If I dated everybody else in the world first, and came back and said I would still like to date you, would you be fine with saying yes then?”

Kip laughs.

“You wouldn’t want to date me, then,” he says. “You’d find a million other people who are a better match for you. You just wouldn’t have the time to add a millionth and first person, you know?”

“Well, why shouldn’t you be part of that million?” Wallace asks. “You’re a great person. I think you’re great, whether you like it or not, honestly. How come you talk so much about stuff like you being in the way? Or not being worth the time, or not being as good as other people?”

Kip blushes.

“...You’re a perfectly good, caring person, Kip. I promise that you are. I don’t think I’m, like, too good for you or whatever. What’s wrong with me liking you?”

Kip shakes his head.

“What have I ever actually DONE that would even MAKE you like me?” he says. “Like, maybe if I’d, like, ever been flirting with you, or even just been actually, consistently friendly—maybe THEN I’d get it. But I’m just some boring...nerdy-looking iceberg who’s always been shrugging you off or shoving you off, pretty much, and, I mean, I get that it’s usually a compliment when a friend says they’re interested, but how does that make it worth being interested in me back? Like ninety-nine of the time you’ve spent with me was a complete nightmare for us both, and the rest of the time I’ve been around you has been, like, just talking and stuff, and I KNOW I haven’t exactly been a shining star in that respect. Again, like, if I’d been fun to be around, and said nice things to you, and told you I was interested, and climbed into your lap, maybe THEN I’d get it. But all I fucking did was just barge into your apartment one day and sit around all awkwardly and finally say that I guess I like you or whatever, and force you to tell me something private, and then I just leave and avoid you for a year.”

Without thinking, he leans back and slides his hand from Wallace’s, folding his arms across his front.

“Where in all of that was ANYTHING that would make ANYBODY interested in me?” he asks, a touch of desperation in his tone. “I’ve been a total dick to you at worst, and at best, like, a begrudgingly passable friend? I’ve never done anything to you that was, like, any sort of adequate flirtation or...even all that good for developing a friendship. I act like sometimes visiting and talking is so great—like, it’s fine and all, but when have I ever, like, invited you out to do shit in case you were lonely, or complimented you, or told you stuff I liked about you, or that I like being around you, or that I want to keep doing that, or ANYTHING all that appealing. What the hell was ever there for you to LIKE?”

Wallace scratches the back of his head and leans back too.

“There was a lot of stuff,” he says. “I don’t just like it when people, like, say nice things to me or do me favors or stuff. I mean, yeah, I love when that happens. But it’s not the only way I’ll notice someone. It’s been hard not to notice you, you know? And I’ve noticed stuff I like. Stuff I like a lot.”

Kip folds his arms a little tighter. His heartbeat is still heightened from his self-abasing rant; he’s confident he’s made a nice pocket of chilled air around their table as further testament to his appeal.

“...You know one of the things I’m sure made me fall in love a little?” Wallace says.

Kip looks up at that.

He’d assumed it was rhetorical, but the pause is going on for an awfully long time.

“...What,” he finally answers.

“When me and Jerry brought you back to Pascal,” Wallace says. “I’m sorry I was there, cuz I know that was a really personal moment and it deserved to be private, but, you know, I couldn’t really help being right on top of you guys. And I couldn’t help kind of stealing glances, because the way you looked was just—“

He shakes his head slowly, cheeks deeply pink.

“You were really beautiful,” he says. “I could see how you felt in your expression. It was so intense I could practically feel it too. It was completely obvious how much you love him, and how...fantastically powerful that was, and you were so clearly being completely open in that moment, and to see all of that—I pretty much fell in love with the strength of your love.”

And Kip kind of falls in love a little at that sentence.

His face is aglow; he digs his fingers into his arms. He looks at Wallace, locks eyes with him. Wallace is giving him such a blatantly affectionate look that Kip’s knees shiver.

“And when I was looking back on things, that’s not the only moment from E that felt that way,” Wallace says. “And, by the way, I’m not talking about stuff like when you were, like, hugging me and stuff to comfort me, because I know that’s not really fair game. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I definitely fully appreciate how kind you always were whenever things started looking really intensely bad back there. But shit like that, and how fucking incredibly tough you are whenever it comes down to protecting people—you don’t really have a choice when it comes to that life and death type stuff, huh?”

He shrugs as he says it.

“So, I can tell you that I definitely really admire you for all that stuff, but—knowing you, I figure you’d say that kind of thing wouldn’t count.”

Kip would totally say that. So he just shrugs back.

“...But remember when you, ah, lost your temper?” Wallace continues.

“...That kind of happened a lot back there.”

“Yeah, but that time you REALLY lost your temper. Like...in a way I don’t think I’ve ever seen from anybody. You know. When you were yelling at them. You were so furious that I don’t think I’ll be able to use that word to describe anything else ever again. And for the rest of my life I will distinctly remember every word you screamed at them because I was just...so completely in awe of you. You just had me laid flat out. I swear it was like being in the presence of, like, the wrath of a deity or something. I remember exactly how it felt. I think I could feel your power in the air, and, like, in my own body, because I felt like I was only given a fraction of it, but I was still pretty sure I could life up a ten-foot wide pillar of stone for you just then.”

Kip remembers his own feeling in that moment too. For a second the sympathetic response of the memory makes him feel like he’s raised up a few inches with the energy.

“...I guess that was this second moment where...it was kind of mindblowing how powerful you are, and seeing the...absolute extreme depths of your emotions, for just a moment...” Wallace exhales a bit tremulously and closes his eyes, shakes his head. “Man, you were, like, so ABSOLUTELY life-changing.”

Kip shrugs, smiling softly.

“I guess that’s not so surprising,” he murmurs. “They were fairly life-changing moments for me, too.”

Wallace smiles too.

“And you know I’ve always liked you, right? I know things were rough between us in the beginning, even from my side, with me only seeing part of the picture. But even back then, I was seeing stuff in you I really liked.”

“Well...so was I, really,” Kip says. “I mean—that I was noticing things about you that I thought were nice since the beginning, too.”

Wallace’s smile brightens a little.

“Yeah,” he says. “...I guess I’m saying that I’ve kept seeing stuff in you that I think is great even if you weren’t trying to show me that you’re great. If that makes sense.”

“...I guess it does.”

“Just—it’s not like the only possible way I’d like you is if you were TRYING to get me to like you, y’know? It’s not like it’s so impossible that I could fall for you entirely of my own accord, is it?”

Kip presses his lips together and glances aside.

“I dunno,” he says, a little clipped.

“...What’s so hard to believe about the idea I could LIKE you, Kip?”

“...It’s not so much that as much as I think it would just...be a waste.”

“How would it waste anything?”

“It’d just...be a waste of how good YOU are,” Kip says. “I’m sure you COULD love me, Wallace. But you could love anybody who’s at least mostly a decent person. And...and I KNOW I might’ve seemed great in these moments where—where everything was so heightened, and it was these once-in-a-lifetime situations that pushed everybody to rise to these extremes. And I know sometimes I’m a decent person, and I’m not horrible, and I’m nice sometimes, or even kind of fun to be around. But...but you shouldn’t have to exert yourself to like me and forgive my faults and just hope that I get over myself enough to have a good relationship with.”

“I don’t ‘exert’ myself to like you,” Wallace says. “Do you just not like that we’d be taking a chance to start dating? Because I can’t really offer you any argument on that, except for that you’re ALWAYS taking a chance when you decide to start a relationship.”

“It’s...not that,” Kip says. 

“What IS it? I’m serious—I want to hear it. I want you to let me know why you can’t say you might still want this.”

“I might, yeah,” Kip says. “I just—YOU shouldn’t want it. You were forced from the start to try to see the best in me—you don’t have to DO that anymore, Wallace,” he almost pleads.

“Why not?” Wallace says. “There’s so much about you that’s amazing, Kip.”

“You could find that in anybody,” Kip argues. “Pick somebody with a better personality and try to see the best in them and I know you could find them just as amazing as you might think I am.”

“I’m not—you say that like you think you’re tricking me into seeing you as a good person. You might think so, but I know you aren’t. Okay?”

“So many other people are good people.”

“I know,” Wallace sighs wearily. “When I’m saying you’re good, I’m not saying I think you’re the ONLY good person.” 

“Yeah, but—but I’M saying that every—that everything good you can find in me you can find in a ton of other people.”

“So?”

“So you shouldn’t have to deal with the extra fuckin’ bonus levels of all my bullshit,” Kip says, gripping his own knees. “Why should there be anything that makes ME seem all that especially appealing?”

Wallace shrugs.

“Why does anybody like anybody?” he says. “It’s not as though you survey everyone you come across so you can pick the ideal candidate. You just like somebody.”

“I’m not just saying I’m the ideal. It’s like, I’d be someone who gave you shitty results, and you decided to pick me instead of somebody random from the ninetieth percentile, or whatever. It’s just...needless.”

“Well, who says my survey wouldn’t be asking all the wrong questions, anyway? Nobody can really judge these things.”

“Okay, but I think that everyone would agree that you should go for nice, interesting people.”

“You’re nice and interesting.”

“So many other people are REALLY nice, and REALLY interesting.”

Wallace starts to speak but only gets out half a phoneme before closing his mouth, bringing a hand to his chin, shaking his head slightly.

“...Do you not know how to tell me you don’t want this?” he asks.

Kip sighs.

“That isn’t it,” he murmurs. 

“Well, if you want this, and I want this too, what’s the problem?”

Kip isn’t even sure he knows anymore.

“I just...I know we’ve had to spend a lot of time together. And that I get a lot of your attention because now we’ve had this whole history of being pushed through things together, and basically had to become friends. But—that doesn’t ACTUALLY make me someone who ought to be special to you, y’know? Just because we—because I was there with you for these experiences that were so...unusual and extraordinary. Just because I was forced into these positions where I HAD to seem special—it doesn’t mean anybody else in my place wouldn’t have seemed amazing to you too.”

“It wasn’t like it’s only the stuff about E that made me like you,” Wallace says. 

“The only reason we even KNOW each other is because of stuff about E,” Kip argues.

“Well—yeah, that’s true. But does that really change anything?”

“I don’t—it’s just that our whole relationship is based on something so arbitrary. We had to spend so much time together and do so much together and go through so much together—of COURSE we have to be friends after all of that.”

“So what?” Wallace says. “Meeting all of you guys was always this amazing silver lining to the rest of the awful stuff going on.”

“I’m saying I could’ve been anybody,” Kip says. “I might as well be anybody, so if you take away all the stuff that only makes me seem special because of what I was forced to go through, and you only consider what I’m objectively like on an average day, there’s really not that much going for me. I’ve never been all that great to you. I’ve never even TRIED to be that great around you. None of the stuff that brought us closer was thanks to me. What did I ever go out of my way bring to this relationship? What did I ever do for you? When have I ever seemed that much better than anybody else? Because I’m NOT better. Like, go to a bar tonight, and find somebody to flirt with, and if anybody flirts back and you like them—there you go. They’ve got me beat.”

“You wanna flirt with me, then, and I can tell you if I’m interested?” Wallace asks.

“I’m trying to say that I’m—what’s so appealing about me? I mean, look at right now—you’re trying to say you like me, and I’m arguing. Why the hell do I seem worth it.”

“I like you, Kip. Do I seem like I’m faking it for some reason? Because I don’t know why I’d want to pretend I want to go out with you.” 

“No, I just think that I’m not worth that kind of attention from you, because...”

He pauses.

“...Why aren’t you?” Wallace prompts quietly.

Kip sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s not that I’m all that bad,” he says. “It’s that I’m not any more good—er, any better than everyone else.”

“...Okay,” Wallace says slowly. “So that doesn’t make you BAD, though.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Kip agrees.

“How’s it mean that you’re not worth anything? Hey—I’ve said that before, remember? That I won’t ever tell you you’re not worth something.”

“...Yeah, you did tell me that,” Kip says quietly. 

“So...y’know, yeah. You’re worth my attention.”

“So’s anybody else.”

“It’s you versus anybody again—why’s that such a big deal to you, arguing that you’re worse than everybody?”

“I just want everyone to know I’m not BETTER than anyone else,” Kip says.

“When have you ever acted like you are?”

“I try not to.”

“Exactly—so why would anyone think that?”

“Because I survived a fire that killed everybody else in the house!” Kip snaps, grabbing the edge of the table like it was about to fall over, breath rising in clouds. “And because I’m my brother’s brother and I had his folder, and now because I had to deal with all that shit in E which killed so many people, is I guess why people think I’m so damn special.”

He makes himself let go of the table, sitting on the hand instead.

“Sorry I made it so cold,” he grumbles. “I’ll try to undo it.”

He concentrates, trying to disperse the chill, send it scattering through the air. After a few seconds, it’s apparent that either he’s succeeding, or it’s diffusing into the summer warmth naturally.

“Sorry,” he says again. He lifts his head and his posture regally, sighing softly.

Wallace is blushing, looking at him somewhat sadly.

“...Kip,” he says. “You know none of those things have anything to do with how I feel about you?”

Kip flicks a glance at the clouds.

“It’s the whole reason we know each other,” he says.

“It’s why we MET,” Wallace specifies. “I don’t like you just because I met you. If I thought you were a shitty person and I wanted nothing to do with you, I wouldn’t be here saying all this. I like you and care about you because of YOU, not because of what anybody else did to you.”

Kip blushes as Wallace speaks.

“...I mean, do you trust me enough to believe me that, yes, I’m actually, genuinely interested in you? Because I am. Even if you think I shouldn’t be.”

“I believe you,” Kip says quietly. “And I think you shouldn’t be.”

“Because...”

“Because there’s so many other people more worth your time. You shouldn’t think I’m better than them.”

“I don’t like you because I think you’re the only good person in existence,” Wallace says. “I like you because...there are things about you, as a person, that I like. I like to be around you. I’m interested in you. It’s really as simple as that. Everybody else has nothing to do with it.”

“There’s things you could like about anybody as a person.”

“Yes. And you’re included in that.”

“You could pick anybody else,” Kip says. “I’ve never done anything with you that would make anyone want to kiss me, or anything.”

“And yet I want to kiss you. I already told you that just because you never tried to cause it doesn’t mean it’s impossible for me to feel like this about you. I like you all on my own. I’m talented like that.”

Kip gazes at Wallace for what seems like a long time. To his credit, Wallace gazes steadily back the whole time, showing no signs of discomfort or impatience.

“...I shouldn’t be special to you,” Kip finally says, lowering his head again. “I don’t deserve that. I didn’t do anything to earn it.”

The leaves above them whisper in a soft breeze. One small leave falls on the tabletop a few inches to the left of where Kip’s staring.

“...You don’t think there’s any reason you shouldn’t be one of the billions of people I’m NOT trying to date right now,” Wallace murmurs.

“Yeah,” Kip answers quietly.

“Like how you think there’s no reason you shouldn’t’ve been among all the monsters killed in E? And how you think there’s no reason you shouldn’t’ve died in the fire?”

Kip doesn’t respond to that. It’s different. But he doesn’t know how to say so.

“...How mad would you be if I tried to tell you you’re special?” Wallace asks.

“I’m not,” Kip says flatly.

“What if I just said you’re special to ME?”

“You should know I’m not special either. I’m just a person.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be considered special. There’s not only one kind of context or parameter for that sort of thing. The definition can be set on a completely individual level.”

“Well, on my individual level, I don’t think I’m special. I’m just a person. Tons of people are better than me. Even more of them are equally good.”

“But my individual level can’t define you as special?”

Kip scratches at an itch beside his ear.

“...I guess you can think that, or whatever else you like. But there’s no reason to say so to me.”

“You wouldn’t want to hear me tell you I think you’re special?”

“No.”

“You’re a pretty special person in Briggs’ life, I bet.”

Kip blushes.

“It’s the role I have that’s special,” he says. “The role I’m given by other people is all that ever makes me seem elevated over anyone else. In this case, being Pascal’s boyfriend just happens to be a role that I’m actually glad to take.”

“Hm. How’d Pascal ever date you if you’re so stubborn about this? How’d he convince you that you were worth his time?”

Kip knows he’s mostly joking, but shrugs and answers straightforwardly anyhow.

“I was different back then. I was almost seven years younger than I am now. The fire hadn’t happened yet. I was a lot easier to deal with. And had a brighter outlook on every part of my life. Everything was a lot simpler and easier.”

“...I see,” Wallace murmurs. 

“Yeah,” Kip sighs. “You would’ve liked me better then.”

“You’ve said that before, too,” Wallace says.

“Oh...yeah. Probably. It’s true. I was...a lot more fun to be around. I’ve been a mess since the fire, really. It’s never stopped. All this shit with E only stoked it.”

“...That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve anybody’s attention,” Wallace says. “Other people have had their lives completely wrecked by similar things. They deserve the attention of people around them.”

“I know,” Kip sighs.

“What makes you exempt from that?”

“I already have people paying attention to me. I’m not exempt.”

“So—what, you think people could never WANT to give you their attention?”

“No.”

“You always talk about how you’re dragging down the people around you. That you’re making life harder for your friends. And holding them back.”

Kip doesn’t answer.

“You keep on talking about being in the way, or wasting people’s time, or not deserving them. You say stuff like that all the time.”

Kip still doesn’t answer.

“I’m not making it up,” Wallace says. “You know you talk about yourself like this all the time, don’t you?”

Kip looks at him with a slight glower.

“Seriously, are you like this with Pascal? You don’t ask him why he’s interested in you every time you see him, do you? Do you try to convince him to dump you all the time?”

“No, I don’t, and you’re not Pascal, so leave it alone! I’m sorry I’m so predictable, and yeah, I guess I’m hard on myself. So what? You think I should let you date me just to make me feel better? Is this all some sort of pity case where you win if you get me to finally feel special? You want to step in and fix me and everything else around here? Because you must be the one to set everything right just because you’ve got a positive enough attitude and really want it to all be okay, and we don’t.”

His proud posture breaks as he sinks against the back of the chair, arms crossed, hands tightened into fists.

For a moment he sees a defensive anger flicker darkly across Wallace’s expression. And for a moment his own self-destructive tendencies are all but contrarily satisfied with this. Go ahead and let him manage to turn Wallace holding his hand and asking to love him into a fight that could fracture their preexisting relationship.

Wallace closes his eyes a second and then looks down. After a few long moments he apparently finds his voice.

“Of course I want everything to be okay,” he says. “But I know that’s not always enough. And I KNOW I’m ignorant about a lot of things. I know I always will be, because I lived so long in A, and I’m a human. If you don’t want to be with me because of that...I’ll understand. That’s okay. But don’t think that I don’t really care about you. Or about anything else around here.”

He sighs. Kip feels the bristle of his own temper smoothing over a little in the face of Wallace’s measured response. He always wonders how Wallace manages to set his own anger aside. It makes him a good social worker. And good at dealing with Kip’s frustration.

“And you know I’m not here out of pity,” Wallace continues. “I’m not trying to say I like you to win something, or to prove anything. I’m doing it because I like you. And I WANT to like you. I ENJOY liking you.”

Kip raises his head enough to look at Wallace.

“...And I know you were just lashing out to push me away,” Wallace murmurs.

“You aren’t my therapist,” Kip says hotly.

Then he presses his lips together, closes his eyes, and draws a slow breath.

“Sorry,” he mostly whispers. He looks down again, blushing a little. “...Sorry. I was lashing out, yeah. That wasn’t fair.”

“Heh—it’s okay,” Wallace says. “I have to apologize, too. I was...kind of goading you too much. I was trying to get you to talk, when I said I wasn’t going to push you to answer before you’re ready. I’m sorry.”

Kip looks back at Wallace, and nods a little.

They’re both quiet. 

“...You’re not just talking about how other people are just as good as you, though,” Wallace says. “You’re trying to get me to agree that you’re worse than everyone else.”

“...Not everyone else,” Kip murmurs. “But probably a lot of people.”

“Well, I don’t agree,” Wallace says simply.

Kip gazes at him steadily.

“I’m overcompensating,” he admits.

“Huh?” Wallace says.

“I hate that people think I’m someone I’m not and act like I’m someone special,” Kip says. “And I want to say that I’m no better than anyone else, but I overcompensate and do that by believing I’m worse. Like maybe it’ll average out.”

Wallace nods slowly.

“...Also, Eno says he thinks it’s a form of survivor’s guilt,” Kip continues. “Like, since I know it doesn’t make sense for me to have survived things that killed other people, and since I know it was all just sheer chance and accidents and shit outside my control, and I didn’t really have that active a role in my own survival, it feels absurd that I should be alive. Like maybe I must’ve cheated everyone who did die. Or something else cheated them FOR me. And it’s so important to me that I not believe I deserve to live more than any of them.”

“Right,” Wallace says quietly.

“Also, I’ve been depressed for like, over a decade. I sort of have longtime problems with hating myself.”

“Right.”

“And it sort of fucked me up that everyone’s always wanted and expected me to be Kent. Or thought I basically am Kent anyway.”

Wallace nods.

“And I’ve been comparing myself to him even before the fire, and it sort of turned into a sense of inferiority towards the end. I’m sure that didn’t help anything.”

“Probably not, yeah.”

“Also, a lot of the time I think I’m kind of a crappy person.”

“How so?”

“I’m really self-absorbed.”

“Mm,” Wallace hums noncommitally.

“Seriously. I am. And I get all stuck in my own head and don’t consider other people’s perspectives and I do something thoughtless or selfish or otherwise hurtful.”

Wallace raises his shoulders.

“I care more about feeling like I’m helping people than actually helping them,” Kip says.

“No, you don’t. But go on.”

Kip frowns, but obliges him.

“I’m short-tempered. I lash out. I can be mean or pushy. I make people conform to my idea of what’s best. I freeze people out. I isolate myself.”

Wallace nods along, expression neutral, arms loosely folded, a finger tapping slowly against his arm.

“I’m a coward,” Kip says, almost defiantly. “That’s kind of my thing.”

“...Is that the whole list?” Wallace asks.

“I’m avoidant, too,” Kip adds. “That’s my related defining thing. I run or hide from what scares me. Even if I know it’s best not to. Or that it would help other people. You’ve seen that firsthand. I protect myself over others. I’m a weak, passive, selfish coward.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“...I guess that’s all I can think of for now,” he answers, shrugging.

“Okay,” Wallace says. “Well, I think you forgot to include that you’re really overly-critical of yourself.”

There’s a beat, and then Kip gives a genuine laugh.

Wallace grins.

“Fine,” Kip says with a roll of his eyes, still smiling. “And I’m too hard on myself.”

Wallace leans in, forearms against the table.

“Look, Kip,” he says. “I’m not trying to convince you to believe you’re a good person. I know I couldn’t do possibly do like that in one sitting. I don’t even expect it to manage it anytime soon—or even singlehandedly. But that’s its own issue, and I’d be willing to deal with it whether I felt this way about you or not. I’m not asking you to say you’re the best person in the world. Do you think you can accept that that’s true?”

“...Yeah,” Kip says slowly. “Sure.”

“...I’m asking you to believe that I want to be with you,” Wallace says. “And I’m asking you to put aside your belief that I shouldn’t. I’m asking you to just...operate on trust for a little bit. And to let yourself have something that you want. Stop telling yourself you don’t deserve this from me. Or that I’m wrong to feel this way. Set all that aside and—and at least let’s give this a try, huh? We both want this. We both feel the way we do for each other. We have the support of people we love. Kip—what an AMAZING thing it is that we get to be here.”

Wallace’s face flushes with the passion that grows in his voice. Kip blushes to hear it, a finger drawn up the length of his spine, a warm hand laid gently over the front of his throat.

“What’s the harm in just giving this a shot?” Wallace asks. “I know neither of us can be certain this will work out perfectly. But I think we’d be hurt anyways if we just walked away without even trying to see where this could go. I think we’d regret it. I know I’D regret it. It’s one of the reasons I knew I had to talk to you like this. I need you to know that I feel like this. I need you to know that—that everything holds still for a second when I see you smile to yourself or when you laugh or when I see that way you sometimes look at Pascal. I know what that means. I want to be with you. It’s as simple as that, Kip. I promise you.”

Kip stares at him.

“Just—“ Wallace presses his mouth closed, brow slightly furrowed, raises a clenched fist and opens it in an inscrutable gesture. “Do you want this, Kip? When I tell you I like you, do you want that?”

Kip parts his lips and looks Wallace right in the face.

“...Yes,” he admits, voice a little strained. 

Wallace closes his eyes for a second; a tension seems to slowly lift from him.

“O-okay,” he murmurs. “You believe me that I want this too?”

Kip nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“...So you think... Could you agree to do this with me?”

“I...” Kip starts, glancing away. “...It’s just...”

In the corner of his eye he sees some flicker in Wallace’s expression. Dashed hopes, he’s sure—the poor guy.

Kip sighs for the both of them.

“...Ben said something once,” Kip murmurs. “That not everybody has to like me. And he was completely right.”

“Wh—“ Wallace shakes his head. “...Okay. What does that mean now?”

“...I don’t see why everyone does keep liking me,” Kip murmurs. “Ben doesn’t have to. It would’ve been okay if he was completely uninterested in me. I can’t pretend I would’ve been totally happy with that, but I know it would’ve been okay. But then he tells me he DOES like me. After I did absolutely nothing to change things.”

“...Okay,” Wallace repeats slowly.

“And I did nothing to make things this way between you and me,” Kip continues. “But you just...like me. I know that not everybody has to love me or like me or even care about me. I understand that. But Ben liking me even though it’d make just as much sense for him not to—YOU liking me even though it’d make MORE sense if you didn’t—all just... Just because.”

He tosses his hands up in a helpless shrug.

“Why’s everyone liking me so much? When I’ve done nothing to deserve it? I can’t understand that, Wallace. It makes no sense why this would happen.”

Wallace laughs.

“It doesn’t have to make sense, Kip,” he says. “How much godawful, hellish stuff has happened to you for no good reason? Thank god that some nice things might be sprinkled in for a change. Why not.”

Kip shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I have no fuckin’ idea.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“Kip,” Wallace says gently.

Kip lifts his head and looks at him.

“...When I say I like you, do you like to hear it?”

They look at each other for a few moments.

“...Why would you like me?” Kip says slowly. “Why would you WANT to?”

Wallace glances down and brushes some orange hair off his forehead and smiles softly.

“You’re not asking why I like you, Kip,” he says. “You’re asking why I don’t dislike you.”

Kip presses his feet harder against the ground.

“...Yeah,” he admits.

Wallace looks back up at him.

“I don’t even think about it that way,” he says. “I don’t find it so unbelievable in the way that you do. I can believe it pretty easily, actually.”

He puts his elbows on the table and leans in. 

“Listen, Kip. I like you. I know you think that I shouldn’t, and that the only way I could like you is if something...forced me to, somehow. But that isn’t how it is, okay? You—you can’t think about it in terms of being angry with yourself, or believing nothing good should ever happen to you, because you don’t deserve it. I don’t think about you the way you think about yourself, okay?”

Kip nods. He knows he’s been projecting that.

“I like you,” Wallace continues. “I’m not lying to you or to myself. And I know it may be hard for you to believe. But please try. Has anything I’ve been saying or doing made it seem like I don’t like you?”

“...No,” Kip answers. “But why do you want this so badly? Isn’t this exhausting—aren’t I? What is it about being with me that makes any of this seem worth it?”

Wallace smiles and shrugs.

“If we give this a try, we could find out.”

Kip blushes and looks down at the table with a slight frown, thinking hard.

It’s a few moments before Wallace speaks again.

“...I could show you why I want to like you, you know,” he says. “If you want to be together, and we WERE together, we’d be able to feel how nice it is. I think I’d be able to show you why I want to like you.”

Kip blushes a brighter cerulean. They’re standing right on the edge of this. He can’t circle it forever. He has to either step closer or away. It’s all a question of what he wants.

He imagines walking away from this with the knowledge he’s indisputably turned Wallace down and shut the door on this at last. And then imagines walking away and being able to call Wallace his boyfriend.

Wallace sighs quietly.

“...I know you might be scared of the uncertainty here,” he murmurs. “I know this is kind of...new territory in so many ways. And I know I’m not always someone who inspires a lot of confidence—least of all for you. But...do you think you can at least trust me to know what I want? Even if you think it’s a bad idea—I’m completely willing to take that chance, okay? Can you trust me on that much?”

Kip lifts his chin and looks right at him.

He can’t avoid thinking of Pascal in this moment. Risking so much just for the chance to have Kip in his life.

And how, even though Kip was right that it was dangerous for him, even though it put Kip through the unspeakable agony of believing that Pascal would be killed, Pascal was proven right, too.

And who knows how things would be if Pascal had just let go of Kip. 

All Kip is sure of is how it had felt to try to accept that Pascal could never be a part of his life again. And how it feels now to want to stay with him for as long as their lives let them.

He was right, and he made a mistake to push Pascal away, and it’s always a set of contradictions and uncertainty and confusion.

But Pascal would always advise him to listen to what he wants. What he thinks could make him happy. And Kip probably owes it to Pascal to listen to that.

“...I can trust you that far,” he tells Wallace. “If you want me, I won’t try to convince you not to—any more than I already have, anyway.”

Wallace smiles faintly, sitting up a little taller.

“...Do you want this, too?” he asks. “I mean...do you still like me?”

“Yes,” Kip answers quietly. 

“Do...” Wallace seems hesitant to speak. Kip figures he’s expecting further evasion, which is fair. “...Do you still WANT to like me?”

“Yes,” Kip says. “I think so.”

Wallace stares back at him a moment.

“...Really?” he says, leaning in just a degree.

The corner of Kip’s mouth twitches. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I still want this.”

“O-okay.” Wallace nods seriously—Kip sees a sort of growing intensity coming over him. “And...if you want this too...do you have any reason you feel like you still can’t? Anything that doesn’t have to do with thinking I’m wrong to want it, too?”

Kip shakes his head slowly.

They stare at each other a few seconds.

“W’you—then—y-you—“ Wallace fumbles, leaning further in. He scoots his chair forward and closes his eyes a moment. “Then—then we...”

Kip is quiet. He feels like he ought to let Wallace speak, whenever he regains his coherency. He watches calmly as Wallace stares down at his sandwich as though deeply considering it. 

Wallace suddenly looks right back up at him; Kip flinches slightly.

“Kip?” he says.

“...Yes?”

Wallace leans in with that impassioned, determined look, cheeks pink, brown eyes fixed on Kip’s.

“Will, uh...so, will you go out with me?”

Kip draws a deep breath and scratches the side of his neck and shifts forward an inch or two in his chair.

“...Yeah,” he says. His voice sounds so steady to his own ears.

Wallace blinks. The look of determination is replaced with wide-eyed surprise.

“Wh—you will?”

Kip nods as his self-consciousness and nerves catch up with him. He keeps his head slightly lowered, heart beginning to pound.

“Kip,” Wallace says urgently.

Kip looks at Wallace right as the human rises out of his chair. In just two strides he’s made it to Kip’s side of the little table, and before Kip can determine his reaction, Wallace’s arms are around his shoulders, hugging him tight.

“I...” Kip breathes. 

He finally remembers his hands and puts them tentatively around Wallace’s back.

Except—now it’s his boyfriend’s back.

Isn’t it?

“Um...Wallace?”

Wallace slackens the rib-compressing embrace; his arms slide against Kip’s as he leans back up until his hands rest on Kip’s shoulders.

“What’s wrong?” Wallace asks.

“Nothing,” Kip answers. “I was just...like...”

He looks Wallace in the face.

“So what are we right now?” he says. “Like...what is this?”

“Oh, uh—“ Wallace glances aside. “Well, you did just say yes when I asked if we could go out, so I guess we can definitely say we’re going out.”

“Dating,” Kip murmurs.

“Yeah,” Wallace says. “Would you say we’re together, do you think?”

“I guess dating does make us together,” Kip answers.

Wallace bends in just enough to slide his hands down and take hold of Kip’s. 

“So I guess...I’m your boyfriend now,” Wallace says, beaming as though he can’t help it, blushing gorgeously.

Kip laughs breathlessly.

“That’s exactly what I was wondering,” he says. 

He gives Wallace’s hands a light squeeze and stands up. Wallace blinks and takes half a step back to make room for him.

“And I guess that makes me your boyfriend, too.”

Kip slides his left hand away and puts it on Wallace’s chest. He frees his right hand as well, placing it on Wallace’s shoulder.

He can sense Wallace watching him intently, apparently enraptured by his every move.

Kip glances down at Wallace’s lips, hesitates just a moment, then shifts his weight onto his toes and brings his mouth softly to Wallace’s.

Wallace’s hands touch his hips. His fingers twitch against Kip and he makes the smallest noise in his throat.

Kip delicately rotates and pushes the kiss. He tucks his head in to pull his lips away, then presses them to Wallace’s again. 

Wallace’s breath is warm and soft on Kip’s cheek. His kiss is gentle, subtly following Kip’s lead, lips parting for Kip whenever he pulls back even a millimeter, then pressing in to meet him again.

Kip’s head spins a little; he leans slightly against Wallace to compensate for this. 

He’s kissing Wallace. Wallace’s hands are on his body, he’s kissing Kip back. It isn’t a dream.

After however many seconds spent in this intoxication, Kip turns his head away to breathe, lightly puts his cheek to Wallace’s.

Wallace’s fingers inch up to Kip’s waist, just barely grazing his sweater, scarcely applying even an ounce of pressure.

“...It’s okay to touch me now, you know,” Kip quietly reassures him, eyes still closed. “It’s not a problem anymore if it makes me want to kiss you.”

“O-okay—“ Wallace breaths a laugh and slides his hands around the gentle curve of Kip’s waist, holding him properly.

He slowly moves a hand up and down in a comforting rub, dragging the fabric of Kip’s sweater along with it. Kip’s racing heart sparks like a skyrocketing tourbillion. He shifts a little closer to Wallace.

Kip brushes his nose against Wallace’s hair, plants a light but lingering kiss just by his ear. 

Wallace’s fingertip strokes an exposed stripe of bare skin at the small of Kip’s back. Kip’s inhale hitches gently. Wallace’s touch is almost hot.

Wallace lowers his head, putting his mouth to the base of Kip’s neck. 

“I love you, you know,” he mumbles against his skin.

Kip holds his breath, staring off at the azaleas on the other side of the courtyard. Slowly, he brings a hand up around to the base of Wallace’s head, sliding his fingers into his hair, cradling it to his shoulder. He puts his other arm around Wallace’s back.

“Somehow,” he laughs softly, “I love you, too.”

Wallace shudders violently in his arms, curling in closer.

“W-whoa—“ Kip drops his embrace and takes Wallace’s sides, backing him up a little. “Are you okay?”

Wallace straightens up and smiles, face flushed.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I’m great, actually.”

And he shudders again, and Kip feels this slight tension in Wallace’s body, and he finally attunes to the temperature drop he’s created.

“Oh my god—“ He yanks his hands away from Wallace and steps back. “I’m so sorry—“

Wallace shakes his head.

“It’s okay,” he laughs.

Kip shakes his head too. He can hear the slight quaver in Wallace’s voice from his shivering.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I didn’t know what I was doing. God, that sucks...”

“I think it’s kinda brilliant,” Wallace says. And apparently he means it, because he’s shaking head to toe but still smiling at Kip with this softly adoring expression, as though Kip has just given him roses rather than frostbite.

Kip blushes and smooths his sweater back out.

“Er—well, you’d better sit back down and warm up,” he says. “I’d try to help out but I’m guessing my body feels freezing right now. Just...keep on the other side of the table for a while until I stop. I’m sorry.”

Wallace leans in and kisses Kip’s cheek. Kip thrills, squeezing a fist at his side.

“Don’t worry,” Wallace murmurs in his ear. “I was sticking it out because it’s so nice being close to you. Definitely more than worth getting a little cold.”

“Jeez—“ Kip can’t help but laugh. “Are you gonna try to flatter me like this all the time? Get away. I don’t wanna kill you with hypothermia before you even get back home.”

“It’s true!” Wallace argues, laughing too. “It’s taken so much effort to get to be able to kiss and hold you and I was so worried I’d blown my chance completely—I just wanna, like, wrap around you and hang on for days, even if you do freeze me solid.”

Kip scoffs.

“Well, you can’t. You’ll get to kiss me again, I promise. But for now just sit down a minute and warm up. Besides, we should probably actually start eating, too.”

“Hmm.” Wallace touches Kip’s shoulder. “Okay—if you promise. I guess I can be a little patient, huh?”

He dips in and again kisses Kip’s cheek.

Kip blushes hotly and gives a small smile before turning away to enforce Wallace’s return to his chair by sitting back down in his own.

“...That WAS really nice, though,” he says quietly. 

Wallace sits down across from him.

“Yeah,” he breathes, grinning. “Wasn’t it, though?”

Kip smiles at him and pulls his glass towards himself.

The drink freezes with a sharp, reverberating crack.

Kip jolts back at the sudden loud noise and grabs the arms of his chair, pulse hammering, body shot through with tension.

Wallace puts a hand on his chest and exhales slowly.

“...Whew,” he breathes. “That was a surprise.”

Kip is already breathing harder. He manages a nod, and focuses on Wallace right here in front of him. What’s happening is too extraordinary to be overtaken by a simple jolt to his nerves. He looks at Wallace’s face, sees him notice and offer a warm smile, and he smooths himself over and slows it all down with a deep breath.

“So...” Kip says, glancing at his frozen drink. “I guess now this pretty much counts as a date?”

“Heh—yeah. You picked a good place to talk. It’s a nice first-date location.”

Kip blushes just to hear these terms spoken aloud between them.

“It IS pretty,” he murmurs. 

The leaves start whispering above them as though in agreement. There’s an insistence to the sound that makes him look up at the swaying branches.

“I think it might rain,” he tells Wallace. “It kind of feels like it.”

“Well...we can move inside if we need to, right?” Wallace asks, gazing upwards.

“Yeah.”

There’s a pause. 

“...I’m kind of nervous again,” Kip says. 

“You are?”

“Just a little. But, I mean, now it’s a first date. Technically I haven’t had one of those in, like...seven years or so? Eight? Or something.”

“Oh, wow,” Wallace laughs. 

“Yeah. Like, a third of my life ago. I guess that’s what happens when you don’t go to college and stick with the same guy for about five years.”

“Heh—yeah, guess so,” Wallace laughs. “I mean, I might be nervous, too, but I think I’m just too excited.”

“For what?” 

“Just—about this.” Wallace laughs again. “Y’know—about YOU, really.”

Kip smiles.

“Don’t get your hopes up,” he says. “There’s nothing exciting about me.”

Wallace shakes his head and half-stifles a laugh. 

“I’m excited anyway,” he says, grinning. “Plus, I’m pretty sure I qualify as a boring person. I bet my standards aren’t too hard to meet.”

Kip shrugs.

“I guess a lot of us could be called boring,” he says. “Oh, well.”

“Yeah, it’s all good enough for me.” 

Kip glances at him, blushes, looks down and pulls his salad towards himself.

“So,” he says. “...Wallace.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Tell me about yourself, I guess,” Kip says. “All this time and we never did have the chance for that kind of get-to-know-me stuff. Or, we did, but by that time we were kind of past it.”

“Yeah...” Wallace said. “Things moved kinda fast, huh.”

“A bit. I might as well be going out with a stranger.”

Wallace blushes and laughs softly; Kip looks over and catches this starry-eyed gaze that makes him smile and blush, too. A breeze rolls through, thick with the scent of rain; Kip brushes his hair back into place and crosses his legs.

“So...tell me what things were like when you were five.”

—

What Kip first learns is that Wallace was raised by his paternal grandparents, his grandmother died when he was fourteen and his grandfather died three years later—his brush with several social workers after the latter occasion first sparked his interest in the job.

“They were kind of awful about things, honestly—and in ways that seemed so avoidable even to me. Like, I really, really appreciated that I had people helping me and looking out for me in any way during a time like that, but I wished they acted a little more...sympathetically when they met with me. I guess I wanted to change the system from within, huh? Mostly I realized I could help people who were going through stuff and needed a hand, and that just resonated with me. And then when I DID become a social worker, I excelled so much with all the technical, impersonal aspects and tended to fumble around when meeting people—but I hope I at least never came across as uncaring or unsympathetic.”

“I doubt it,” Kip assures him. 

He tilts his head and slowly stirs his fork around his bowl of pasta.

“...When your grandfather died,” he says quietly, “did it feel like you’d lost your parents?”

“...Pretty much,” Wallace says, glancing away. “It wasn’t like it was completely unexpected—he never really recovered from my grandma dying—but it was still really hard. I sort of ended up having to redo my senior year,” he mumbles, rubbing his neck with flushed cheeks and a little laugh. “I just couldn’t keep up.”

“I bet,” Kip says. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about at all. I’m sure I would’ve dropped out completely when my family died if I hadn’t already graduated high school. I had to repeat a year, too, actually.”

“Really?”

“Mmhm. The only reason I still graduated when I was eighteen was because earlier I’d been bumped up a year. But in my junior year, when I was sixteen, I was—I was depressed and kinda desperate and...everything with what Kent was dealing with seemed hopeless, and I couldn’t do anything about it, and I didn’t know who I was, and I just—there was a lot of schoolwork and I cared less about it than ever. Kent didn’t know until I couldn’t hide that I had to repeat the year. I think he felt guilty he hadn’t realized I was doing so badly, even though I had been keeping it all to myself on purpose—and I felt bad for giving him more to worry about, of course. I knew he already felt guilty enough I was starting to be so unhappy. It’d been getting more impossible to hide that, too.”

He sighs.

“...Had you wanted to go to college?” Wallace asks.

Kip shrugs.

“I wasn’t really seeing many things long-term in those last couple years,” he says. “And after being moved up I was never a fantastic student anyways. Besides my first time around as a junior, I’d mostly get B’s and C’s, and a D or A on special occasions. I was confused about what I’ve wanted to do for a while, though. Even if I could’ve gone to college, I wouldn’t’ve known what to major in.”

“Well, you can go at any age,” Wallace says with a shrug. 

“I still wouldn’t know what to major in. Plus, I still have a little put away from the money my brother’d had saved away, but it’s nowhere near enough for something as expensive as that.”

“Oh,” Wallace says. “Yeah...I have to admit I’ve been lucky enough that money was never really an issue. Not even after my grandpa died—they’d left me an inheritance, on top of a college fund they’d worked on since I was born. And I was hired almost straight out of college. So.”

“Hm.” Kip scratches at his arm. “Well, I’m glad you never had to worry, and I...also can’t pretend I’m not a little jealous. I mean, I was never really TOO stressed about not exactly being rich. We had enough to eat at our worst off, and could make ends meet and be comfortable enough later on, even if our budget usually had to be written in stone and kept...modest. But there’s been friends going through tough times who I’d’ve been glad to help with some extra money, y’know?”

Wallace nods, blushing bright.

“...Anyway,” Kip murmurs. “My brother had been in school. I kind of felt guilty about not being so good a student, because the only reason he was able to afford it was scholarships and a couple grants. I think he’d planned on getting a well-paying job to help us go to school, too, but it  
would’ve been a bit too late in my case anyways—he was still a year from his  
doctorate when he died, and it was the summer after I’d just graduated. But I was hardly set on it. I hadn’t even applied anywhere.”

“...It’s always better when you feel like you have options, though,” Wallace says.

“Yeah,” Kip sighs. “I mean, after...the fire, you know how Molly and Roy and Pascal all joined up to look after me—they DEFINITELY didn’t have the option. We had to move to an apartment big enough for the four of us, and Molly wasn’t even old enough to work for another half a year or so, she was actually still in school, too, and I was a wreck—there was no way there would’ve been the money OR the time. Even now—y’know, Molly’s twenty-one, and I think she’s only just now starting to consider school. Roy, too.”

“Oh, really? That’s great, though!”

Kip laughs quietly and leans back.

“Yeah,” he says simply.

“...Not that it’s bad YOU’RE not considering it,” Wallace amends. “If, y’know, you don’t want to. It’s not like you have to.”

Kip offers him a small smile.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“...Was—uh, did your family feel like your parents? Er—your brother, I mean.”

“Oh...” Kip looks at the tabletop. “Not really. I mean, it definitely always did feel like he was this protective figure, and he was the one who took care of everything and provided for us, but...they both still felt like my siblings. We were really close. They were basically my best friends, too. I didn’t feel like I had parents, but that’s okay. I can’t imagine how Kent felt.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, not that nobody ever helped him, but there was really no one protecting HIM,” Kip says. “And that was true all his life, I guess.”

It’s not raw enough that he feels in much danger of crying, but he still wants to change the subject.

“You still haven’t told me that much about your life before moving here,” he tells Wallace. “What were you like back in the day?”

“Uh, pretty much a loser,” Wallace laughs.

“What?” Kip scoffs.

“I never had that many friends,” Wallace says with a little shrug. “Like, I wouldn’t say I was an outcast, but I was always...pretty unpopular. I’d end up with the other kids who weren’t adopted by any particular group. I got picked on a fair amount, too. I dunno. It got better in college, but I’ve never made friends that easily.”

“You kind of made friends with most of mine right off,” Kip says. 

“They’re REALLY outgoing, though,” Wallace says. “Back in middle and high school everybody was too tired to be friendly, I guess.”

“Mm. I guess so.”

“It wasn’t TOO bad,” Wallace says. “And I kept myself occupied by diving into some project or new interest or other all the time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah...sometimes it’d be something for school that I’d get into, but it wasn’t always one that was worth the extra effort—but I’d still throw myself into whatever caught my interest. Which was sometimes completely extracurricular. Sometimes I’d, like, spend days researching something I’d never put into practice. It definitely gave me, like...outlets, I guess.”

“Hm. What kind of things were your interests?”

“Oh, god, it was all over the place...” Wallace shakes his head at himself. “Sometimes kind of literally, like when I wanted to memorize all the countries and capitals and stuff. Things would be completely unrelated—like, I’d be a chef for half a month—“

“Ha!” 

“Yeah, that one was mostly all theory.”

“God, I hope so. Sorry—but if you’re as bad as you are now as a grownass man, I’m kind of scared to think what you would’ve managed at, like, half the age.”

“There...may have been a lot of supervision and guidance for anything I tried to put into practice,” Wallace says. 

Kip looks at Wallace a moment.

“Was it fun?” he asks.

“Uh...yeah, it kinda was. I mean, I was always taking whatever I was trying to do pretty seriously. But my grandparents were really nice. And...infinitely patient. My grandma was kind of funny—she was a really quiet person, but she would always be pretty enthusiastic about helping me with anything I was excited about. I guess that’s part of why I’m still so...uh, passionate, sometimes?”

“...You can be pretty excitable,” Kip says. “I mean, I’ve known Roy for a good while now, and you still surprise me sometimes. You kinda...flare up.”

“Heh...” Wallace blushes lightly. “I guess I do.”

“I don’t mean it as a bad thing,” Kip laughs. “I mean, yeah, it can—it can be a lot, but it’s...kinda charming, too.”

“You think so?” Wallace looks up and perks up, blushing deeper. 

Kip smiles.

“Some things about you have been an acquired taste, at least for me,” he says. “But I’d say it’s been worth it. Now you taste great.”

Wallace giggles, beaming luminously.

“An acquired taste,” he echoes. “That’s so you.”

“Is it? What’s me?” Kip asks.

“Well, you have...kinda a funny way with words sometimes.”

“I do?” Kip leans slightly forward. “That was a preexisting phrase. What are you talking about.”

“It’s not bad,” Wallace says, shrugging. “Like...you can have a way of phrasing things that’s kind of...restrained? Deliberate? And it’s usually when you’re expressing something that’s kind of emotional. It’s like...you pull back a second to phrase things in sort of this precise, kind of elegant way, and it—it doesn’t exactly dampen what you’re saying. You put things even more boldly that way sometimes, I think.”

“Hmm.” Kip cocks his head slightly, staring at Wallace. “I guess I know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s not bad!” Wallace repeats, laughing, hands raised in placation. “I like how you talk, I promise.”

Kip breaks into a small laugh, too.

“I guess I ought to admit things to you now,” he says. “If we’re together, and all. And I’ve been...um...sort of trying to seem really, like, mature and unflappable for these past couple of years. I’m not sure I can say using fancy phrasing when I’m talking about stuff isn’t some...affectation I have. Maybe it’s still partly natural, because I’ve always paid attention to what I say and how I say it—but that kind of got worse after the fire.”

“It did? Were you scared to talk to people?”

“It wasn’t really that,” he says. “I, uh, kind of stopped talking for most of the time.”

“Huh? Like...how so?”

Kip shrugs and picks at his salad.

“Like...I’d talk to Pascal, and Molly and Roy of course, but...Eno was pretty much the only person I didn’t live with who I was consistently in touch with the whole time. And I didn’t really talk to anyone when I left the apartment. Even if I HAD to interact with someone, I’d kind of struggle through it with nodding or shaking my head, and one-word answers whenever I could muster them. And even at home, I sort of...just didn’t hardly talk for...months, really. I’d talk kinda normally when I was in the bedroom with Pascal, and I’d talk with him pretty okay out of it, and even when I was out in public with him, too. But...I sort of had to work to bring my words back.”

“Like...you COULDN’T talk? Or was it more that you didn’t want to?”

“A little of both,” Kip answers. “It started the night they died, of course, but I feel like it really set in when they were being buried and I couldn’t like, speak or cry or anything—not even to eulogize them. It’s like...the reaction to shock was part of it, I’m sure, but also... It’s like there was too much going on inside me at once—and like it was impossible to find the words for it anyway. And talking seemed to take so much more energy than it used to. And I didn’t have hardly any interest in being part of a conversation, or anything. It felt like there was no point to drawing any attention to myself—in part cuz I also felt like there was no point to myself, period.”

He smiles faintly and scratches at the side of his nose.

“But also...times I DID want to try to speak, I’d tend to just...not. It’s like there was this disconnect inside me. I’d be quiet for ages before I could say what I was trying to say, if I succeeded at all. And not everybody’ll wait through a full minute or more of silence for you to talk. Even I wouldn’t sometimes, y’know? The amount of time it took wouldn’t seem worth whatever I was trying to say. And the more I struggled to speak the more pressure I’d feel on the next try. I mean, of course I had some experience with anxiety, but nothing much like this had happened to me before. Sometimes it’d feel like the words were in my chest, or even in my mouth, piling up, trying to push out. Sometimes the feeling was more flat—like I didn’t even have a desire to speak. There were no words. Or else there’d be this complete jumble and I didn’t have the energy or motivation to sort it out.”

He smiles faintly at Wallace.

“Turns out my voice was still there as much as it’d ever been—well, maybe ALMOST as much. But it had me a little worried for a while. I sort of had to pull it all in again and build myself back up to speaking regularly.”

“What do you mean, almost as much?” Wallace asks.

“I just mean I’m a little quieter than I was,” Kip says. “I don’t talk quite as freely as I once would’ve. That has multiple causes, but...”

“Oh,” Wallace says, voice lowered. “How’d you manage to start talking again?”

Kip shrugs smoothly.

“I forced it,” he says. “It was worse when I was stressed, obviously, so learning to cope with all the trauma and grief was part of it. But I had to push myself to break the silence by getting any sort of sound out, and just trying to go from there. I got used to picking out what I was going to say, and being more deliberate about speaking in general. And, just like everything else, I owe so much to my friends. And to Pascal, especially. He dealt with my problems, and had so much patience and understanding for all of it. He’d treat it like his own issue and put in so much time and effort to try to learn how to help me. I was always best able to speak to him. He really...literally helped me find my voice again.”

Wallace brushes back some orange hair, leaning slightly forward, wide-eyed.

“...Wow,” he murmurs. “He’s amazing. YOU’RE amazing.”

“Hardly,” Kip laughs. “Like I’m the only person who had to drag myself back from some form of self-sabotage. I’m STILL doing that kind of shit. And I still go quiet sometimes, or trip over my words. Haven’t you noticed?” he asks coyly, smiling at Wallace.

“Uh...” Wallace blushes and rubs his neck.

“It’s okay if you don’t. It’s not really dramatic enough that anyone notices it as anything all that abnormal anymore. Everybody hesitates sometimes when they talk.”

“Oh,” Wallace says. “I mean...I guess I have noticed, sometimes.”

“At this point it’s really only when I get a little...ah, nervous or flustered that I’ll stay quiet or fumble over words. I mean, if I get mad enough sometimes I’ll go silent a minute. That seems to just end up building the pressure though,” he laughs, “and the words kind of explode.”

Wallace laughs too. 

“Man...I guess I’ve definitely seen THAT a time or two.”

“You might’ve, yeah.” Kip smiles down at the table. “It’s kinda funny I told you that I always talked best around Pascal, and the first time you saw me have any sort of trouble speaking was when I met him.”

“Oh?”

Kip nods.

“Nothing could ever stay simple,” he sighs. “It was part that I didn’t WANT to speak to him yet. I probably would’ve been able to if I’d had to push myself. But when he was talking to me outside...I didn’t have words. You might not have noticed it at the time, but the things he said to me—he never once said anything that asked for a response. He knew me too well. He never would do anything to pressure me or corner me. And I wouldn’t’ve been able to comfortably speak when I’d been caught so completely unawares by something...so significant.”

“Y-yeah,” Wallace laughs awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “I’m still really sorry about that...I gave you an awful first day on the job.”

“The worst was yet to come,” Kip says matter-of-factly. “Besides, ultimately I guess it was for the best. Pascal and I both figure we owe you one for that, even if we agree it might not have been the...ideal reintroduction.”

“O-oh—“ Wallace sits up, blushing. “Really?”

“Uh-huh.” Kip gives him a smile. “Pascal said to kiss you for him.”

Wallace immediately flushes deeper. Kip drops his head and laughs quietly.

“Oh—“ He touches the nape of his neck. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?”

“A drop of rain,” Kip answers. He lifts a palm out and looks upward. “I guess we should probably move inside soon...”

“Oh...yeah, I guess so,” Wallace says.

“Sometimes when it rains I wish I had a garden,” Kip says, gazing up at the clouds.

A tiny drop appears on the edge of his glasses lens. He looks back down and smiles softly at Wallace.

“I guess there’s another little way to know me better,” he laughs.

“Heh—“ Wallace gives him a lopsided smile. “Yeah, I guess so.”

All at once the flecking rain becomes a shower of heavy drops.

“So much for my taking our trays back inside,” Kip sighs. 

—

But the interior is cozy; they take a seat slightly towards the back, but Kip has a view of the front windows, streaked with the now-heavy rain drumming quietly on the roof above them. The lighting is soft, lending the small lamp sitting on their table a soft, warm glow; the high wooden backs of the bench make it feel even more like a tête-à-tête than it had outside.

“What’s your favorite color?” Kip asks.

“It’s changed around,” Wallace says. “It used to be red...now I guess I like yellow? Kind of like, the color of daffodils, or sunflowers, or stuff. And purple, too, like—lavender, or lilac, or whatever. There’s kind of a theme there,” he laughs. “I don’t much have a real solid favorite, though. What about you?”

Kip smiles at the answer, a bit pleasantly self-conscious at the mention of lilac.

“I guess...” He shakes his head. “Blue, I suppose. I kind of like soft orange, like a creamy sort of color. I tend to go for milder colors...soft purples and greys and blues. There’s not much bright and bold going on here.”

“Hey,” Wallace says. “We both said complementary colors. Yellow and purple, and blue and orange.”

“Neither of us really had a definite answer, either.”

“Yeah,” Wallace laughs. “We’re basically the same.”

Kip smiles softly and looks at his slowly-thawing drink.

“So...” he says quietly. “You said you like to spend rainy days being all comfortable at home. What kind of things do you like to do to relax?”

“Oh...well...” Wallace leans back, stretching his arms out. “I like to wear soft clothes, and socks and everything...and I’ll sit in my armchair and read, and usually have something beside me to eat or drink.”

“That sounds really nice,” Kip sighs, resting his chin on his hand.

“I like it a lot,” Wallace says, brushing some hair back. “It’s kind of the same whenever I’m trying to unwind from anything. I’ll just sit back for a while and try to enjoy something quiet. Listen to music, or watch a movie, or something.”

Kip nods along, eating some of his pasta.

“Yeah,” he says, dropping a forkful of noodles. “I’ll write sometimes; I also really like to cook or bake to relax. Plus I always make some tea—or at least some kind of hot drink. Or take a hot bath or shower. Or curl up in bed. I kinda like to be naked, though.”

Wallace laughs.

“I do, though,” Kip says, grinning. “I’m not joking. I think it’s comfortable, It’s just—y’know, I get cold easily. And I have roommates. So I can only really do it when I’m in bed.”

He drops his head and rubs his shoulder.

“I...uh...kind of like to jerk off to relax, also,” he murmurs. “Just to try to be open about things.”

“Oh,” Wallace breathes. “I-I mean, yeah, I get that.”

Kip shrugs, laughing quietly at himself.

“I mean, you know, I’m not trying to...I’m just trying to be honest about myself, and stuff. And...well, I like—I like sex. Groundbreaking, I know, but I do, a lot. I know I might seem a little...uptight or frigid or whatever, but...” He shrugs again. “I have an appetite for it—what can I say?”

Wallace laughs a bit breathlessly, blush maybe even brighter than Kip’s own.

“Heh—sorry,” Kip says, hugging an arm across his chest. “I’m not trying to mess with you, or anything. I’m just—still trying to push myself to let my guard down around you. I don’t want to feel like I’m putting up a front.”

“No, yeah, it’s okay,” Wallace laughs. “You can talk about anything you want. I’m just a little...new to talking about some of this kind of stuff with you...”

Kip flickers a smile and squeezes the arm a bit tighter across his chest.

“Yeah, I...” He glances away. “I mean, it’s kinda funny, cuz I used to think I didn’t like sex at all, actually.”

“Really? Was your first time terrible, or something?”

Kip smiles and shakes his head.

“It wasn’t anything like that...I was just scared. It took me a while to figure out that I felt that way because I was...you know, I’m gay. And I was thinking about everything in terms of having to be straight. I didn’t want any of it, but I thought that just meant I, like, wasn’t ready.”

“Oh—did you try to have sex with a girl?” Wallace asks.

Kip looks at him.

“Oh my god—“ Wallace sits back with an expression of quiet horror, bringing a hand to his mouth. “No, I’m sorry—I shouldn’t’ve asked something like that—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like—like I think you should, or like you have to tell me—I’m so sorry. God.”

Kip looks away.

“...I...” He sighs heavily and crosses his ankles. “...I’ve kissed girls a couple of times. Back before I had it figured out. We didn’t, like, have sex, or anything. And I didn’t really like it, but I didn’t really know how to...express that. And—you know—“ He shrugs. “It was just kissing, so it didn’t seem that intimidating—not at the start, at least. But, you know, once it went on too long, or when she tried to kind of...push things further, I kinda panicked. I didn’t know what my anxiety attacks were yet, so I thought I was just getting sick. And I was all cold and nauseous, so I guess I basically was. And I suppose that would kill any mood and—I guess they were embarrassed, too, because I wasn’t really getting a reputation for being fucked up about kissing girls. Or if I was, nobody said anything to me.”

He dares to look over at Wallace. Wallace looks back at him, cheeks red, looking a little sad.

“Sorry,” Kip murmurs, looking away again.

“N-no, don’t be sorry,” Wallace says quickly. “It’s not your fault...”

Kip shrugs.

“It could’ve been worse,” he says. “I only let it happen those couple times before it felt too miserable and I started trying to avoid it completely. I mean, once a reaction that dramatic happens twice, I couldn’t pretend that I believed it was some sort of fluke. It was too hard to pressure myself into it anymore. I wasn’t ever completely in denial, though—I was messing around with boys, and that was kinda scary in its own way, but...I actually WANTED it, you know? I wasn’t shutting down whenever we kissed for more than three minutes or scared to move my hands from the top of their backs—I WANTED to touch them. I liked it. I didn’t try to detach from what was happening when we made out. It was...pretty brilliant. I just...y’know, did a lot of mental gymnastics to try to believe I was still secretly straight somehow. Like maybe somehow I liked girls so much that it was too intense? But I just couldn’t bring myself to really ever go out with girls or even let anyone try to kiss me anymore, and I came up with this arsenal of excuses. It’s just...like...”

He laughs nervously and touches his mouth.

“I finally realized I was looking at it the wrong way, y’know? It wasn’t like I had to prove I would literally die if I had sex with a girl, or I would throw up every time I looked at them, and it was impossible to touch them, and all that sort of thing. I stopped worrying about it like that and just...realized that what was important was just that I liked being with guys. Like, I finally just realized the simple fact that I didn’t have any reason to make myself do anything I didn’t want to. And that the fact I DID want something could...it could justify himself. Er—itself.”

He laughs softly at himself.

“...That fourway I talked about really did happen, and that was when I—I knew I was definitely gay, and I knew I didn’t even WANT to be straight anymore. I finally...totally loved that I loved other guys. And as soon as I fully accepted it, I kinda...knew that I’d always known, y’know? I started noticing all this stuff further and further back that was just...really definitely gay.”

He smiles and lets his arm slide down from his front.

“It’s funny, because that wasn’t even the first time I’d had sex with guys. The first person I kissed, the first person who even touched me, the first time I got in bed with someone, and got naked, and made someone else cum—it was all boys. I’d even sorta had boyfriends before that point, even if they were kinda...temporary and secret and...I didn’t quite fully see it for what it was until after the fact, even with feeling the way I did. I’d even see ways I’d been liking boys even before sex was involved. The gay shit I’d been doing all my life, pretty much,” he laughs. 

He smooths the front of his sweater and looks at Wallace.

“I guess I’m still kind of embarrassed that I had anxiety attacks over kissing,” he shrugs. “Even though now I know why I was so scared, I don’t...like to remember it. I wish it hadn’t happened. Like, even though it could’ve been worse, I wish I hadn’t tried to force myself to like it. I just...it really sucks feeling like that and not being able to understand why. But it’s not so bad, because at least I finally figured it out. And I figured out I actually really love sex, since I could actually want it when I was with a guy I liked. And getting to have a boyfriend like Pascal...I mean, it maybe even saved my life. Even when I was first going out with him, I knew he was something incredible. I was so happy to be with him that I finally mustered the courage to come out to my family.”

He feels himself blush warmly.

“Not that I was afraid of what they might do, or anything like that,” he clarifies quickly. “Believe me, it wasn’t anything like having to worry they’d reject me in any kind of way, or love me any less, or—or anything like that at all. They weren’t like that—I never had to worry that they didn’t love me.”

“No, I get it,” Wallace says. “It’s hard no matter what. And kinda scary, too.”

“Yeah...” Kip laughs slightly, quietly relieved. “I mean, I told a few friends first, and then...I told Eno, and he was completely great about it, of course. Part of why I came out to him first was because I finally understood why I’d always kind of...looked up to him, I guess.”

“Oh...” Wallace laughs. “That’s cute.”

“Thanks. I think I’d even had a crush on him. Figures.”

“I mean...that’s understandable,” Wallace says, shrugging.

“Oh, it is?” Kip leans forward, beaming.

Wallace flushes.

“I, uh...”

“You interested?” Kip laughs. “I mean, I get it.”

Wallace blushes harder.

“W-well—“

“It’s alright, I’m just messing with you. But hey—he really is something else.”

“Heh—yeah. That’s true.”

Kip smiles; he can feel himself blushing warmly. But he doesn’t mind.

“...I’m sorry you had a rough time figuring things out,” Wallace says.

“Hm?”

“You know...figuring out that you like guys. Trying to put yourself through something you don’t want. I might’ve done the same, but—well, I liked everyone I was ever with,” he says with a light laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

Kip smiles.

“Yeah...well...I mean, it could’ve been worse.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Wallace argues.

“It wasn’t THAT bad.”

“I’m pretty sure everyone says that.”

Kip exhales a laugh.

“Well, I at least got past it well enough,” he says. “It’s not anything to look back on fondly, but I’m—it didn’t really seem to have any lasting impact besides making what I wanted clearer to me.”

“That’s great.”

“Yeah,” Kip murmurs.

He shifts his glass—the ice inside has melted enough to rotate around.

“I guess it can sound like my whole deal is just an endless stream of bad experiences,” Kip sighs, leaning back. “Like, I’ve only got tragedy after tragedy to reveal, and—well—I guess it’s not wholly inaccurate. I’m sort of getting used just to the idea that I can just live, and maybe even be happy...it still feels like a bit much to take in. But...you know...my family really loved me, and I really loved them. And I had friends who looked out for me. I was always kept warm. I didn’t always have to be afraid. I...can’t really have wanted more than that. In lots of ways I was lucky. I...”

He sighs again with a wearied smile, rubbing his shoulder.

“I’d never want any family other than the one I have,” he says. “...The one I had. Not even with what happened to us.”

He shrugs and draws a heavy inhale.

Wallace leans forward.

“Can I hold your hand again?” he asks.

Kip looks up at him, surprised.

“Oh...it’s cold, though,” he says quietly.

“That’s okay,” Wallace says. He places his own hand on the table, palm up, opened. “Please?”

Kip stares down at Wallace’s curled fingers. Then he silently brings his hand up.

“Here.”

Wallace laces their fingers together and rests their linked hands on their sides, slowly rubbing his thumb back and forth along Kip’s.

Kip exhales tremulously and flushes blue, still gazing down at their hands, then looks up at Wallace, who smiles at him. He moves his thumb further down as he holds Kip’s gaze, sliding it down to Kip’s wrist, rubbing a little circle over his veins.

Kip tries to keep steady; he’s shivery inside.

“The—um, is my hand cold?” he mumbles.

“A little cool, maybe,” Wallace answers, squeezing his hold on it. “But I don’t mind it. Don’t worry about that.”

Kip blinks as Wallace moves his hand again to lift Kip’s up off the table—he pulls Kip’s hand closer to himself and leans over, closing his eyes, and brings his lips to the backs of Kip’s fingers. 

His hand and his kiss are both radiantly warm. Kip draws a deep, quiet breath, taking in every detail of his face, his orange hair hanging down in front of his forehead, the arc of his eyelashes, the soft shadow of his cheekbone. He tilts his head up and kisses Kip’s knuckles—the two on the right, then the two on the left.

He lowers their hands back down to the table and looks at Kip with a soft smile. Kip feels himself smile back.

“It’s nice to be able to touch you like this,” Wallace murmurs.

Kip’s heart thumps in the base of his throat. He wishes he could lean in, take Wallace’s face in his hands, catch him in another gentle kiss. So he tells him that.

“...I wanna kiss you again.”

Wallace lights up. He slides out of his side of the booth, and Kip watches with bemusement as Wallace walks over and sits down on the end of his bench, scooting right over beside him.

“Go ahead,” Wallace says, turned towards him. “I’d love that.”

Kip nods a bit distractedly, his gaze moving over Wallace’s face, his eyes and mouth and cheeks and nose.

He lifts his hand, carefully cupping Wallace’s jaw and cheek. Wallace leans into the touch with a smile, the way Pascal sometimes does. Kip breathes a laugh, then closes his eyes and leans in. First their foreheads bump, then their noses; Kip tilts his head to the right and finds Wallace’s mouth with his.

He kisses Wallace more warmly than he had before, a little more insistent, a little more orectic. But he pulls away sooner too—he’s completely ready to go further, but he doesn’t want to make out with Wallace in the middle of a restaurant. 

So he opens his eyes from a mere inch and a half away, their faces so close that he can see the blue of his own skin reflected on Wallace’s, and gives him a small smile. Then he presses his lips to Wallace’s for just a half second more, and then puts his hand against Wallace’s chest.

“That’s nice,” he murmurs. “I’d kiss you more, but I’d rather not really do it here.”

Wallace giggles, blushing bright.

“Y-yeah—it’s not very comfortable for this kind of thing—“

“Not very private, either,” Kip laughs. “Go back to your side. You’re taking up way too much room.”

Wallace laughs and obliges.

“C’mon and tell me about yourself some more,” Kip says.

“There’s not all that much to know, really,” Wallace says. “I had a pretty boring, straightforward life.”

“When was your first kiss?” Kip asks. “That’s a fun introductory question.”

“Uh—I was fifteen,” Wallace says, lighting up with a fierce blush.

Kip smiles softly.

“Are you embarrassed?” he asks. “Don’t be. I’m sorry. You don’t actually have to tell me stuff you don’t want to.”

Wallace shrugs with a small smile.

“I just know that’s usually more of, like, someone’s first time having sex,” he says. “...I didn’t even sleep with anyone until five years later, in college.”

“Aw, that’s not weird,” Kip says. “Like, the idea you have to have fucked somebody before graduating high school is so overrated. Most of the time nobody knows what they’re doing. And obviously I know how shitty it is to pressure yourself into something you don’t want just because you think you have to, or you’ll miss out on something. It’s so much better to wait until you’re actually ready, no matter how long it takes.”

Wallace grins. 

“Yeah,” he says. “I haven’t exactly been with many people—dating or otherwise—and I never seemed too great at relationships, but...well, now I really like how this feels.”

Kip has to smile.

“That’s good,” he murmurs. “...I had a few official boyfriends even before Pascal, and most of them were nice experiences, but—“

He shakes his head, smile growing to show his teeth.

“Being with Pascal was a whole new deal. I knew what it was like to really love someone that much. And that’s only gotten stronger and truer in the years since.”

“Aw...” Wallace giggles, cheeks pink, head in his hands. “That’s so sweet.”

“Shut up,” Kip laughs. “It’s just nice to love people.”

“No kidding,” Wallace says. “Pascal is an incredible guy. So are you. I’m glad you have each other.”

“Heh...thanks. Me too,” Kip says, dropping his gaze to direct his fond smile at the table. “I know it’s a cliché or whatever, but I found him when I wasn’t even looking for a boyfriend anymore. But I was still just...smitten right away. I was completely taken with him after we first met.”

“You’d stopped looking for a boyfriend?” Wallace says. “But you seem so...”

“I seem so what?”

“I dunno. It just seems like that’s such a big part of you that’s...really important to you, and all. Loving someone like that, I mean. When I saw you with Pascal, and saw how much love you had for him—that immediately felt like the realest version of you I’d ever gotten to see.”

Kip blushes and pushes back some nonexistent lock of hair.

“Well...” he murmurs. “Yeah. I hate to tell you about another tragic installment in my life, but...I did have one relationship that didn’t turn out so hot. It was when I was just about to turn seventeen—it barely lasted a month, and I just...decided to take a break from dating. It was about another half a year before I met Pascal.”

“Was it that bad?” Wallace asks, tilting his head with a look of concern. “What put you off for so long after just a month?”

“Not THAT bad,” Kip says, shrugging. “I just...he was alright, y’know, we were having fun, mostly it was a sort of in-the-school-hallways relationship—but there was just this one thing that happened that was total crap and I broke it off with him the next day. I knew it wasn’t going to be able to go anywhere after that.”

“...What was it?” Wallace asks quietly. “Uh—not that you have to tell me—“

“It wasn’t that bad,” Kip repeats. “He just, uh...”

He scratches his shoulder and gazes thoughtfully at the wall.

“We were hanging out after school one day and, uh, he’d asked me to bring him this textbook of mine to borrow so he could do homework, because he’d forgot his at his dad’s house and didn’t want to go back there to get it, and—well, I’d been distracted at my locker and totally forgotten and...” He sighs and tilts his head. “He was sort of struggling in that class already and he got all mad when I told him I’d forgot it, and...he just...blew up a little and...insulted me a bunch, and kind of hit me.”

“What?” Wallace says sharply, sitting up. “KIND of?”

“Take it easy—“ Kip laughs reflexively. “Yes, kind of! He just, ah, grabbed my shoulder hard and yelled at me and then shoved me back when he let go. It wasn’t THAT horrible for me. It hurt a little, and I was a little shaken, and it ruined the rest of my day, sure, but I didn’t have to deal with any more than that. I just dumped him when I next saw him, in the middle of the hall. We’d only been together like three weeks. It wasn’t a big deal. But it was kinda enough to exhaust me for a while. It was already a tough time at home. I was trying to focus better on school. And I was pretty depressed still, obviously, so I just decided not to worry about dating for a while. And I definitely missed it a little, but I was fine. Until this chance meeting with Pascal totally bowled me over.”

“Aw,” Wallace says again, making Kip laugh under his breath. “Well, jeez...I’m glad you left that guy... Were you scared to tell him it was over?”

Kip shrugs.

“A little nervous, sure,” he says. “I mean, I was basically certain he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge over it and try to get revenge, or anything. He would only really lose his temper in the moment. But I was still a little shaken up, so I was a little careful for those first few days in case he might’ve still been sore about it. I told him in the hallway while we were around other people. I walked home with Kate, just to have someone else around. I don’t think he could’ve lost his temper like that in front of anybody else. I think he felt bad about it all, really. He apologized to me later before we graduated. And I think he got his shit together more in that last year of high school. Which is good. It’s not like he was actually that awful of a guy, or anything.”

He shrugs and looks at Wallace.

“Besides, if I’d ever needed anything like a bodyguard, Molly was always glad to help. She’d get kinda pissed off about stuff like that.”

Wallace laughs quietly.

“Yeah, I bet,” he says. 

“She’d stand up for me all the time when I might not’ve bothered otherwise,” Kip says. “But I’d get to return the favor sometimes.”

“That’s great,” Wallace says, laughing. “You guys are both great.”

“Heh. Thanks. Did you get to have anybody like that?”

Wallace glances down.

“Well...like I said, my friends tended to be other people who didn’t really fit in anywhere else. We sort of...only had passive ways of banding together. We’d sit at the same tables, work together on group projects, keep to ourselves and keep each other from being stranded on our own. And...you know, I had my grandparents. Kinda pathetic, huh,” he laughs.

“No,” Kip says simply.

Wallace looks up at him.

“It’s not,” Kip says, shrugging. “I think it’s great you had a supportive family. That’s not pathetic. And it’s not pathetic to be unpopular in school, or whatever. I mean, look at me. People around here like me, but on a personal level, I only kept in touch with like, one or two friends from school. I guess I was mildly popular, but life got in the way. I changed too much and moved too far away. But I had fun with people for the months or years we did get to spend together. It doesn’t really matter if the relationships didn’t go on forever or change your life or anything.”

“Heh—I guess you’re right.”

There’s a small pause.

“...I’m sorry you lost your grandparents so early,” Kip says. 

Wallace shrugs and smiles.

“It wasn’t all that unexpected for either of them—well, kind of in my grandma’s case. It was really hard to lose her. But after that, even if it was hard to accept, I knew my grandpa was...on a decline. He was already in his late seventies. The last year was...we pretty much knew what was happening.”

“It’s good it wasn’t a total surprise,” Kip says quietly. “But that doesn’t make losing someone any easier. And when you’re only fourteen, too. And seventeen. It’s rough at any age, but...god.”

Wallace laughs softly.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I miss them, of course. And it was really hard. But pretty soon I focused in on school and graduating—I was kind of doing it for them. Getting to go away to college was...it was good for me, I think. I fit in better. I really devoted myself to my major. I stayed with friends during the summer. I missed them a lot, but...things just...somehow looked bright.”

Kip smiles at him.

“Your outlook must’ve helped a lot,” he says.

“Hm?”

“Your...eternal optimism,” Kip laughs.

“Oh. My naïveté,” Wallace says, grinning.

“It was only naïveté once you moved out of A to help monsters in C,” Kip says matter-of-factly. “I bet it helped you through things back then, though.”

“I guess it would’ve,” Wallace says thoughtfully. “I dunno. I was sad and all, of course, but...I guess I had plenty of distractions. And living on campus let me socialize more than ever. I joined groups and stuff. I really sorta took to it. It really helped me get through the hardest part of it all.”

“That’s great,” Kip says. “Seriously. Was your job like that, too? Y’know, when you started.”

“Yeah, I was a pretty eager recruit. My only real stumbling block was that in the last couple years working on my major I’d gotten pretty disillusioned about being a, like, reassuring figure for people. At least not face-to-face. I figured out pretty fast that I’d help a lot more behind the scenes, even if I wasn’t able to offer that personal support that I’d been intending to in the first place. But it was cool—they were always happy to keep me in the office. I really excelled there, so.”

“...Did you like it? The work?”

“Yeah,” Wallace says. “I still do, despite everything. I liked it just as much as I had in college. And it’s always been giving me that kind of...purpose, I guess.”

He laughs, blushing, touching the side of his neck.

“That’s great, seriously,” Kip says. “I mean, you’re really dedicated. I’m sure you’re helping people as much as ever at your new office.”

“Thanks...it’s nice,” Wallace says, blushing softly. “Even if things had gone along normally, I think I’d rather be working for a local place.”

Kip nods vaguely, scratching at his arm.

“...I’m glad your work didn’t get ruined for you,” he says quietly. “It was so shitty that how much you care was taken advantage of. ...I’m sorry you got dragged into all this mess with us.”

Wallace sighs softly and shrugs.

“It’s done with,” he says. “And...honestly...I doubt I would ever have made as big a difference as I was able to by helping you.”

Kip drops his head, slightly flustered.

“...I talked to someone who, uh, didn’t know who I am a little bit ago,” he says. “They mentioned you. They said they thought it was cool just to see you on the sidewalk.”

“Wh—really?”

Kip looks up to see Wallace flush a soft pink.

“Yeah,” he says. “It’s a big deal, you know. People appreciate you a lot.”

Wallace blushes deeper, smiling a bit shyly.

“I mean—yeah, it’s just funny that anybody’d think it’s...I dunno, interesting just to see me, y’know?”

“Uh-huh.”

There’s a pause.

“By the way—Jerry says it’s probably about to be announced that there’ll be the vote to dissolve the districts in, like, a month.”

“Oh,” Kip says quietly.

“Sorry. I know this is a pretty terrible subject, especially for a date. But—y’know—it’s always only been a matter of time. District E basically settled it.”

Kip nods, brow slightly drawn. 

“Sorry,” Wallace repeats nervously. 

Kip rallies himself a bit.

“No—it’s okay, it’s good to hear things are going forward. Getting rid of the whole system around the districts will...it’ll be a start,” he sighs.

“Yeah...”

Kip occupies himself with his pasta for a moment.

“Sorry,” Wallace says yet again. “We don’t have to talk about that whole area. I should’ve saved it for later anyway.”

“It’s alright,” Kip murmurs. “It’s just still kind of raw. It’s easier to talk about it with a bit of warning.”

“Yeah...”

“Does it bother you still?” Kip asks quietly, lifting his head to look at Wallace. “Stuff about E. I still have trouble with it—one thing just reminds me of another, sometimes.”

“Oh...” Wallace scratches the side of his face. “Uh...it’s kind of better for me now. I mean, honestly, mostly what happened was that I was...kinda exhausted, but it was hard for me to relax. Work’s always helped through, right? But I didn’t really have it anymore at that time, so I just—I dealt with what’d happened by being involved in even more of the fallout from E.”

He laughs.

“That kinda drained me and gave me energy at the same time—I mean, I had a different, better kind of exhaustion. And I felt like I had a different and better purpose, I think. But I learned how to balance things out better. I took it easier on myself and sort of...tried not to always cope with the stress by throwing myself completely into work. And I tried to get used to life being different. But better.”

He laughs again, rubbing his arm, and shrugs.

“Ben kinda helped catch it if I was ever pushing myself too hard,” he says. “I get a little too absorbed to notice sometimes. And I think Ben knows a lot about how to cope with things like this. And what it looks like when you’re not.”

Kip nods, looking down.

“...Yeah,” he murmurs. 

He’s torn between the urge to apologize for not being as available for such kinds of help and the knowledge that it’s not really anything he needs to apologize for. 

He also wants to warn Wallace that he’s still breaking down over E-related matters—still breaking down over issues from over half a decade ago as well. But it’s not exactly something that can be casually said.

“Tell me something else about yourself,” he says instead. “Tell me about your favorite book. Or vacation. Or both.”

“I don’t have a favorite book, really,” Wallace answers promptly. “I always kind of liked nonfiction best growing up, but I eventually branched out. I haven’t been that consistent about reading since school, though...and it kinda seems like I don’t really stick to any one genre much over another. I still sorta like nonfiction—but more of stuff like memoirs and travel books and all. And...yeah, you asked about my favorite vacation, right?”

“Mmhm.”

“I think just a trip to a great aunt and uncle’s house when I was ten. They had this really gorgeous place in the mountains with this small town nearby... I dunno, I just enjoyed myself so much the whole time. And I was there with both my grandparents, and they were having a good time too, and...” He shrugs with a small sigh. “It’s nothing really glamorous, but I loved it.”

Kip smiles softly in response.

“It sounds nice,” he says quietly. “I mean, what more can you ask.”

Wallace smiles too.

“...I guess part of it is that it’s been nice to look back on, too,” he says. “But it’s always been my favorite.”

“Yeah,” Kip says. “I get that.”

“I’ve always liked going to the beach, too,” Wallace says. “I like being in the sun. And the air is fantastic. And you get to smell like the ocean all day. And, I dunno, it’s a great place to just be hanging out and having fun with people.”

“Yeah.”

“I went a lot during college. Over breaks and when I was staying with people in the summer, and stuff. We’d even camp out on the beach sometimes.”

“Oh—I’ve never done that.”

“It was pretty nice,” Wallace says. “It’s really nice looking at the stars with the sound of the ocean.”

“There was a lot of stargazing going on? Nobody was having sex on the beach?”

“No, yeah, there was that, too,” Wallace says. “...My first time hooking up with a guy was during one of those times camping out, actually.”

“Oh, congratulations,” Kip laughs. “Was it any good?”

“Yeah,” Wallace laughs. “I had a good time. Everything was really relaxed.”

“Did you already know you liked guys? Or was that, like, you figuring it out.”

“Uh...kinda both. I guess I can say I really strongly suspected. So it wasn’t like I had to have a crisis about it. It pretty much just confirmed things for me.”

“Well, that’s good. It’s nice to get to be crisis-free and just enjoy it.”

“Yeah, I’m not upset I missed out on anything like that, that’s for sure.”

They pause as the sound of the rain against the roof intensifies into the thudding of a downpour.

“...How’d you and Briggs meet?” Wallace asks, voice lowered as though trying not to disturb the sound too much.

“Oh, uh...” Kip shifts his weight. “Just at a party, actually. It was somebody Pascal went to school with, and a couple of my friends knew them too, and brought me along. I was just hanging out and I ran into Pascal. And right away I thought he was just...well, kinda overwhelmingly attractive. And as soon as we’d chatted for a second I could tell he was a really nice guy. I liked him a lot right off, and he seemed to like me too, and we spent the rest of the night just talking together. Eventually I had to leave with my friends, but before I did he asked for my number. Which I was really happy to give him. And things progressed pretty smoothly from there. We were dating after, like, just a couple weeks more.”

“Oh, nice. That’s cool you guys got to be together so soon.”

“Yeah, well...we were both interested, and both of us were totally fine with that, and we were having these phone calls that would go on for, like, an hour. Plus, later on Pascal told me that he’d noticed me at the party and spent the next, like, half hour looking for a way to casually bump into me or something. So he definitely wasn’t unsure of what he wanted.”

Wallace laughs.

“That’s cute,” he says, resting his chin in one hand. “So who asked who out?”

“Um...well, he was the one who first invited me to hang out again. So I went and visited him in D a couple times. And we were both kind of trying to give each other signs, you know, and finally towards the end of my third visit I just felt so sure of everything, so in this one nice, quiet moment I went ahead and kissed him.”

“Awww—“ Wallace brings his other hand to his cheek, his smile luminous, his face flushed pink. “I guess that was what settled it?”

Kip is blushing at Wallace’s response to all this—he nods and pointlessly adjusts his glasses.

“Yeah. He was really happy about it. He hugged me a lot and kinda even cried a little.”

“Oh my god—“ Wallace laughs softly. “He really already liked you that much?”

“Apparently.” Kip rotates his glass against the table. “I already liked him that much, too. I was a little elated for the next couple of days.”

“That’s excellent,” Wallace says. “Was it hard dating a whole district away from each other?” 

“Yeah, a bit,” Kip says, shrugging. “It wasn’t the kind of difficulty that could make me question if it was worth it, or anything—I was already too in love with him. And we went back and forth to see each other pretty much every week. Part of why I had it in me to finally come out was that being with Pascal was so fantastic that it gave me the extra strength. Or courage or whatever. I was just really, really excited for my family to know him. And they liked him a ton, and I just...invited him over all the time. ...It was pretty amazing while it lasted.”

There’s a small pause, a little moment of silence.

“...Did you ever get to meet Pascal’s family?” Wallace asks. “Was he out to them, too?”

Kip scratches his nose and shakes his head.

“Pascal had, um...a rough time of it,” he says, watching himself push his fork through his salad. “He didn’t ever really have a family. Apparently he stayed with some cousins when he was younger, but eventually that situation kinda fell apart, and, uh, he was moved around a lot and was never adopted or anything. It was really tough for him in a lot of ways. We were both just seventeen when we met, and it wasn’t until he was eighteen that he was able to get his own apartment. So at first he didn’t really have a place to bring me to. And it wasn’t like he felt like he had any family to introduce me to, and he didn’t like where he lived, and he never even really...had many friends outside of school, or even IN school, or whatever. So I think he...he really liked being around my family at our place. It’s kinda funny, because I’d been planning to ask Pascal if he wanted to move closer to us. Maybe even somewhere with me. But you know that things turned out a lot differently. It was hard for him too, when they died, and not just because of me. Even though he’d only known them for about a year, he really loved them, too. They might’ve been some of the only people to treat him the way they did, you know? To welcome him in the way they did. They always treated him like he really belonged. And I think it meant a whole lot to him.”

Wallace’s expression has shifted completely to one of sympathetic sadness.

“Oh,” he says softly. “Wow. Briggs is always so...easygoing and kind and it’s just...”

“Yeah, it’s not like you can really guess the kind of stuff he went through,” Kip murmurs, still picking at his salad. “He was always really poor, too—poorer than us, except maybe sometimes at our worst off. And I have no idea why, but he’s always been kind of...alone. At school and at home and in general. Even now he talks about how...he’s been in the district for a while now and hasn’t exactly picked up any new friends. And he’s this amazing, sweet guy. I don’t know why people don’t take to him more easily than they do. It’s like, obvious that people appreciate having him around, and stuff like that, but...well, people kind of don’t...try to get closer to him. Maybe he really does intimidate people. I don’t know. But I...I’m just really glad I get to be here for him again.” His voice grows softer.

“Oh,” Wallace says again, hanging his head a little. “That’s...” 

He raises his head to look at Kip.

“You love him so much,” he says. “I bet that’s been great for him.”

Kip shrugs, smiling gently.

“I hope so,” he says. “But he was already as incredible as he’s always been when I met him. And he wanted to have his own shop even back then. He’d already been dealing with crappy jobs for a couple years, and he’d been, like, working ever since he was a kid. Technically it was just chores back then, but it was still...it wasn’t, like, average. He really wanted to be able to...kinda finally be independent. And not have anyone around at work who’d treat people badly. And maybe be able to have some sense of stability, and all. So...I’m just...glad it’s been working out. And I wasn’t even around when he was setting up that part of his life. Unless you count his taking some night classes when we were living together.”

“...His shop’s still doing well, then?” Wallace asks.

“Uh-huh. It’s apparently all going along steadily. Which is a relief. He’s really incredible at making blends, though. He’s always really appreciated things like...small comforts, and little daily rituals as a sort of...kindness to yourself. I think people have slowly been discovering how amazing his teas are. And being around him is really nice, obviously. I think he’s kinda gaining a solid base around Berkley. I really hope he is, anyway. It’d mean a lot and be really good for him for the whole thing to go well.”

“I hope it keeps going well for him, too,” Wallace says. “I mean, of course I don’t know him nearly as well as you do, but....for what it’s worth, I think he’s a really amazing guy.”

“He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known,” Kip says quietly. “I guess that’s not so surprising to say. But I’ve known some pretty amazing people.”

“Yeah...”

Kip steals a glance at Wallace before looking back down at his food.

“...I had a dream the other night. That he’d been killed in E. Pascal was, I mean.”

“Oh. God, that sucks.”

“Yeah...I’ve had trouble with bad dreams for a while—even before my family died, but that made it all way worse. And I still have them now. Nightmares, and stuff.”

“...I remember how upset you were when you thought he might be hurt,” Wallace says solemnly. 

“I thought he could even be killed,” Kip corrects. “...I have no idea what would’ve happened if he was. I can’t even tell you.”

Wallace is quiet. Kip can feel the heat in his face.

“I guess...it’s that I’m just...”

He shakes his head slightly at himself.

“What I want you to know is that I still...have problems with things that happened to me,” he murmurs. “Stuff about my family just as much as stuff about District E. And a lot of that was years ago, so...I can’t guarantee if or when I’ll ever just...smooth over.”

“What do you mean?” Wallace says.

“I mean that—I know you’ve...you’ve had to see and deal with some of my, um, issues before this, but...to be closer to me will all but certainly mean having to deal with more of it.”

He looks Wallace in the face; Wallace blinks.

“Okay,” Wallace says slowly.

Kip smiles a bit flatly.

“I mean, that’s fine,” Wallace says. “It’s not gonna drive me away.”

Kip’s smile softens a little.

“It’s not very predictable,” he tells Wallace. “And it’s never anything enjoyable. That dream I had woke Pascal up, and then he had to help me through this—kind of like this flashback about all those files from E. I was kind of freaked out, to put it mildly. It probably took the better part of half an hour for me to settle down. And this was on a morning Pascal had to open his shop. He didn’t really get to go back to sleep after that.”

Wallace nods.

“I’ll always help you whenever you might need it, Kip,” he says. “Whatever it means. I totally accept that, okay?”

Kip gazes at him levelly.

“...Okay,” he says quietly. “It’s not just nightmares and anxiety attacks, though, you know. Sometimes it’s just...bad days. And me avoiding shit that I shouldn’t, and that seems like it should be easy for me to do. And just...”

He gives a small laugh. Wallace cocks his head a degree in bemusement.

“The way I am all the time,” Kip says. “Is something that has to be dealt with. I was different before the fire. And now E’s made me different, too. You met me under the worst possible circumstances. You and I are only just now getting to be—just be ourselves together, without anything else in the way, and you just...had to see so much of me that I’m sure was...nothing appealing in the least. I’m sure you hated me when you met me.”

“What? No, c’mon—of course I didn’t hate you,” Wallace says.

“Fine,” Kip sighs. “I’m sure you didn’t like me starting out. I couldn’t let myself like you. And pushing you away was...kind of my way of trying to protect myself and all my friends from whatever you might do. You were way too close from the start and you just kept getting closer. It really set me off. It was the worst situation for you to meet me.”

Wallace doesn’t say anything in response.

“I’m still having to let my guard down around you,” Kip says quietly. “Not because I don’t trust you, or think you’re dangerous, or anything at all like that. I’m just...it still takes effort to try letting you see what I’m like. I’m not even sure what I’m genuinely like sometimes. But I’m...I don’t know. I don’t know if what I tried to keep from you was anything better or worse than whatever you’ve seen in me.”

“What all were you hiding?” Wallace asks.

“...I tried to hide whatever I was genuinely feeling,” Kip murmurs. “Especially whenever something made me afraid. I didn’t want you to see any vulnerabilities. Whenever I was around you, I...I always tried to act like someone so much stronger than I really am.”

He rubs his shoulder self-consciously, blushing blue.

“...Kip,” Wallace says softly.

Kip scratches his arm and looks at him.

“I’m still always trying to act stronger around you,” he says softly. “It’s hard to just...I’m trying to be better at being myself. But these past few years...it’s like that doesn’t even mean anything anymore. I’ve been trying more and more not to front around you. But I—I can’t help but worry that that means showing you some shit you won’t like.”

“I like YOU, Kip,” Wallace says at once. “I’d never expect you to—to, I don’t know, deal with everything effortlessly and smoothly and—and have to prioritize everyone else’s convenience over your needs. I don’t care if sometimes you have a hard time. I—well, no, that’s not what I mean, of COURSE I care. I mean that it’s not going to make me care about you any less. I’m not asking you to, like, entertain me. I’m asking to be part of your life. Whatever that involves.”

Kip looks at him.

“I know you, Kip,” Wallace says. “I do. I know I wasn’t in your life when your family was. Or when they died. I know when we met, we didn’t really—have a real chance to connect for a while. I know I haven’t gotten to see all the parts of you that other people in your life have. But I want to. I want to learn more about you. I want us to get to be closer. Don’t get the idea that I’m going to be put off by who you really are. I love who you are. I want to be here for you. I want to be WITH you.”

Kip blinks, face hot, throat tightened.

“W-well—“ He lifts his posture. “Alright.”

Wallace leans in slightly, giving him a warm smile.

“Don’t be afraid to let me see you when you’re struggling through something,” Wallace says. “Please. Let me try to help. And don’t be embarrassed. I swear I think so much of you. I want to be here for you.”

Kip blushes harder, and nods.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “...I’ll try. I’m trying to be...more open. I’m just not any good at it.”

“Hey. Just keep trying. It’ll get easier for you.”

Kip allows a small smile.

“You’re always so nice,” he says quietly. “How do you keep your patience around someone like me?”

Wallace shrugs.

“I just do,” he says. “I don’t usually...I don’t really get angry unless it’s something really bad. I can get frustrated, sure, but that doesn’t tend to last.”

Kip smiles faintly as he listens. 

“Well...I really appreciate that about you,” he says. “Every time there’s someone in my life who doesn’t get fed up with me...”

He laughs softly.

“It means a lot. I know it’s something special to have people like that.”

“...I’d say it’s special to know someone like you, too,” Wallace says, “but I know you wouldn’t like it.”

“Oh, very funny.”

“Sorry—“ Wallace laughs. “But I DO feel that way. You’re like—like an electric shock in the best kind of way. And you say you’ve been pretending to be strong, and you talk about how weak you seem to yourself, but I have to basically calibrate my understanding of strength to what I’ve seen in you.”

Kip blushes.

“...Anyone could’ve been that strong to protect the people they care about,” he says.

“It wasn’t just what I saw in District E, Kip,” Wallace says. “I promise the way I feel about you isn’t all based completely on that. Even when it didn’t look like lives were at stake, you were pushing yourself so hard and putting yourself through dealing with your worst fears. I mean—how much you must’ve gone through just when I arrived. You didn’t even have to speak to me ever again, but you dealt with me, even though you thought it might be completely dangerous.”

“Other people made me,” Kip murmurs. “Maybe I wouldn’t’ve ever spoken to you again if it had just been up to me.”

“You still didn’t have to,” Wallace says. “No matter how much pressure there was on you, you could’ve decided to do what you wanted to do and stayed out of it. But you made yourself deal with me, and with my work, and with all the risk, and went so far out of your way to help me, and—just—that alone was amazing, Kip.”

“How could it be amazing after what came of it?” Kip asks. “It’s what I was SUPPOSED to do. I was supposed to be able to be pressured and guilted into it.”

Wallace’s expression falls slightly.

“Hey,” he says gently. “It wasn’t your fault at all. They took advantage of how much my work means to me. And just because they took advantage of you doesn’t mean you have anything to be ashamed of. You were still incredible. You couldn’t possibly have known.”

Kip shrugs halfheartedly with a quiet sigh, dropping his head slightly at the feeling of his warm blush.

“...It was a mess,” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” Wallace agrees. “It really was.”

Wallace puts his hand on the table, halfway between them. Kip looks at it. He looks up at Wallace, who offers him a smile.

Kip puts the heel of his palm in Wallace’s, resting his fingers on Wallace’s wrist. Wallace’s hand gives a little twitch beneath his.

“Look,” Wallace says quietly. “You try to figure out how to be more yourself, and I’ll try to be someone you feel like you can really be yourself around, y’know? If I’m not great at helping you when you’re having a tough time, I’ll learn how to be better. I want you to be able to feel like I’m somebody you can rely on and everything.”

“...Do you feel like you can rely on me?” Kip asks slowly. “It always seems like I’m demanding support from people around me, but I don’t...really give them the same back.”

“How could I feel like I can’t rely on you? You pretty much singlehandedly saved my life only what, like, a dozen times?”

“Not that much,” Kip murmurs. “Besides, that doesn’t really count. I could save the life of a stranger; that doesn’t mean I’d be there to help them with any of their everyday problems.”

“Well, you’ve helped me plenty other times, too,” Wallace says. “With all sorts of different issues. And you’ve been good at it. And caring. And I trust you. So, yeah, I feel like I can count on you.”

Kip offers a weak smile and presses his hand a little harder against Wallace’s. Wallace returns the smile before continuing.

“...I know that complimenting you and stuff isn’t really doing it for you in terms of, like, helping convince you that I’m not gonna be disappointed by who you are. But I don’t need any more proof that you’re a good person or anything, Kip, seriously. I’m already on your team. I really am.”

He leans forward slightly as he speaks, almost pleadingly.

“...Sorry,” Kip murmurs. “I guess I’m still being kind of difficult about all this. I just don’t...I don’t really know how to prepare you for all the ways I can...be a mess. I know you’ve seen plenty of it. But it—it sort of made sense in those kinds of situations. Now it’s like...there’s none of the stress and uncertainty and danger we were dealing with, but I’ll just...I’m still carrying around these issues.”

Wallace nods.

“I know,” he says. “I’m completely fine with that.”

Kip holds his gaze for a moment, sighing quietly.

Wallace brings his other hand to the tabletop to hold Kip’s hand between both of his.

“Look, Kip...I know you must be worried about things happening in front of me that you...can’t really control, and you’re scared of how that’ll feel, and what it’ll look like to me, what I’ll think and all that kind of stuff. And I know it’s pretty impossible to stop worrying about it until it happens. I know it’s got to feel like you’re taking a chance. I know I can’t really prove beforehand that I won’t let you down. And I know that...that I really can’t know how it feels for you to be taking this chance. But I don’t take it for granted. And I don’t plan to let you down. About anything, really.”

His hands are warm around Kip’s. 

“I know that there’s a lot of...really, really personal stuff you’re dealing with, stuff I haven’t been around for yet. I know it’s asking a lot to be involved with that. But please trust that I’ll really try not to do anything to hurt you. Please give me a chance.”

“...Yeah,” Kip says softly, watching Wallace’s face. “Okay.”

He smiles as Wallace’s expression gradually lights up.

“It’s not even just about wanting to be with you, just so you know,” Wallace says, squeezing Kip’s hand. “I want to be here for you in whatever ways I can. You mean so much to me, you know. You’re this extraordinary person in my life. I don’t take you for granted. I really don’t.”

Kip can’t help but smile at that.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “...I can’t help but feel I’ve kind of been taking YOU for granted, though. I’ve been giving you a hard time, being all distant and everything, and...there’s never any reason to assume you’d want to stay close to me if I’m pulling away from you forever.”

“C’mon—not even.” Wallace shakes his head slightly. “We both know why you needed space. And you still pushed yourself to talk to me. When you do stuff like...visiting me to teach me about things you write about, and telling me how you feel about me, and telling me about—about your family, and still hanging out with me even after I turned you down, I—I never felt like I was being pushed away. I felt like I had to be grateful you were putting in that kind of effort for me. I mean—after we got to come back here to C, it’s like...I never even took it for granted you’d want to stay friends. I know you understood that I didn’t know, and that none of it was ever any of my intention, but...I mean, that didn’t HAVE to matter. It would’ve been justified if...if none of you guys wanted me around anymore, really. Especially you.”

Kip looks at Wallace with slight incredulity.

“Wallace,” he says slowly. “Of COURSE I still wanted to be friends with you. You...you more than made it up to us, really. And you saved my life enough times, too. And you brought me back to Pascal. That was—that was a kind of relief I couldn’t explain if I tried. I can’t overstate it. I wasn’t...I wasn’t holding any of it against you anymore once we came back. I already loved you. I maybe even was starting to feel this way about you. The way I do now.”

Wallace’s hands grow a little looser around his, no longer pressed against him, but relaxing into a curl as he listens, fingertips dragging gently against the back and side of Kip’s hand. Kip gives him a small smile and smooths the neckline of his sweater.

“Well...” Wallace laughs a bit breathlessly. “Cool. That’s—awesome.”

Kip smiles a little more, dropping his head.

“Kip?”

He looks up.

“I love you.” Wallace looks right back at him. “I really do. I...well, I know maybe I seem a little ridiculous, saying that when we’ve been together for, like, less than an hour, but...well, we haven’t exactly rushed into this, have we. And I’d love you whether this happened or not. You mean so much to me, I—I feel like everything is thanks to you.”

“How can it be THANKS to me?” Kip murmurs, blushing deeply. “Terrible things happened to you BECAUSE of me. You were dragged along into it.”

“Oh...Kip,” Wallace lifts a hand to the side of his mouth and turns his head towards the wall with this helpless smile. 

Kip watches him closely, wanting to glimpse any explanation for why in the world Wallace would love him for what happened to them. Wallace seems caught up in his thoughts for the moment, gazing at a fixed spot with this expression as those Kip has just evoked fond memories rather than the most dangerous, nightmarish, hellish time of their lives.

When Wallace speaks, he’s still looking towards the wall.

“Kip,” he says. “Everything happened for reasons so out of our control. But because of you, I was able to...to help do what I’m sure is the best thing I’ll ever be a part of in my life. So much better than anything I’d’ve accomplished otherwise back in A.” He turns back to look at Kip. “And...I’m not saying that anything about E is good. Of course it would’ve been best if none of this had to have happened. But...well, it did happen, and this was the best way it could’ve turned out, and I know exactly how much of it is thanks to you. None of what caused this is your fault. But so much of what saved us from it was thanks to you. You were and are—just—completely brilliant, Kip. You’re absolutely incredible. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to hear things like that, but that’s really how I feel.”

Kip lets out a soft sigh and curls the hand on the table into a fist, glancing away.

“...I’m not trying to make you believe you’re as great as I think you are,” Wallace says quietly. “I’m just telling you how I feel, personally. And I really feel like you’re brilliant. And like you’re this amazing part of my life and I’m so grateful to know you, and to have helped you. And I can’t...I can’t NOT appreciate you. And I love you. I care about you so much.”

He slides his hand up, closing it gently around Kip’s wrist.

“Can you at least believe I’m not lying to you about all that? It’s not some kind of mistake to care about you, Kip. You’re not anywhere close to as bad as you think of yourself. And if I can help convince you of that, even a little...”

Kip looks back at him and meets his eyes. That warm, earnest look. Asking Kip to accept this.

Kip nods and tries to soften his expression out of its reflexively defensive frown.

Wallace beams and holds his wrist a little tighter.

“...You don’t have to protect me from this, Kip. I WANT this. I’ve BEEN wanting this. I’m not just accidentally wandering into it. I take full responsibility for it, okay?”

Kip huffs and shakes his head, unable to hold back a smile.

“Fine, Wallace.” He laughs softly. “Sometimes I really can’t believe you.”

Wallace laughs brightly and pulls Kip’s wrist up to press a kiss to his palm. He holds it for a second, squeezes his wrist one more time before bringing it back down and letting go. Kip tries not to blush too hard, looking away with a half-reluctant smile.

“...Well,” he sighs, turning back to Wallace and picking up his fork. “Tell me which season you like best.”

Wallace illuminates into a pleased grin.

“And you better not say winter, or I might actually dump you.”


	10. Chapter 10

They talk until the rainfall against the roof grows inaudible and the thawing ice of Kip’s drink starts to fracture. Wallace lets Kip keep directing the questions, occasionally only reflecting one back to him. The flow becomes easier, they grow more relaxed, Kip laughs a little more often.

When they finally leave the restaurant, there’s still a light shower of rain, sparse and light, flicking small, cool drops against their skin. Kip tentatively touches his hand to Wallace’s; Wallace responds unhesitatingly and slips his hand into Kip’s. They walk slowly back to the building, talking as they go, unhurried by the gentle precipitation. Kip keeps so close to Wallace’s side that sometimes his gravitating drift bumps their shoulders together.

Kip grows a little tenser as they approach their block. He twitches against Wallace when their building slides into view.

“Are you nervous?” Wallace asks, tone suddenly gentled for him.

“I’m...” Kip tries to relax again. “Sorry. It’s just habit.”

“It’s okay,” Wallace laughs. “Here.”

He lets go of Kip’s hand; Kip reluctantly brings it back to his side, unsure of whether he’s disappointed or relieved.

“You don’t have to hold my hand all the time now, or anything,” Wallace says. “Just whenever you want to. I know all of this is still kinda brand-new.”

“Heh—“ Kip folds an arm across his chest and looks down at the sidewalk. “Sorry. I don’t mean to make you think that I’m ashamed or anything. I’m...just a little nervous, yeah.”

“It’s alright,” Wallace says. “I’m not interested in trying to push you past your own pace.”

“...Thanks.”

But Kip’s hand does still feel the absence of Wallace’s. And it doesn’t quite feel right, walking along the last stretch to the door as though he’s uncomfortable showing any affinity for Wallace.

So he hesitates, moves his hand out an inch, hesitates again, and finally puts his arm around Wallace’s back, hand resting gently at the top of his hip.

In his peripheral he sees Wallace look over at him. He holds his own gaze determinedly steady, blushing vividly. Wallace looks forward again and moves his stride a little closer alongside Kip’s.

Kip only brings his arm away when they’ve reached the front steps. He further justifies it by pulling out his keys and opening the door for Wallace. Wallace thanks him and holds the second door for him in turn.

“Um,” Kip says as they walk into the lobby. “I’m making dinner for the others tonight, so...I should probably head back upstairs.”

“That’s cool,” Wallace says with a little laugh. “It was great getting to talk with you for so long.”

“Y-yeah, you too,” Kip says, internally cringing at his awkward wording. “Uh...if you want, uh...”

Wallace looks at him; Kip bites his lip and glances down at his shoes with a slight frown.

“Uh, you could...you know, have dinner with us too, if you wanted,” he offers quietly. 

His face feels surprisingly hot—it isn’t like it’s embarrassing him THAT much.

“I mean, if you’re not in the mood, or you have other plans, it’s completely fine,” he demurs. “I just...you know, it’s been a while since it was the four of us, and...well, it might be a little harder to get together when I move out...”

“It won’t be that hard,” Wallace says. “Me and Molly and Roy are gonna be in the same building, still. All we’d have to do is send you a text.”

“Well—you don’t have to. It’s fine. I just don’t want to give you the idea I’m just shrugging you off and walking away.”

“No, I can come,” Wallace says. “What time?”

“Probably about six. And, well, I’m probably going over to Pascal’s a little while afterwards. I dunno if that’s...weird to you, or whatever—I figure I should just give a heads up, either way...”

“It’s not weird,” Wallace says simply.

“Oh, um...okay, cool. So...you DO wanna come over?”

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

“Okay.” In what he’s sure is a fruitless effort to conceal the stubborn flush of his face, Kip keeps glancing away at every little thing as if he hasn’t seen it all a million times before. “Do you want to just come up whenever, or do you want me to text you? Or call. Or whatever.”

“Uh, you could text me, I guess. I don’t wanna catch you at a bad time or show up before you’re ready.”

Wallace’s sometimes surprising capacity to be sympathetically considerate has always been one of his traits that catches Kip off guard and helps thaw him out. Kip stops trying to hide his face and looks at Wallace instead.

“Okay,” he says. “Well...should I walk you to your door, then? Or would that be ridiculous.”

Wallace shrugs with one of those easy smiles that seems to be his default expression.

Kip sighs and steps over to him and puts a hand on his shoulder, pulling him in as he rises up a little onto his toes. Their mouths meet a bit haphazardly, but Kip effortlessly adjusts their alignment and pushes in with a smooth parting of his lips. Wallace puts his hand to the small of Kip’s back. Kip slides his own hand from Wallace’s shoulder to the side of his neck, puts his other hand on Wallace’s side, pulls him slightly closer. Gives a gentle suck to his soft lower lip before releasing it.

And then Wallace pushes in and his teeth only just graze Kip’s top lip, so fleetingly it might’ve been accidental. But Kip responds before he can help it—he squeezes his hold on Wallace’s body and tilts his head over and opens his mouth further and pushes in harder.

Kip couldn’t have detected cannonfire any more sharply than he hears Wallace’s small hitch of a soft, high-pitched gasp. The already-heightened sensuality is pushed even further for Kip, and it’s too fast—he has to pull away, lowering his forehead to Wallace’s shoulder, face burning. He’s feeling the desire to take the hand at the curve of his spine and push it lower. To go into Wallace’s apartment and pull him down to the floor and mount him. To tempt deeper kisses from Wallace and grind against him until that sweet little gasp grows into a full-throated moan.

But there’s no way he’s doing this right now. He’s not ready for Wallace to see that side of him. His desire is too vulnerable. And it’s so soon—Wallace couldn’t possibly be ready yet, either.

So he lifts his head and steps away. Wallace’s hand slips from his back; Kip brings his own hands down to Wallace’s wrists, and smiles bravely at him.

“See you in a couple hours, then?” he says.

It’s a small comfort that Wallace’s face is tinged so thoroughly pink.

“Yeah,” Wallace breathes. He even seems a little dazed. 

Kip quickly rises up and lightly kisses his cheek. 

“Thank you for all this,” he murmurs. He gives Wallace’s wrists the lightest squeeze before letting go. “I’ll send you a text.”

“Okay,” Wallace says, brushing some hair aside, still blushing fiercely. “I-I’ll see you then.”

“Yeah. See you then.” 

Kip takes half a step back as he speaks, then gives Wallace a nod and a small smile before turning away and walking off towards the stairs. He has to glance back as he opens the door; Wallace is still standing there with that half-stunned look, watching him go.

Kip restrains a giggle—it manifests as a grin instead. He gives Wallace a little wave and sees it returned as he passes through the threshold. 

The sound of the door closing reverberates slightly throughout the stairwell. Kip climbs one flight before stopping and standing motionless in the middle of the landing, staring at the wall.

The concentrated essence of everything that’s just unfolded crashes into him; he buries his face in his hands until he forces himself to get it together and keep moving up the steps.

He only pauses for the half-second it takes him to unlock the apartment door, then strides into his bedroom. He pulls off his sweater, tosses it onto his bed, opens his belt and the fly of his jeans and shoves the waistband down, stepping out of them. He palms himself through his briefs while getting out lube, opens it one-handed, pours a few drops into his cupped hand and strips off the underpants, too.

He sits down on the floor and lies back against his rug, eyes closed. He envisions pushing Wallace onto his back, clinging to him, biting his neck, grinding him into the mattress, making him sweat and blush and beg. He imagines Wallace’s slightly clumsy hands traveling over his body, up the back of his shirt, then the front, groping his ass over his jeans—grabbing Wallace’s hand and pushing it inside his pants—Wallace’s hand sliding into the front of his jeans—

Kip is already pumping himself hard, heels digging into the carpet, spine arching, breath catching, eyelids flickering. He thinks of Wallace in his own bedroom right now, getting off to the thought of Kip just like this—wanting him, being completely turned on by him—Kip whines and squeezes his growing cock a little harder. He wants to know what Wallace looks like when arousal overwhelms him—he pictures the deep pink flush to his face, offset by a gleam of intimate lamplight in his orange hair, his eyes closed, mouth open, panting, expression piteous, yearning. Opening his eyes to look right at Kip. Breathing his name.

He imagines getting Wallace on his back, pushing his legs back to his chest with his hands on Wallace’s thighs, leaning over Wallace’s body, pinning him to the bed with his weight and fucking him. Leaning over further to grab him by the arm and the chest, letting Wallace’s legs rest over his shoulders, thrusting harder into him, unraveling him with pleasure, making him moan and whimper and beg Kip for more until he just can’t hold off his climax any longer.

Kip rolls onto his side, half onto his front, nuzzling his face against the carpet while pushing up slightly from the knees, raising his ass. He vaguely wishes he had the means to be fucking himself with a dildo right now—he wants that sensation too, wants the sensation of being tightly held by the waist, by the shoulders, wants a warm touch sliding down his back, wants a mouth around his cock, a mouth against his, on his throat, his stomach, his chest. 

He imagines having Wallace on his back like that, shoving him against the mattress, fucking him—while being fucked by Pascal. Holding Wallace tightly but letting himself relax—letting Pascal push him forward with his weight and strength, letting the force of Pascal’s thrusts push his own dick into Wallace. 

He imagines straddling Wallace, riding him. Watching Wallace’s face as he gets to take hold of Kip’s waist and buck his hips up and fuck him. Pulling Wallace’s hand to his erection, guiding his strokes. How it would look to open his eyes and see his cum on Wallace’s stomach and chest and throat and face. To see his dick pushed fully inside Wallace’s mouth. To feel him suck his cock.

He’s suddenly hit with the fact he’s really, actually kissed Wallace, as if only just now processing the experience. And he realizes that, more likely than not, he’s actually going to end up in bed with Wallace. This isn’t just dreaming and fantasizing anymore.

He breathes Wallace’s name.

He’s already close—he rolls onto his back again and adds a little twist to his wrist and pumps faster. His inhale hitches—he pushes it further and stiffens and kicks a foot out with a spasm of the leg and then he’s over the crest, plummeting helplessly, his climax rushing up to meet him. He holds his cock pointed at his chin; his cum falls across his front, his chest and collarbones.

Kip exhales with a soft whimper, relaxing his spine and legs and arms. He stares up at the ceiling, his whole body feeling pleasantly loosened. The sudden increase in tension that’d been brought on by kissing Wallace seems to have been shaken out of him.

After a few more minutes spent basking like this, he pushes himself up. He takes a quick shower for good measure, glad of the chance to dry his hair out and comb it into place, just in case the rain had messed it up at all. He changes into a different outfit—dark, blue-grey jeans with a slight fatigued wash on the fronts and backs of the legs, and, just to be spontaneous, a loose, creamy orange tee. He’d told Wallace he likes the color, after all, and the wide neckline somewhat shows off his shoulders. And Pascal says he looks good in it, too—so it’ll continue to be an advantage when he heads over to his apartment.

Kip heads into the kitchen and encounters the sinkful of water he’d left—now tepid and deplete of soap bubbles. He considers it for a moment, then unstoppers the drain and goes into his room for his umbrella.

It’s a slightly heavier shower outside than it had been when he and Wallace had walked back just half an hour earlier. The raindrops tap pleasantly against the umbrella over Kip’d head. He walks at a leisurely pace to the corner shop and picks out some fresh strawberries, and securely cradles the box in the crook of his arm as he carries them back to the apartment.

He hangs up his umbrella, puts the strawberries in the fridge, and refills the sink with hot water. After another twenty or so minutes, the dishes are done, and he can turn his attention to the more enjoyable act of cooking. That Wallace will be joining them possibly puts an additional spark into the task. 

—

Roy comes home for a minute before sweeping out again to pick up Molly from work, and is in such a whirlwind over whatever tasks he’s intent upon that he scarcely pauses to fire some information at Kip about the weather and his day and people he spoke to as he strides by. So Kip doesn’t bother attempting to convey any information of his own.

He supposes he can’t be too disappointed in himself for failing to decide how he’s going to say things before Molly and Roy arrive back home. It’s completely in character with his hand-wringing nature, after all, and would’ve been more of a surprise if he HAD settled on the best way to tell of his news. The only thing he’s really sure of is that he’s glad he can occupy himself with cooking—even if the job is somewhat slowed by the time they return. He’s always liked to fuss over the details anyway—another touch of seasoning in the pot, a homemade spread for the bread just because, another julienned vegetable in the mix.

A little more pressure is taken off by the fact that Molly and Roy are also still engrossed in their own conversation upon entering the apartment, as is the case about half the time. So Kip declines to rush himself to impose on this.

He finally gives himself a little avenue to work with by way of nonchalant asides.

“By the way,” he says as Roy cracks the oven door to peek at the muffins Kip had just slid onto the rack. “I invited Wallace to come up and eat with us. Roy, please try not to let all the heat out of there.”

But Wallace has caught the brunt of Roy’s attention anyhow.

“Oh, he is?” Roy says. “That’s great! When’ll he be here?”

“Um, I told him I’d text him,” Kip says, disguising any flustered nervousness as mere distraction. “I’ll probably wait another ten minutes or so.”

“Wow!” Roy laughs brightly. “What are you doing arranging this surprise, huh?”

“It isn’t a surprise,” Kip argues.

“I’M surprised,” Molly says, stepping into the doorway.

Kip pretends not to be the least concerned about the coincidental flanking he’s now caught between.

“Well, I wasn’t trying to shock you guys, anyway,” he says, giving the soup on the stove a slow clockwise stir.

“Is this like last time with Ben?” Molly asks. “Did you invite Wallace to dinner because you made up with him, too?”

Kip determinedly completes a few more laps with the spoon.

“...I suppose that’s the case, yes,” he finally allows.

“Oh my god—“ Molly laughs, as Roy presses in with a jubilant “Really?”

“Er—yeah,” Kip says to Roy, no longer able to stall over the soup. 

“You’ve seriously gotten everything sorted into place?” Molly asks. 

“I guess so,” Kip says, now fidgeting with a dishtowel.

“What do you mean, ‘you guess so’—are you and Wallace cool with each other now, or what?”

“Um...yeah, we are,” he murmurs, turning away to look for a nonexistent dish in the cabinets for the sake of concealing any blush.

“That’s excellent,” she says. “Congratulations.”

“Yeah—seriously, Kip, that’s awesome,” Roy concurs. “Great job!”

“Do I get a sticker?” Kip asks levelly.

“You could,” Roy says. “I think I have probably have some around here.”

“Mm.”

“Well, go ahead and tell him to come up whenever,” Molly says. “We’re all presentable. Is there anything you need help with in here?”

“Uh, no, I’m okay, thanks.”

“Of course you are,” Molly laughs.

“The head chef,” Roy adds.

“Yeah, okay,” Kip grumbles, and they laugh again and Roy pats him comfortingly on the back.

The pair drifts into the living room—possibly to allow Kip his workspace—and Kip picks his phone up from the table and sends a quick line to Wallace about heading over whenever he’s ready.

And then it occurs to him that if he doesn’t tell Roy and Molly about the situation before Wallace heads up, he’ll have to somehow awkwardly inform Wallace that he hasn’t brought it up yet, which would have to suggest Kip is embarrassed by him—or he can say nothing and risk letting the truth reveal itself accidentally, which could easily be even more awkward for him and again make Wallace feel as though Kip had reason to want to hide this.

He closes his eyes and leans against the counter and breathes deeply for a half minute or so. 

“Uh...hey, guys?” he steps underneath the doorway with one hand against a post as though preparing to shelter from an earthquake.

They don’t notice him at first, which almost makes him back out. But instead he presses on.

“Guys?”

Roy looks up at him.

“Hey, what’s up, Kip?”

“Uh...” He looks at the floor. He’s sure to be blushing now. “There’s something I wanted to tell you about stuff with Wallace.”

“Uh-oh,” Molly says. “Did you not actually get everything squared away with him?”

It’s a fair guess, he knows.

“No, um...it’s that, uh...what it is is that he...or, that we...” 

He pauses and rubs at his arm in what seems to be settling into a nervous habit.

“What’s wrong?” Roy leans in; his voice is quieted with concern.

Kip shakes his head and looks up at the wall instead with a sigh.

“...Can he not come over, or something?” Molly tries.

“It isn’t that—or, I don’t THINK it—or, he didn’t say anything like that, because I—I did text him, you know, just now, and he hasn’t answered yet, but he might just come upstairs without saying—texting me back, or anything, so I figured I should say—tell you that—that—it’s—“

“Wait a second,” Molly says.

Kip does, but she doesn’t say anything more.

“...What is it?” he asks slowly. 

“Nothing,” she answers. “You were just kind of going all over the place.”

“Only a little bit,” Roy assures him.

“Here—we won’t try to guess what you’re trying to say,” Molly says, crossing her legs and resting her hands on her knees. “Go ahead and start over.”

They both look at him expectantly. Kip wilts slightly.

But then he thinks of how little time it would really take for Wallace to exit his apartment and arrive at theirs. 

“I...wanted to tell you that...” 

He trails off a little. But neither of them cut in. He’s at once appreciative of this effort and somewhat put out that he has the full force of their attention to contend with.

“...I wanted to let you know...something,” he says.

Molly nods knowingly. Roy offers a small, encouraging smile.

“Which is that...uh...” Kip’s knees are actually starting to shake, just a little bit, in weak spasmodic tremors. But it isn’t as though this is something he’s actually afraid of.

It isn’t like it’s that big of a deal. 

Or maybe it is.

Maybe he’s kind of afraid to tell them and find out.

“...It’s about Wallace,” he decides to say. “And...um...me.”

He can’t really look right at them, instead glancing around the room at various objects. Nevertheless, he detects this slight shift in their postures.

“We...uh...you know, talked. A lot.”

He squeezes one hand into a fist and holds it behind his thigh, rubbing his knuckles against his jeans.

“And we...well...”

He presses his lips together and drops his head. This suspense he’s creating is just making this even more frustrating for himself.

He forces his legs to steady and pinches his thumb hard between his fingers.

“...We’re dating,” he says.

He looks over at the door and scratches lightly behind his ear.

“Wh—you are?” Roy says. “Like—as in you guys are both with two people now? You’re THAT kind of dating?”

“...Yeah,” Kip says quietly. His face definitely feels hot. “I just thought I should let you know.”

He drops his head to straighten the front of his shirt.

“Well, hey—thanks for telling us,” Molly says.

“Yeah,” Kip says, nodding.

He slips back into the kitchen to recover his composure by the warmth of the oven.

It isn’t like they exploded at him with enthusiasm or bewilderment, so it really wasn’t like it was all that difficult. In fact, it’s a bit surprising that they hadn’t.

His worrying reflex kicks into gear and suggests that maybe Molly had been hoping that this sort of thing wouldn’t happen, for the sake of keeping things simpler for Ben. Maybe they’re even concerned about Pascal and feel like he’s being shortchanged in all this, or that maybe Kip doesn’t love him as much as they thought. It’s not like he ever got THEIR approval for a relationship like this, anyways.

And then there’s the chance that they just feel like this is a bad match.

He sighs at himself and tries to shake this off—overwhelming reaction, underwhelming reaction, he can’t be satisfied with anything, apparently.

He dedicates himself to some last-minute preparations in lieu of fretting over the situation any longer, setting out dishes, getting butter from the fridge, putting salt and pepper on the table. He checks his phone to see an absence of notifications. He sends a quick text to Pascal to check in about the quality of his unfolding day, telling him not to worry about replying until he’s less busy with errands.

Sure enough, there’s a light knock at the door, and Kip’s heartbeat skitters into a quicker tempo while his nerves wind just a little tighter. He leaves the matter to the other two, and just a couple of seconds later he hears Roy’s cheerful greeting and Wallace’s somewhat muted response, no doubt stifled by a hug.

Kip waits a few more seconds before tentatively walking to the doorway of the kitchen. Wallace glances over at once; they meet each other’s gaze and both send a small smile. Wallace looks genuinely pleased to see him—his eyes are bright and his cheeks are pink and his smile acts like it’s itching to drop all restraint. 

Kip breaks it off before it turns into outright staring, glancing over at Roy and Molly instead, the latter of whom is rising from the couch to meet Wallace. And Wallace returns his focus to them, too, laughing and returning their remarks about how good it is to see him.

Kip smiles to himself and returns to the shelter of the kitchen, devoting his attention to finishing up the arrangement of the table. He’s setting a stack of four bowls beside the soup when the group drifts into the room, too.

“It smells fantastic in here, Kip, seriously,” Wallace says.

“Thanks,” Kip says, blushing maybe a bit more than such compliments usually inspire. “I...sorry I made a hot soup in the summertime and all, but it’s easier, and I kind of make hot stuff year round anyways, and I figured it might be okay since it’s rainy...”

“It’s totally great, Kip,” Roy reassures him. “Everything you make is great.”

“Aw,” Kip laughs.

“Yeah, seriously, and you made this whole meal—who are we to complain about that?” Molly says. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, thanks!” Roy chimes in.

“Definitely,” Wallace laughs.

Kip looks over at Wallace and catches his warm smile, more pointedly lingering than usual, more openly affectionate. There’s the smallest moment of hesitation, and then Kip offers all of them a smile and puts on mitts to pull the muffins from the oven. 

After just a couple more minutes, during which Kip takes on the self-assigned task of pouring everyone the beverage of their choosing, they’re all seated at the table, settling in and getting started on the meal. Kip is beside Wallace, which he figures is sheer statistics anyways, but their knees had bumped and now they’ve both silently allowed this to continue by way of letting the knees rest together. It both quietly flusters and emboldens Kip.

“So how has your day been, Wallace?” Roy asks. 

“It’s been pretty good, yeah,” Wallace says happily. 

“What’d you get up to?” Molly asks. Kip resigns himself to all of this. “You have weekends off, right?”

“Yeah, I was off work,” Wallace answers. “I kinda slept in, and then I went to the store, and then, uh...I was with Kip for a little bit, actually.”

He puts an admirably casual effect on the revelation of this last fact. Kip considers trying to send him some kind of comforting sign, but figures any nonverbal reassurances might come off as ambiguous—or even as an attempt to stifle him.

“Oh, you did? Did you guys have a nice time?” Molly asks.

“Um,” Wallace says. 

Kip gives her an unamused look. She smiles innocently back at him.

“Yeah, I already told them,” he says quietly to Wallace.

“Oh,” Wallace says, laughing a little nervously. “Oh—heh—I wasn’t sure—“

Beneath the table, Kip softly touches his fingers to Wallace’s knee, giving it a small, slow stroke.

“It’s kind of a surprise,” Molly says. 

“Yeah, definitely,” Roy agrees. “But, you know—congratulations! You guys are both SO fantastic.”

Kip gives Roy a little smile.

Wallace laughs again, maybe a bit more relaxed this time.

“Thanks,” he says. “Yeah, sorry if it seemed kind of...out of nowhere, but...well, it didn’t really seem that was from my whole...inside perspective and all, I guess.”

He presses his knee a bit more firmly against Kip’s. Kip smiles softly in response.

“So, I had a nice afternoon, yeah,” Wallace concludes.

“That’s good,” Molly says.

“Yeah, that’s great!” Roy laughs.

“Heh—yeah. Thanks,” Wallace says. “What’d you guys do today?”

Kip relaxes slightly, and the conversation fails to return to the topic for the rest of the meal—or even afterward. Kip maybe errs a bit on the quiet side, but in this particular grouping, that really doesn’t mean much. He and Wallace are together and the heavens don’t seem to have collapsed as a result, so he can only be satisfied with the situation.

Forty minutes or so after dinner, Kip gets a response text from Pascal. So half an hour after that, he excuses himself to put together the bag to bring over to Pascal’s. He returns to the others for a little bit before he informs them he’s about to leave.

“Don’t feel like you can’t keep hanging out just because I’m going,” he tells them. “Seriously, don’t.” He looks at Wallace. “You guys are obviously having a good time talking, and I’m sorry I even have to interrupt it.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Molly says. 

“Yeah, be sure to tell Pascal we say hi,” Roy says.

“Yeah, I will,” Kip laughs.

He turns to Wallace.

“Sorry to invite you here and then leave,” he says. 

“No, it’s cool,” Wallace says. He smiles at Kip. “You already told me you were going over to Pascal’s afterwards, remember?”

“Yeah, uh...” Kip laughs quietly. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

He smiles back at Wallace, then looks back at the others.

“You guys aren’t gonna grill him while I’m gone or anything, are you?”

“C’mon, we’d only do that to YOU,” Molly says. “Really, Wallace, don’t let him scare you off. You’ll be safe.”

“Oh—“ Wallace laughs a little. “Thanks.”

Kip shakes his head at them and gets up with a sigh.

A minute later he’s got the strap of his bag across his shoulder. He takes a plastic bag from the kitchen and puts their handheld mixer inside, followed by the carton of heavy whipping cream he’d bought earlier, then the box of strawberries. Thusly armed, he returns to the living room.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt again,” he says as he approaches the group. “I’m heading out, okay?”

“Okay,” Roy answers.

“Oh—yeah, okay,” Wallace says.

“I’m closing tomorrow, so I’ll probably see you guys late,” he says to Roy and Molly. “Sorry.”

“It happens.” Molly shrugs. “Have fun.”

“Yeah, we’ll see you later,” Roy adds cheerfully.

Kip offers them a smile before turning to Wallace. Wallace looks up at him and starts to summon a flickering little smile.

“I’ll text you later,” Kip tells him quietly.

“Oh,” Wallace says again. “Y-yeah, alright.”

He smiles a bit brighter, already blushing.

Kip smiles back. He puts his free hand on Wallace’s shoulder, smoothly leans in, and kisses the side of Wallace’s forehead.

Wallace is pinker than ever when Kip pulls upright.

Kip ignores Roy’s grin and Molly’s curious tilt of the head and hitches the strap of his bag further up.

“See you guys later,” he says. 

“Bye!”

“See ya.”

“Bye,” Wallace says faintly.

Kip smiles down at him before turning away and walking to the door. To their credit, he hears Roy and Molly pick up the conversation where it’d left off.

—

Kip knocks lightly on Pascal’s door before letting himself in.

“Kip,” Pascal responds brightly.

Kip steps into the living room to see Pascal rising up from the armchair, dressed in sweatpants and a white tank, a towel over his shoulders.

“You just take a shower?” Kip asks, smiling up at him.

“Uh-huh. I wanted to get all fresh for you.”

“Aww—“ Kip lowers both bags to the rug so he can reach his arms Pascal.

Pascal steps into range and leans in, scooping Kip into a hug, kissing the side of his face.

“God, it’s good to see you,” Pascal sighs. “I’ve been looking forward to this all day.”

Kip laughs and directs Pascal’s mouth to his.

“Mm—what kind of stuff did you do?” he asks. Then presses a couple more lasting kisses to his lips before letting him respond.

“Well—“ Pascal kisses him once more before returning to his full height and loosening the hold. “I went over to the shop to clean off some shelves—like, really take everything off and get into all the corners and junk. It’s a pain, but it’s even more of a pain trying to do it when the store’s open. I did as much as I could take in one go, then I just ran some errands and stuff, and then I came back here and ate and cleaned up the place a little. And then cleaned myself up a little, too.”

“Wow.” Kip brushes his fingers down Pascal’s jaw, then lays the hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been busy.”

“Heh—yeah. What’s today been like for you?”

Kip blinks.

“Well...uh, actually, I guess I have a couple of surprises,” he says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, um...” He lifts up the plastic bag. “First is that I brought over some cream to whip and some strawberries to cut up and mix into it. I should put these in your fridge, actually.”

“Oh my god—that’ll be amazing, Kip, thank you—“ Pascal sweeps in and kisses his forehead, a bracing arm slipped around Kip’s back. “I can put those in the fridge for you, here—“

Kip passes him the bag and Pascal goes down the little hall into the kitchen. Kip steps out of the living room, hesitates, then follows him into the small space.

Pascal turns from the fridge as Kip walks in, pushing some hair back and giving him a gentle smile.

“Thank you,” he says again. “You’re so sweet.”

“You’re one to talk,” Kip laughs. “And from the sound of your day, you’ve more than earned it.”

Pascal grins and leans in to kiss Kip’s forehead again.

“So,” he says. “What’s the surprise about your day?”

Kip blushes; his smile falters a little. It’s not as though what he’s feeling can be called anything like fear or dread or even real anxiety. He’s mostly just loathe to let Pascal down even a little. The last thing he wants to do is suggest to Pascal that he’s any less loved than he is.

“Um...well, me and Wallace talked,” he explains, shifting some weight back on his heels.

“Oh, yeah?” Pascal says, leaning against the fridge. “How’d it go?”

“Uh...” Kip smiles haltingly. “...Characteristically?”

Pascal cocks his head with a laughing smile.

“Basically...I argued with him a lot while he tried to get me to be more optimistic about things.”

“Ah.” Pascal gives a knowing nod, then laughs. “Got it. Who won out, then?”

“Well, uh—“ Kip shrugs. “I guess he did, really.”

“So you guys are, like, boyfriends now?” Pascal asks easily.

“Uh. Yeah, I guess so.” Kip blushes and looks up at Pascal. “I mean, I did, uh, kiss him and stuff. Multiple times, I guess.”

“Oh my god—“ Pascal raises an arm to cover his mouth and laughs. “Kip—“

“Is...is that okay?” Kip asks. 

“Of course it’s okay,” Pascal answers. “Didn’t it all go okay?”

“Overall, yeah,” Kip murmurs.

“This is what you’ve been wanting, right? I mean, are YOU happy about it?”

Kip blushes deeper and rubs the side of his thigh.

“Y-yeah, it feels nice,” he says quietly. “But I wanted to ask how YOU feel about it.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s finally gotten all worked out for you. And that you’ve gotten something you’ve wanted—that’s always really nice to hear.”

Kip smiles and shrugs.

“Thanks, but...well, does it feel weird? Do you feel anything about...your boyfriend being someone else’s boyfriend, too?”

Pascal smiles and shrugs, too.

“I don’t guess it’s nearly enough to change how I feel about you,” he says. “You’ve told me about it, and I thought about it, and got over the surprise, and I’ve never felt any different. I know Wallace is a good guy. I don’t need to worry he’ll treat you badly. And, well, I guess I just trust you this much,” he laughs. “Because I don’t feel worried at all that this is any kind of bad news for me. You still love me, don’t you?”

Kip can’t hold back a bright smile. He nods and gazes up at Pascal’s beautiful, incredible face.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, I really do.”

He pushes a hand through his hair and hesitates just a second before stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Pascal, burying his face in his chest. Pascal’s arms are around him at once.

“I love you too, Kip,” he murmurs in his ear. “Congratulations on getting the guy, huh.”

Kip grins and nuzzles his face against Pascal’s sternum, rubbing a hand up and down his spine.

“I swear, Pasc, I love you more than ever, I want you to know that...”

“I can’t ever forget it,” Pascal says, squeezing him. “Because I’m too happy about it. You’re my sweetest dream come true, don’t you know?” he laughs.

Kip laughs and pushes his mouth to Pascal’s collarbone, dragging his fangs across his skin in a mock bite; Pascal hugs him in hard enough to lift his feet from the ground.

“Well,” Kip says a bit breathlessly, “I really want to, like, explicitly say that...you telling me you’re cool with it doesn’t mean at all that you’ve waived your right to ever say more about how it makes you feel, y’know?”

Pascal brings him back down to earth, and Kip looks up at him.

“Anything that I can do to make your life better—I’ll always do it,” he continues. “And I always wanna hear whatever thoughts and feelings you wanna share with me. I want you to feel comfortable talking to me about whatever you want. Like, a piece of gum on the sidewalk. Anything.”

Pascal blushes pleasantly. 

“Thanks, babe,” he murmurs. “You’re too good.”

“I’m never any better than you deserve, Pasc. Seriously.”

“Oh—“ Pascal bows down and kisses Kip between the eyebrows, then pulls away an inch or two to look at him. “There IS one favor you can do me, though.”

“What’s up?”

“Did Wallace say why he likes you?”

Kip blinks, blushing a little. 

“Uh...kind of. We were a little hung up on the issue of WHETHER he should like me for most of the discussion, though.”

“Mm.” Pascal straightens up his posture. “You were telling him he shouldn’t like you?”

Kip blushes a bit harder, glancing down in embarrassment.

“...Yeah,” he murmurs. 

Pascal gives a soft laugh. 

“Good on him for knowing that’s not true,” he says. Kip smiles gently in spite of himself. “Did he have to really push for it? You letting him like you?”

Kip smiles a bit brighter.

“Ah—yeah, I guess he sort of did.”

Pascal grins with a look of both amusement and affection, which gives Kip a little flutter of the same feelings.

“That’s fantastic,” Pascal says. “I guess he must know you well enough to be ready to have to fight for something like this. Like getting to tell you you’re a great person who’s worth someone’s time and love and energy.”

“Quit it,” Kip murmurs, weakly shoving Pascal on the arm while he half-hides his smile.

“I can’t. Sorry.”

Kip pretends to sigh in exasperation even as he lifts the end of Pascal’s arm and grazes a kiss against his suckers.

“...He said he likes my shoulders,” he tells Pascal.

“Hm? He did?”

“Yeah. He said he likes seeing my shoulders and arms? I have no idea what that’s about.”

Pascal completely lights up.

“Oh my god,” he laughs. “What else?”

Kip tilts his head in bemusement.

“Why’re you so eager about this?” he laughs.

“I wanna hear what else he said he likes,” Pascal laughs again, arms curled against his chest. “Tell me!”

“Uh...” Kip looks around, mouth twitching towards a smile. “I dunno if this counts, but he said he thinks I have a particular way of talking.”

Pascal nods encouragingly, eyes bright.

“So I told him about all that time that I practically only talked to you,” Kip laughs. “He kept saying you’re great, by the way. Amazing and kind and stuff. I told him you’re one of the best people in the world. So don’t think it was just me getting complimented.”

“Aw...” Pascal blushes and laughs.

“He said he thinks I’m strong, too, so. I don’t know why you guys are getting the idea I’m anything more than some below-average loser...” 

“Oh, stop...” Pascal laughs and scoops Kip up. 

“You know what else he said he likes about me? Is that I’m in love with you.”

“Huh?” Pascal carries Kip out of the kitchen and into the hallway; Kip leans his forearms on Pascal’s shoulders. “Did he really?”

“Mmhm. He said he was sorry that he had to intrude on our, y’know, little reunion in E? The one that you said made it obvious I was still in love with you? He said it was obvious to him too, and that...he said he was in love with how much love I had for you, basically.”

Pascal brings him into the living room and puts him down, then gently drags him down to kneel with him on the carpet.

“Wow,” he murmurs. “That’s kinda...gosh. That’s kind of really sweet.”

“Yeah. I thought so too. And he also said he...kinda liked my temper? Or just...y’know, he was there for me really being like, transcendently-beyond-next-level angry, and he said I...seemed really powerful. I dunno if he meant that that’s something he likes about me, but I guess I kind of...amazed him or whatever. Made an impact or something.”

“I bet,” Pascal murmurs, bending Kip over to lie on his back. Kip blushes and slides his legs out to let Pascal fit between.

“I didn’t want him to only like me for stuff related to what we did about District E,” Kip murmurs, putting a hand in Pascal’s hair. “But he says he likes me beyond that. I was kinda arguing with him that it wasn’t whether he liked me or not, but whether he should, so we didn’t get into many details, but he did say that he feels like it’s kinda been...cumulative, I guess? Or at least has roots going pretty far back... How he feels about me, I mean. Liking me, or—loving me, or whatever.”

“Mm,” Pascal leans in and kisses Kip’s throat. “That’s kinda nice to know. It feels a bit more reliable than just waking up in love all of a sudden, y’know?”

“Hey—that’s basically what I did,” Kip laughs, turning his head to give Pascal more room to work. “Well...not ACTUALLY, since it was more like...I woke up and realized that maybe I’d had feelings going further back, too. Plus apparently Wallace had that same kind of moment when I first told him I liked him. And then he decided it was something he was sure he wanted to act on when I talked to Ben on the anniversary and gave him some of your tea. I guess he thought it was nice or whatever,” he laughs quietly.

“It WAS nice,” Pascal says, pushing himself up a little. “And I’m glad I could be a part of it in my own small way.”

Kip smiles and rubs a little circle on Pascal’s back.

“Y’know...” Pascal brushes his lips over the front of Kip’s throat, making him arch it up. “Wallace is right about your shoulders.”

“What?” Kip laughs “They’re just regular. ...I got annoyed with Wallace for trying to call me special, actually.”

Pascal pushes himself up again to look at Kip with half a smile.

“...I was telling him there was a million other people for him to date who are just as good as me,” Kip explains. “Except probably more pleasant and cheerful, like him. And I didn’t want him to think I’m special just because of the weird shit that’s been forced on me in my life. Or for any other reason. And I think I kinda won that argument.”

“That you’re not special?”

“Well...” Kip sighs softly. “At least the argument that I didn’t wanna hear it.”

“Mm...” Pascal returns to Kip’s throat, gently rubbing his scruff against it. “Well, maybe your shoulders are nothing special, but they’re very cute.”

“Cute...” Kip repeats skeptically.

“Yeah. He’s right about them. I like when you move your arms and you can see the bones in your shoulders shift. And they’re a little bit perfect curves and a little bit sudden angles. And I really like to kiss them. And I’d love to do that now.”

Kip smiles up at him and lifts his arms over his head. Pascal takes the cue and pulls the hem of his shirt up his stomach, over his chest, his head, all the way off his arms. Kip’s glasses get pushed askew in the process, and Pascal apologizes and carefully removes them and sets them delicately on the coffee table, then lets Kip take hold of his face and pull him into an enthusiastic kiss.

—

Pascal sucks his dick at an achingly smooth pace of buildup, crescendoing the intensity until Kip is laid out all over again. When he regains a bit of his ability and desire to move, Kip climbs onto Pascal and is all over him, kissing and caressing and grasping at his warm, wide body. He finally jerks him off while kissing him deeply, savoring the way Pascal’s arms slide and sink across his back and legs and shoulders.

Kip lies back with him for a while; Pascal has apparently been inspired to list some things he likes about Kip, which inspires Kip to respond to each with something he likes about Pascal. They meanderingly range from the superficial to the soul-bearing, and they leap effortlessly around this spectrum of qualities, talking lazily, laughing, leaning into each other.

Kip appreciates so deeply how loved he is. How wonderful it is that it’s Pascal’s love. So he lets him know during a casual pause.

“I love you so much, Pascal,” he whispers. He reaches up over his shoulder to stroke Pascal’s jaw. 

“I know you do,” Pascal murmurs. “I love you so much, too.”

“You’re so fantastically good to me,” Kip sighs, dropping his head against Pascal’s shoulder, eyes closed. “Everyone you love is so, so lucky. Everyone who even gets to KNOW you is lucky.”

Pascal presses a lingering kiss to the back of Kip’s ear.

“I’m excited to live with you, you know,” Kip says. “I wanna help you more. Make it easier for you to relax when you’re not busy at the shop. Cook stuff for you. Wake up with you.”

“Oh god, I can’t wait,” Pascal mumbles in Kip’s hair. “And not for those reasons,” he laughs. “Except for the waking up part. I mean, I love it when you cook. And I appreciate it so much when you help out with stuff. But that’s not why I’m excited.”

Kip smiles.

“Yeah, I know,” he murmurs. “It just means a lot to get to help make your life a little better however I can. I know you care about that too, for me. And I love you a lot for that.”

Pascal reaches up to brush Kip’s cheek with the back of his arm.

“You make me feel so nice, Kip,” he breathes.

And that fact alone sends little euphoric shivers bouncing around Kip’s chest. Because it’s really all he could ever hope for. He beams and turns around in Pascal’s arms and hugs him around the shoulders, pushing his face against the crook of Pascal’s neck, breathing in the scent of his hair and skin.

“Oh, Pascal,” he whispers.

Pascal wraps his arms around Kip’s back and tilts his head closer to Kip’s.

—

“I guess I actually have a third surprise,” Kip says.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mmhm.” Kip goes to his bag and digs out the box, then digs through it as well. “Aha—here we go. I brought this.”

Pascal blinks as he holds up the massager.

“It’s the hands-free one,” Kip says. “I know they’re ALL hands-free for you, but it’s just—you don’t have to use ANY of your limbs.”

“Oh...” Pascal reddens nicely. “Is it good?”

“In my experience, yeah. I was thinking it would be nice to give you something to occupy yourself with while I make that dessert for us.”

“Oh,” Pascal says again. He flushes a bit deeper. “That’s...”

“You wanna try it out?” Kip asks. “You don’t have to, obviously. I brought other stuff, too, and—I mean, of course, you don’t have to get off at all, we can have an intellectually stimulating conversation or whatever...”

“I’m, uh...I’m down to try it out,” Pascal says, rubbing the side of his neck and smiling a bit shyly. 

Kip smiles and passes it over to give him a closer look. Pascal turns it over with interest.

“I figure it might take about as long for that to make you cum as for me to make the strawberries and cream,” he says. “And you could use it right here. And, like, lie back on the towel so that you don’t have to worry about leaking onto the carpet.”

“Heh.” Pascal runs the tip of his arm along the length. “So how’s it supposed to work?”

“Mm...I could put it in if you want. After that, it’s just kinda like...moving around at all gives you a pretty good idea of what feels best. I’d just be pulling my knees up to my chest over and over, or kinda doing situps... It could get pretty intense. It was nice to be able to move around however I wanted, y’know? Without having to keep holding on, and stuff.”

Pascal nods absently, and then sits down on the floor.

“Yeah. I think I’m ready to start,” he says quietly.

Kip grins and kneels down in front of him, pulling lube from the box and dripping a little into his hand. He takes the massager back from Pascal, rubs it down, and crawls forward.

“Here,” he murmurs, pulling the towel off the arm of the couch and spreading it one-handed upon the carpet. “Sit on this. And then open your legs for me.”

Pascal obeys, laying flat on the floor, pulling a knee up. Kip kneels beside him, stroking a comforting hand down the center of his chest, positioning the head of the massager with the other.

“It’ll be pretty easy,” Kip murmurs. “Want me to go ahead and push it in?”

“Yeah,” Pascal breathes. “Go ahead.”

“Okay. Three, two, one...” He starts with a gentle pressure, then pushes harder, slowly easing it in. “There you go. Now it’s just about making sure it’s in the right place.”

It’s a simple matter. Within seconds the massager is snugly set in position, and Pascal closes his eyes and inhales deeply.

“Try pulling your other knee up,” Kip suggests, watching his face.

Pascal does, and Kip is gratified to see his soft smile.

“Oh,” he exhales. “Yeah...I can tell that’s gonna be really nice.”

“Mm.” Kip leans in and places a kiss on his lips. “I’ll leave you to enjoy it, then.”

He goes into the kitchen and starts getting out the dishes he’ll need. He’s putting the whisks into the handheld mixer when he hears a throaty sigh from Pascal; he smiles to himself and pauses a second before resuming his work.

It’s a nice, simple task; simply cutting up strawberries, whipping up the cream with some sugar, and then mixing the two together. He thoroughly enjoys the increasingly frequent sounds from Pascal, the sharpness to his moans that make it clear he can’t quite suppress them, the softer whimpers that grow a little louder as the minutes go on. Kip occasionally stops to briskly palm himself through his jeans for a few heated seconds, then dives back into the cooking with a warmed face and stirred arousal. 

He’s done preparing the dessert before Pascal has finished—one by one he sets the cutting board, knife, whisks, and mixing bowl in the sink, and then he returns to the living room and drops back down to his knees astride Pascal.

“Keep going,” he murmurs, and then covers Pascal’s mouth with his own.

—

Kip is driven a little wild by Pascal’s building climax, but he stays completely still while watching the full duration of its heights, not even touching himself, letting his crashing, electric arousal climb even higher and vibrate through his body. Pascal is gorgeous—the fluid motion of his body in reaction to his pleasure, the erotic depth of his voice, the desperation aglow in his handsome face—it all harmonizes to demand every iota of Kip’s attention.

Once Pascal seems to have come back down to earth, Kip lies down beside him, stroking himself lightly, slowly, teasingly.

“That...that was good,” Pascal murmurs. 

“Yeah, it was.” Kip puts his head on Pascal’s shoulders.

“You didn’t cum yet, did you?” Pascal asks quietly. “I was kind of out of it for a little while, there...”

“Not yet,” Kip says. “I could’ve, but I wanted to really watch you. You really...you’re really something, you know. You really take me out.”

“Heh...” Pascal weakly shifts onto his side. “Here. Lemme touch you.”

He reaches for Kip’s stomach; Kip gently guides his arm down to his erection. The arm spirals right down the length of his cock, so quickly Kip’s not sure if it was reflex or not. His own response is definitely reflexive—his hips buck at once and he moans, grabbing at Pascal’s chest.

Pascal smiles and pulls Kip in with his other arm. He keeps the coil unwaveringly tight around Kip’s dick and Kip fucks it, holding onto Pascal’s shoulder and chest, eyes squeezed shut, all the while breathlessly whimpering and groaning and begging him not to stop. Pascal doesn’t, and Kip cums hard, ears ringing, vision fading. 

He slumps against the floor with a shuddering gasp as his coordination and senses return.

“Oh god, Pas...” he sighs. “Yes...”

“Glad you enjoyed it,” Pascal teases quietly.

They lie there in their afterglow, still and quiet, until Pascal finally rouses to clean up the results of his trial run. Kip lies there a few minutes more, then deigns to sit up, and even puts his pants back on.

They sit by each other at the table with the dessert split into two bowls, lit by the crepuscular purple glow through the window, talking about work and tea and paintbrushes and shirt fabrics.

Pascal insists on washing the dishes, arguing that Kip both made the food and usually washes up, and so Kip takes a moment and writes out the aforepromised text to Wallace.

“hope you had / are having a good time hanging out with roy and molly. and i hope they really didn’t ask you too much about stuff. sorry again i had to go. i had a nice time at dinner though”

He sends it, then gazes at his phone a moment.

“Hey,” he says. “Want an out of left field question?”

“Always,” Pascal says. 

“Okay, well...I was thinking that I might...probably end up having sex with Wallace. At least once. Maybe. Probably.”

“Maybe probably?” Pascal laughs. “That’s a fair guess. How could he NOT be interested. He HAS, like, looked at you before, right?”

Kip blushes and shrugs, despite Pascal facing away from him.

“Well, um...I was wondering if you wanted me to...give you any kind of heads up if that happens? Like, tell you first? Or would that be weird. I could tell you afterwards. Or would THAT be weird.”

He rubs at his nose.

“This whole question is weird,” he says. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to put you on the spot. I don’t have to tell you about it at all. And, I mean, if you’re not cool with it? Seriously, I can just not ever sleep with him. I already told him we didn’t have to do that sort of thing if he didn’t want. If YOU aren’t comfortable with that happening, then it won’t happen.”

Pascal does turn to face him, arms shining with soapy water.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve always figured that if you dated him, it’d mean you guys would most probably sleep together, too. I’m not, like, shocked or anything.”

“Heh—“ Kip offers another little shrug, glancing aside. “I just...you know, I was already feeling it today. And if he wants to, also, then I guess we’d just...yeah.”

“Yeah,” Pascal echoes. “That’s cool.”

Kip looks up at him.

“Would it be weird if I kinda...wanted to do it soon? I just...I don’t want it to seem like I’m super eager to jump into bed because you’re not good enough for me, or whatever—“

“Kip,” Pascal laughs, “I doubt I could think that sort of thing even if I tried. I JUST made you cum like, twice in an hour.”

Kip pauses, then stifles a giggle.

“Y-yeah, true,” he says. 

“You don’t have to, like, report to me about it,” Pascal says. “But you also don’t have to feel like you need to hide it. What do you think YOU’D like to do?”

“Uh...” Kip looks back at his phone. “...I’d probably like to tell you. Maybe if we, like, arrange it in advance I’d say something, but I wouldn’t like...give you countdown-type updates if I was with him and it looked like something might happen.”

“Ha—I can imagine getting these play-by-plays from you,” Pascal laughs.

Kip smiles and blushes lightly.

“...I just...” He scratches at the hair on the side of his head. “I dunno. I might...end up moving kind of fast,” he murmurs.

“Well...you’ve been crushing on the guy for ages now,” Pascal says. 

“Yeah,” Kip murmurs. “I just...y’know. I don’t wanna...catch you off guard.”

“It’s okay,” Pascal laughs. “Move at your own pace, and all. You have good instincts. I think if you play it by ear it’ll all work out totally fine.”

“...My pace is kinda like...I dunno. Like maybe I wanna go ahead and go for it if I think I can.”

“Okay,” Pascal says simply.

Kip looks at him.

“...Are you worried I might be, like, put off if I think you sleep with him too early or something?” Pascal asks. “Because I promise I’m not gonna pull anything like that. I’m not that sort of guy. If you both wanna have sex, then I don’t see any problem in having sex, right?”

Kip blushes.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I just...wasn’t sure if you were figuring it might be a while...I know it took forever for us to even decide to start dating, obviously, so it might...make more sense if we keep taking things slow, but...I dunno. I’m definitely really interested.”

“Hey, if you want it, you want it,” Pascal says, shrugging. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Just go with the flow, y’know?”

Kip gives a small laugh.

“...You’re so patient, Pas,” he says. “I bring up weird questions like these and you just roll with it.”

“It’s not weird. You just worry about what I feel and junk. That’s really awesome.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Kip laughs. “I know this is all new and stuff, and I just...really don’t wanna make assumptions at your expense. If you’re not sure how you feel about anything...I CAN take it slow and all, seriously. I don’t wanna push you around on any of this.”

“I’m not feeling pushed,” Pascal says gently, offering Kip a smile. “I’ve been thinking about everything ever since you told me you like him, y’know? You’re not exactly ambushing me about any of these kinds of subjects. I’ve already got it figured out that I’m cool with you guys sleeping together, and kissing, and dating, and everything. You don’t need to move along at any certain speed. Just do what feels right for you.”

Kip blushes and nods.

“Okay,” he says quietly. “Thanks. By the way, I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Pascal says with a smile.

“...I’ll use condoms, and stuff.” Kip says, unprompted.

“Oh—“ Pascal blushes. “Word.”

“...Sorry. Just. So you know. Y’know.”

“Heh—yeah.”

There’s a small pause.

“You know,” Pascal starts slowly, blushing a bit deeper. “It’s always been...kinda hot that you tell me you think about threesomes, and stuff.”

Kip’s face floods with heat at once.

“Oh,” is all he says.

“...Yeah, uh...” Pascal looks towards the floor, one arm twisting slowly. “I dunno...like, just knowing that it gets you off to think about that... It just always gets me pretty worked up.”

He looks up at Kip with a somewhat bashful smile, and Kip’s heart thumps gently against his ribs.

“I mean, I get really turned on thinking about YOU getting turned on,” Pascal continues quietly. “And...you telling me about how much you liked fucking three guys at once, and how you like to imagine more stuff like that... It’s...I dunno, it’s just really hot.”

His face has that deep, persistent flush of arousal already.

His eyes meet Kip’s and they hold each other’s gazes. Kip can all but feel the heavy magnetic charge pushing him forward, making his fingers twitch, his arms tense, itching to reach for him.

So for the second time that day, the dishes in the sink are abandoned, and he and Pascal have their third round. Pascal shoves Kip up against the wall during the first rush to sate their furiously spiking pleasure, grinding against him, kissing him heatedly; Kip bites and sucks at his lips and gropes Pascal’s back and sides and ass, messily grinding right back. And then Kip’s supplies are taken advantage of again—Pascal works the larger dildo into Kip, easing it in and out at a steady pace and a knee-weakening angle. He sucks Kip fully erect, and then asks Kip to close his eyes and keep his hands on the wall and imagine he’s being fucked in the ass by Pascal while Wallace sucks him off. 

“Try saying his name,” Pascal murmurs, breath hot against Kip’s dick.

Kip bites his lip and pushes his hands harder against the wall, flustered by the effort of keeping them there.

Pascal kisses and mouths at the base of his cock and pushes the dildo in with a few harder, quicker strokes, making Kip gasp and tilt his hips into it.

“Ah—fuck—“ he breathes. “Pascal—“

“Yeah,” Pascal says, voice low. “And say Wallace’s name when it’s your dick getting sucked.”

Kip bites his lip again.

“You want me to?” he asks Pascal. “You think you’d like it?”

“Uh-huh,” Pascal murmurs, still working the dildo in with a smooth, uninterrupted rhythm. “I like knowing you’re imagining it.”

“Mmn...” Kip splays his fingers out, resisting the urge to take hold of his erection and pump himself. “Suck my dick, then.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Pascal’s mouth closes around the head. Kip thrusts with a choked whimper, tilting his head back.

“A-ah—!” 

Pascal sucks as he eases further down the length, somehow still coordinated enough to keep fucking Kip with the perfect angle and force and pace. Kip’s eyes roll back as his lips part and his spine arches off the wall.

“GOD yes—oh fuck, Pasc—“

And then he remembers what Pascal has admitted would get him off, and tries to imagine it for him. Pascal’s cock up his ass, fucking him just like this, while Wallace kneels in front of him, mouth around him, sucking, taking more and more—

Kip imagines tangling his fingers into orange hair, bucking into his mouth—all while Pascal fucks him deeply, steadily—

“...Wallace,” he breathes.

Pascal moans, and the head of his cock is stroked and squeezed with a swallow—

“Fuck! W-Wallace!” Kip groans. “God, yes—!”

He’s panting, head back, chest pushed out with the curve of his spine, restless and hot and quickly losing whatever composure he still has.

“Harder, Pasc, please,” he whines, inching his feet just a little further apart. “Fuck me harder—“

He’s obliged at once and gives a soft gasp followed by a rough moan. He feels like he can hardly manage to keep standing on his own at this rate.

“Pascal—fuck me—yes—fuck me—!”

He’s rewarded with several deep thrusts that stroke right along his prostate.

And then, as if as a reminder, it’s followed by a series of hard sucks.

“Fuck!” he cries, jerking one hand up to tangle it in his own hair. The other curls and flexes uselessly against the wall. “Oh fuck, yes! Like that—don’t stop!”

He moans Wallace’s name, Pascal’s, the pleasure from either source is continuous and encompassing. He slides his hand over his own chest, grabs at his own hipbone, presses his forearm to his mouth as he thrusts and gasps and pleads for more.

He tries to keep breathing their names as much as he can, but eventually he can’t even manage words, just raw sounds, open-mouthed moans, helpless whimpers. The relentlessly powerful thrusts travel all the way up to the tips of his hair, flooding him with jolts of sharp pleasure, shoving his arousal higher and higher and tighter and denser, and with the equivalently overwhelming effects of the blowjob he’s receiving, he’s not sure he’ll even stay conscious through this one.

He hears himself giving this long, breathless groan, spiking in volume with each shove of Pascal’s cock up his ass. A spasm travels down his legs. Then the groan stops, he feels like his whole body is surging with energy, this hot, tense, beating arousal that’s climbing up his ribs and building and building and about to burst and take him out with it.

He’s pulled unstoppably up to his climax and he freezes up and it hits him like a ten-foot wave. His legs turn to water.

He’s caught around the middle, held in place, and when the throes of his orgasm soften and Kip can hear himself again, he slowly opens his eyes and tries to feel for the floor or the wall or ceiling or whatever other point of reference might be available to him. His vision seems to be mostly whited out—he closes his eyes again and his hands find Pascal’s shoulders.

“Pas,” he whispers, leaning in towards him.

Pascal’s arms pull him in, and the point of reference shifts in a slightly dizzying roll of the earth, and then he’s lying on top of Pascal against the floor. 

His heavy breathing lifts and lowers him; he brings the backs of his fingers to Pascal’s face.

“...Pascal,” he murmurs a little bit later. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Pascal sounds a little breathless himself. “I’m good. You?”

Kip nods slowly against his chest.

“Good,” Pascal whispers.

What feels like a few minutes later, Kip opens his eyes again and puts a hand to the floor, weakly pushing himself up.

“Pasc,” he murmurs, looking down at him. “You really got me.”

Pascal smiles and Kip can feel his laugh against his stomach.

“...Yeah,” he says. “I’m glad. It’s really great getting to see you like that.”

“How d’you do that?” Kip mumbles, brushing some of Pascal’s hair from his forehead. “How can you do two things at once that good for that long?”

Pascal verbally shrugs.

“I can kinda put my arm on half-autopilot,” he says.

“You’re so strong,” Kip sighs. “You didn’t let up even for a minute. And you suck dick so fucking good—I never stand a chance.”

Pascal laughs and pulls Kip in and kisses him.

“Mmm...” Kip puts a hand against Pascal’s face before pulling away. “I gotta get you off too, but, shit—I can’t do anything that good right now. You really knocked me out.”

Pascal gives a pleased smile.

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “I wanted yours to be like that.”

Kip laughs quietly and shifts his legs—he finally processes the fact that Pascal’s already pulled the dildo out, which means Kip really must’ve been all but knocked out by his orgasm.

“...Wanna fuck my thighs?” he asks. “I can pretty much always manage that.”

“Oh,” Pascal says. “I mean—sure.”

Kip pushes himself up onto his knees, pausing a moment or two to steady himself, and carefully turns around. He lies back against Pascal again, head on his shoulder, and draws his legs in until they close against Pascal’s erection. Kip reaches down to pull it better into place, and then crosses his ankles to squeeze his thighs harder around it. Pascal’s breath shudders against his ear. Kip flexes the muscles.

“Go ahead,” he whispers.

Pascal’s legs spread, his arms wrap around Kip’s torso, and he starts to thrust.

Kip closes his eyes and keeps his thighs tight around the heat and pressure of Pascal’s dick, letting himself relax from the hips up, feeling the power and motion of Pascal’s body flow against and around him. He reaches back and touches Pascal’s face. Pascal moans and slides his arm to Kip’s lower waist, pinning him down even harder.

“Keep going,” Kip murmurs. “Keep going, Pas...you’re so close...”

He really is, he can tell. Pascal must not have been joking about being turned on by Kip fantasizing about group sex.

Only a minute later and Pascal is aching for release. It’s unmistakeable in his restless arching and groping of Kip’s body and his impatient groans and his rapid, insistent bucking.

“Pascal,” Kip says slowly, sweetly. He clenches his thighs together. “I want you to cum.”

Pascal whines and sweeps them over and they’re on their sides, he’s leaning over and against Kip, holding their bodies even tighter together, thrusting hard between Kip’s legs, beating against him.

Kip gasps and smiles and reaches down to touch the end of Pascal’s cock.

“Pascal—“ he says clearly. “Cum.” 

And with a shove and a sharp moan, Pascal does.

Kip waits to feel Pascal relax, then relaxes as well with a long, soft sigh.

He lies there, Pascal half lying atop him, breathing slow and deep, patiently waiting for Pascal to recover, just as Pascal did for him.

It’s only half a minute or so before Pascal rolls over onto his back, apologizing.

“I like it when you rest against me,” Kip murmurs, rolling over, too. “It’s nice. You weren’t crushing me or anything.”

“Good,” Pascal mumbles. He drapes an arm across Kip’s stomach. “...It’d be nice if I never hurt you ever.”

Kip laughs under his breath and pets Pascal’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

“I know just how you feel,” he murmurs.

—

Kip cleans all traces of Pascal’s cum off the floor for him while Pascal makes some hot green tea with honey, for the dual purpose of both preemptively helping his throat and drinking tea together for its own sake. The rest of their night is thoroughly relaxed in contrast to its fairly athletic first half. Kip takes a shower, and Pascal steps in afterwards to rinse off a bit, too.

Kip reads Wallace’s reply, which assures him that the conversation continued to be enjoyable and noninterrogative, and that he hopes Pascal is well, and thanks Kip for a great day. Kip thanks him too, and wishes him a good night. The reply comes forty seconds later—“Goodnight! <3”—and makes Kip keep smiling to himself for the next couple of minutes.

Kip slips into the kitchen and does the rest of the dishes while Pascal’s washing up—about which Pascal pretends to be outraged, which makes Kip laugh and pretend to be stricken with shame at the discovery.

“You’ve gotta let me put them away when they’re dry, then,” Pascal insists.

“Fine.” Kip sits next to him on the couch. “Roy and Molly and Wallace all say hi, by the way.”

“Oh. Cool. Hello. How’re they all doing?”

“Pretty solid, from what I can tell,” Kip says. “And from what they tell me. Molly and Roy are leaving for their mini vacation on Thursday, by the way. And they’ll be back around Tuesday afternoon.”

“Oh,” Pascal says. “That’s nice they’re finally doing something like that.”

“Yeah. They’d both just keep going nonstop forever, but it’s good to have a break.”

“Yeah...”

“YOU’VE had a busy year of it,” Kip says, elbowing him softly.

“A bit, maybe.”

“...I was thinking I should at least try to convince you to come away for a day at the beach,” Kip says. “Maybe a couple of days. Or a long weekend. Something.”

“Oh, man, the beach...” Pascal drops his head back to gaze up at the ceiling. “I haven’t been there in a while.”

“I know it’s not the most ambitious idea,” Kip says. “But that makes it easier to work with. Still...you know, it’s only an idea. If you don’t feel like it, or there someplace else you’d rather go—the whole point is only about letting you do something you could enjoy.”

“I like the sound of it,” Pascal says, looking over at Kip with a smile. “I could have fun going anywhere with you.”

“Heh...” Kip runs his hand down Pascal’s arm and softly takes hold of the end. “I can’t wait to strike it rich and take you on all sorts of luxurious getaways, and stuff.”

“Oh, yeah?” Pascal says. “How’re you gonna do that?”

Kip shrugs.

“Yeah,” Pascal murmurs. “That’s my idea, too.”

He holds Kip’s hand back.

“...On the bright side, there’ll be a whole empty apartment this weekend,” Kip says. “Except for me, of course. The only thing is I have a bunch of long shifts to cover while Molly’s gone. But it’s not like I’ll be working the WHOLE time.”

“Oh, well, that’s exciting,” Pascal laughs. He shifts onto his side to face Kip. “You’ll have a whole personal suite.”

“Ha—yeah, our fourth floor penthouse,” Kip says. “I’ll have to give you a tour of the place.”

“Mmhm.” Pascal kisses Kip’s hand. “You think you’ll have the energy for it after all that work at the café?”

“Definitely. I’m insatiable. Indefatigable.”

He sighs and leans against Pascal, putting an arm over his shoulder in a loose hug. Pascal returns the gesture, gently rubbing up and down Kip’s back.

“...Are you nervous?” Pascal asks.

“Huh? No—do I seem like it?”

“No,” Pascal says. “Not like, right now. I was wondering if you were nervous about stuff with Wallace.”

“Oh...” Kip blushes. “I mean...sort of yes and no. Like, I’m sure things will be fine one way or another. But also...it’s brand new, you know? And it’s not like I really know what I’m doing. I just waded right in.”

“Yeah,” Pascal murmurs. “It isn’t like that’s bad. But I know you like to feel like you have a good sense of what you can expect next.”

Kip laughs.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says. “I know relationships don’t work like that...and I’d been dealing with the uncertainty even when I was considering telling Wallace about my...perspective at all. But it’s kind of like...even though I know Wallace, and I know that he’s really...passionate and determined and nice and fun and all that stuff about being a great guy...that doesn’t mean I know what it’s like to date him, y’know? It really kind of IS like I’m introducing myself to a new version of him. Potentially, anyway. Maybe it’ll all feel seamless and familiar. I can’t really try to guess. I try to get my head around the whole situation and I can’t really get a fixed hold on it.”

“Well, you HAVE only been dating him since...what, this afternoon? So that all makes sense. It’s kind of a lot to take in right away. It’ll have to feel like it settles down soon.”

“Yeah,” Kip sighs. “It’s just, like...I’m over here talking about how I’m gonna fuck him five minutes from now, and it’s true I-I feel fine about wanting to do that with him, but maybe when the chance comes I’ll be too nervous or self-conscious or whatever. Maybe I’ll be nervous about all of this. It’s so different to be dating, and—like you said, I’ve only had, like, five hours of experience.”

“Hey.” Pascal rubs his back and squeezes him a bit closer. “It’s totally fine to be nervous. Starting a new relationship is always gonna be like that. But you’re fine—and you’ve got this. You totally knocked out the first date. Everything else has gotta be easier and easier, right?”

Kip laughs and kisses Pascal’s neck.

“Absolutely,” he says. 

He leans back and meets Pascal’s eyes, then smiles and kisses his lips.

“Thanks for always being so patient, Pasc,” he murmurs. “And thoughtful. You help me out so much. Just with everything.”

“Aw—“ Pascal laughs. “I’m glad.”

His gaze softens just a bit into something even sweeter.

“And I really am glad that things with Wallace have worked out,” he tells Kip. “It’s nice to hear when good things are happening for you, you know? I’m always hoping things’ll go well. I like when you get to be happy.”

Kip blushes a little. He smiles, fails to think of an adequate verbal response, and so wraps Pascal in a close hug for a minute or two instead.

—

Kip rubs his palms up Pascal’s back, gently drags his nails down, rolls his knuckles into the muscles around his shoulders and neck. He continues this until Pascal asks to get to lie with him, and climbs underneath the blankets beside him, spooning him.

“You don’t have to go into work until one, right?” Kip murmurs against his shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Man...” Kip yawns and snuggles up a little closer. “We haven’t got to have a whole morning together in a while.”

“I know,” Pascal laughs softly. “We can just wake up and...go back to sleep.”

Kip laughs too and strokes his thumb against Pascal’s arm.

He falls asleep with a complete feeling of warmth.

—

Kip wakes before Pascal, and lets himself doze for a while before rousing, careful not to disturb his boyfriend.

He does the math to let Pascal have ten solid hours of sleep, waking him gently to a hot cup of green tea.

“Good morning,” Pascal mumbles, rubbing his eyes. “Oh my god...no alarm and a cup of tea and you. This is already a perfect day.”

Kip smiles and pushes some of his hair back for him, planting a kiss on his cheekbone.

He waters the lilac bush, breathes in its scent until he’s numbed to it, and crawls back into bed with his own cup of tea.

“What’d you like for breakfast, do you think?” he asks Pascal.

“Mm...” Pascal lies back against the pillow, eyes closed. Kip watches him for a moment before thoughtfully running a finger down his collarbone.

“I was thinking maybe just eggs and toast...”

“Yeah,” Pascal breathes, letting his head fall to the side.

Kip sets his cup down on the nightstand and leans a forearm on Pascal’s chest.

“Want me to help you wake up?” he asks.

Pascal breathes in deeply, raising Kip up with the swell of his torso.

“I’ve been wanting to show you this, anyway,” Kip says, sitting up.

“...Show me what?” Pascal murmurs in bemusement.

The answer happens to be the sleeve he’d bought. He brings it over along with his lube, palms Pascal erect at a leisurely pace, then coats his dick with lube and slowly pushes the sleeve over his full length.

Pascal reacts beautifully—this quiet arousal, lips parting, chest lifting, cheeks blushing red. Kip simply jerks him off with smooth, twisting strokes that spiral around Pascal’s length through the sleeve, moving it up and down to let him feel its soft, massaging texture and its squeezing pressure.

Pascal’s breathing grows heavy. He moans softly as he nears climax, closed eyes flickering, arms curling up slowly. Kip works him just a little faster and leans across him, kissing his throat, his chest, his nipple, lifting an arm to kiss the back, suck the tip.

“Kip,” Pascal breathes. “Oh, Kip...”

Kip puts his hand on the side of Pascal’s face and watches him orgasm. Pascal drops his head to the side, groaning softly, and cums across his throat and jaw and chest in several surprisingly forceful pulses.

Kip gives him a few seconds to breathe again, then slides the sleeve off and swings a leg across Pascal’s, straddling him. He puts the sleeve over his own dick and leans in, bracing himself with one hand, pumping himself with the other, and kissing the crook of Pascal’s neck.

He cums easily, exhaling raggedly against Pascal’s throat, knees squeezing his hips, back arching up.

“Pas,” he breathes, loosely kissing his jaw.

“Kip...” Pascal sighs in return. 

Kip sits up and puts the sleeve on the nightstand. He looks down at Pascal, still flushed from his orgasm, his own cum across his front, which is now adorned with Kip’s as well. Pascal blinks his eyes open and looks right back at Kip, smiling gorgeously at him.

Kip’s own smile is bright and effortless.

—

Kip cooks breakfast, and after blessedly walking around naked for a while, Pascal gets dressed without cleaning off, telling Kip he’s going to go around all day with Kip’s cum on his chest beneath his shirt. Kip blushes and presses another cup of tea on him, soon followed by a plate of food.

Even having just an hour or two with Pascal sets a wonderful pace and tone for Kip’s entire day. He walks Pascal to work, kisses him goodbye, and goes back to his apartment to do a little cleaning for him, as well as a load of his laundry.

Kip makes himself a sandwich for a late lunch, sends Pascal a text about hoping his shorter workday is going along smoothly, and half-wonders if he should text Wallace as well. It’s not as though texting has ever seemed like Wallace’s preferred avenue of communication, but this IS sort of an unusual circumstance, after all.

Maybe texting would seem clingy. Maybe NOT texting would seem odd, or cold. Maybe it would interrupt him at work. 

He sighs and decides that he’ll compromise and wait for Wallace to text first, but will send him a text later tonight if he hasn’t already heard from him. It’s perfectly reasonable to text after a full day, no matter what the relationship. And it’s not like either of them can exactly do anything wrong, here. It’s not like they’ve established a routine or guidelines. They’ll figure out how to get comfortable with each other. And in the meantime, Kip’s going to try not to sweat the details, as he so often and thoroughly and effortlessly can.

He can’t worry too much about anything while in Pascal’s apartment, anyway. The place feels too safe and welcoming for that. The spaces may be small, but it’s big enough for them. The furnishings may be secondhand and inelegant, but they’re comfortable and well-coordinated. Pascal’s eye for detail is everywhere; his affinity for warmth and ease permeates the rooms.

Kip carries the basket of dried laundry up the creaking stairwell, back into the apartment. He pours the clothes and sheets and towels out across the bed he made, and sinks down to lie atop them.

He absorbs their heat. They smell like Pascal and soap.

Kip lifts up a hoodie and slips into it—it engulfs him, warm and heavy and soft. He sighs happily and slumps back against the mattress.

—

“Has it been okay?” he asks Kate.

“Nothing too bad,” she says, pulling off her apron. “I just feel like getting out of here. The place is all squared away for you though. Things slowed down, so I had the chance to catch up on stuff.”

“Oh, that’s awesome, thanks.”

Kate pulls her phone out, frowning slightly at the screen.

“You got Monday night plans?” Kip asks, putting his own apron on.

“Nothing exciting,” she says. “Just fielding, like, three conversations at once, here.”

“Congratulations—I mean, is it, like, a good thing? Conversations you actually want to have?”

“Yeah—“ she laughs and types for a second before sliding the phone back into her pocket. “Yeah, it’s cool. I’m just terrible at keeping track. Especially at work.”

“Texting on the job,” Kip says, shaking his head. “Complete lack of integrity.”

“That’s me, baby.” She flicks him on the shoulder. “I’m too popular. Talking to my mom and Asma and Roy all at once, and getting paid forty cents for it or something.”

“Oh yeah, how’s that going with her? Have any more hot dates?”

“Not with my mom, no,” Kate says. “But not really with Asma either. There’s not, like, that dating spark or whatever—plus I’m not dead certain she even likes girls. But I don’t think she’s really looking for anything right now, either. But we talk and we’ve hung out sometimes, and stuff. She’s totally great. Super funny.”

“Oh, well, I mean, that’s awesome,” Kip says. “Adopt her into this whole friend group, or whatever we have going on here. I’m dating Wallace, by the way.”

Kate looks over with a grin.

“Oh man, you really are? Molly mentioned something but I swear I thought she was kidding.”

Kip laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I actually am. So that’s going on, just so you know. I’m sure the knowledge rocks your world.”

“You always do, Kip. You’re too hot to handle. Two boyfriends,” she says to herself, shaking her head. “Between that and my texting, I swear I’m pissed we aren’t already these legendary local scandals.”

“I know, right? Where’s the recognition?”

“I wish I knew,” Kate sighs.

“Well...I don’t wanna hold you up here or anything, but we should get lunch or something sometime soon, and not just because of my engrossing personal life.”

“Oh, we definitely should,” Kate says, tossing her apron over her arm. “Hit me up anytime.”

“You know it.”

Kate nods solemnly at him, puts her hand heavily on his shoulder, and turns on her heel, and Kip smiles to himself and heads to the front to clock in. Moments later Kate comes through, shaking her red hair out of its ponytail, giving Kip a thumbs up as she passes by him. He returns it, then pulls a box of straws from the shelf.

Things go fairly slowly but steadily for the next few hours until there’s a bit of an increase when the nine to five crowd starts to show up after work. Some sort of bookclub seems to have settled in the corner by the window, and Kip keeps them supplied with drinks and desserts, and they tip generously. They talk and laugh quietly, and treat Kip pleasantly, and it somewhat feels like they’re keeping him company.

Kip slowly notices a feeling of ease underlying his mood. A bit more than just an absence of tension. He knows that a good day is just a good day, and that even a feeling like this isn’t any sort of indication that some tide has turned, that his depression has been lifted, that the wind is now forever at his back. But he went over a year without ever really feeling anything like this. And now, even with things to be nervous and unsure and maybe even a little scared about, he can still feel like this. 

And that’s all it needs to be—a reminder that he can feel like this. Like even if this shift went terribly, it could just roll off his back. Like he knows there’s somewhere in the world he’ll always be welcomed with eagerness and love, even if that somewhere is actually a someone. 

It doesn’t matter in the least that a mug he thought was empty turns out to carry an ounce or two of tepid liquid which now baptizes his front. Really, it just makes him think of Pascal. His chest is stained with old coffee, Pascal’s with both their cum.

It doesn’t even matter that he keeps knocking his back against the corner of a box on the shelf, half the time nudging his burn and startling him. It’s a moment’s unpleasantness, but not enough to even set him on edge. He can let it reverberate for a few seconds, then put it in its own box and set it aside.

He doesn’t even mind when people try to flirt with him, because his thoughts are so nicely occupied that he only takes notice of these efforts in retrospect. 

He may not have all of his life and identity settled into something ideal and comfortable and simple, he may have problems and concerns that keep him from being wholly and forever untouchable, but he’s having a nice day.

He looks up at the sound of the door. Wallace is standing there. 

He either sends Kip a bright smile or smiles at the sight of him. He walks right up to the register. Kip dithers for a second, getting that fluttery kind of feeling from Wallace all over again, and for just a moment it’s like he has to remember that he’s no longer anxiously secreting away a crush.

Now this is a visit from his boyfriend.

He doesn’t really mind that he knows he’s already blushing. He sets down the spray bottle he was holding and walks over to the register, too.

“...Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Wallace says. He rubs the side of his neck and turns pinker as his smile turns shyer; it’s kind of completely gratifying to see. 

“You’re off from work?” Kip says. It’s a bit of an obvious remark, but he’s not quite expecting himself to be the epitome of suavity at the moment.

“Yeah, I...uh, stayed a little later to go ahead and finish up this report, but now I’m off, and, um...” He glances around and shrugs as he speaks, but finally seems to collect himself enough to look at Kip instead. “You said you were closing today, so I thought I’d come visit. Is that okay?”

“Yeah—it’s okay,” Kip says. “I was, um, texting—I mean, I was gonna text you later to say hey. I didn’t think it would really do much good to text you at work.”

“Oh...yeah, I don’t even really keep my phone on then,” Wallace says. “Well, it doesn’t give me notifications or anything, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Kip rubs at his arm, glancing down. “Yeah, I figured it’d be something like that.”

He makes himself look back up.

“But I didn’t want to give you the idea I’d, like...forgot you exist or anything, either,” he says.

“Oh!” Wallace laughs and shakes his head. “No, don’t worry, I know. It’s cool.”

Kip smiles faintly.

“Uh...I told Pascal about things, by the way. Us, I mean. He’s still cool about it all. Did you tell Ben?” He blushes deeply as he speaks. “Or—sorry to assume. I’m not saying that you had to’ve already had the chance. Or that I can’t do it. I was just wondering.”

“It’s okay—“ Wallace laughs again. “Yeah, I did. I...kinda told him how it all went. He wanted to know. Not, like, EVERYTHING,” he says quickly, blushing as well. “Just...he was interested. Not in like, a suspicious way, just—a—“

Though Kip is sure he’s growing cerulean down to the base of his throat, he nods and tries to summon a reassuring manner.

“It’s okay. I think I get it,” he says. “Besides, it’s not like he can’t ask, or like you can’t talk about it. I just...”

“I know you told me a lot of really personal stuff. I promise I didn’t just, like, lay all of that out.”

Kip smiles a bit less tentatively and nods again.

“Thanks,” he says quietly. “I mean, I’ll talk to Ben too the next time I see him, I just—wanted to ask.”

“Yeah, totally, uh—and you said Pascal’s still fine about it all, too?”

“Yeah... He’s exactly as understanding a person as he seems. He’s been completely great about everything.”

“Oh—that’s great! Heh—awesome.”

“...He wanted to know stuff you said you liked about me,” Kip says, smiling at the memory.

“He did?”

“Yeah, he, uh...” Kip shifts his weight and fixes the roll of his sleeves. “It seemed like it was sorta like...like he has this favorite band nobody else ever listens to, and you told him you loved their album.”

Wallace looks at him and grins.

“That’s amazing,” he says softly.

Kip turns a bit more turquoise and smiles back at him.

“Yeah, it is.”

He remembers that he doesn’t have to glance away when he sees Wallace look at him with affection or even happiness that can be blamed on Kip, that he doesn’t have to wring his hands and step back when he’s close to Wallace, that he doesn’t have to stifle his own feelings or be ashamed of a damn one of them anymore.

He responds to this by moving a little closer to the counter.

“...It’s kind of weird having the register between us,” he tells Wallace. “...You wanna talk over there instead?”

He gestures to the other end of the counter.

“Oh...yeah, sure.”

So Wallace follows him over the ten feet or so, and it already feels a bit more relaxed to Kip.

“Sorry I’m kind of nervous,” Kip says quietly. “I guess I’m still getting used to it, and...well, I’m more used to thinking of this as a bad thing.”

“This is a bad thing?” Wallace repeats.

“I’m used to thinking that feeling like this is bad,” Kip clarifies. “Well—that ME feeling like this about YOU is bad.”

“Oh...” Wallace murmurs. “Right. Okay. Well...”

He rubs at the side of his neck again.

“I mean, I’m a little nervous, too. Not that I’m saying I’m feeling it in the same way you are, just that—I mean, we did only have lunch together so far. And then dinner, but that wasn’t really the same thing. What I mean is—we’re still really new to this, right? I think it’s pretty natural to be kinda nervous.”

Kip gives a quiet laugh.

“Yeah,” he says. “Pascal was saying the same sort of thing when I mentioned being kinda nervous. About how it always takes a bit of time to get used to a new relationship.”

“Right, yeah, it always does, even when it takes a while to start,” Wallace says, grinning. “Like, when I was telling Ben about it last night, I kept second-guessing myself and worrying that maybe I’d messed up in all sorts of ways...he had to keep telling me to stop trying to overanalyze the whole thing. I think it’s kind of a work-related habit,” he laughs.

As usual, it’s disarming to hear about Wallace being stressed and anxious about things, too. Kip’s smile comes a little more easily.

“I guess being here makes it harder to be comfortable, too,” he says. “I mean, it’s my work, and there’s people around, and all. And yesterday we were in public too, so that kinda adds its own sort of tension.”

“Man, that’s true...” Wallace rubs the back of his head and shifts his gaze down. “Sorry...”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m glad to see you.”

“You are?” Wallace’s expression loses its slight shadow of concern as he looks back up at Kip.

“Uh-huh. I like seeing you.” Kip smiles encouragingly at him. “And...it’s sweet of you to wanna see me.”

Wallace grows very obviously flustered at the compliment, a fresh bloom of pink in his face and a flattered smile accompanied by a humble shrug. Kip’s responsive smile is effortlessly bright.

“I—I was hoping it’d be quiet like this when I came in,” Wallace says, rubbing at his forearm. “I didn’t wanna show up in the middle of a busy period and just...end up contributing. Although I guess I’m still kinda getting in the way of your work by talking to you...”

“Nah. There’s not much for me to do right now anyways—there’s not any point in getting started on closing stuff for about another hour. And Cuddy’s cool about stuff anyways. She isn’t the type of boss who needs you to make up busy work every single shift of your life.”

“Oh, cool,” Wallace says.

“Besides, I like when people visit me here. It’s always a nice surprise. Even if it IS busy.”

“Oh, cool,” Wallace repeats, brightening even more.

Kip looks down at the counter and gently shifts his weight.

“...It’s really nice to be able to enjoy being around you without feeling guilty,” he says quietly, face warming. “Or at least without feeling like I have to hide it. And I guess it’s kinda funny that now that I DON’T have to hide it...even though I’ve already known how much I like it...I’m kind of. Uh. Shy about it.”

Wallace breathes a laugh.

“It’s kinda cute,” Wallace says. “That is, uh—sorry if you don’t like to be called cute. But it’s, well...just kinda cute that you like me enough to be nervous. Like, it’s sort of...amazing, really. That I can hear you say that you’re shy about the way you feel. About, you know, ME.”

He laughs again. Kip looks up at him—he does seem to be earnest. As if he’s ever anything but.

“Uh, IS it okay that I said ‘cute’?” Wallace asks, smiling a touch sheepishly. “I know that sometimes people feel like it only sounds kinda...demeaning. I can find some other adjectives, though.”

“It’s okay,” Kip says quietly. “I’m fine with you using it.”

“Oh,” Wallace says. “Okay.”

“You’re okay with it too?” Kip asks. “Because it definitely comes to mind sometimes.”

Wallace beams and nods, still almost shyly. It really is gratifying that such simple things seem to be pleasing Wallace so much.

“...It still kind of blows my mind that you even like me, too,” Kip says to him. 

“Well, I can’t believe I can blow your mind,” Wallace laughs. “I guess when we met and you were always so serious around me, I sort of got this assumption that I could never do anything like—at all impressive to you.”

Kip feels a slight twist behind the base of his sternum.

“See,” he says, tone lowered. “I made you feel completely unremarkable. Like I couldn’t ever like anything about you. How can you be expected to look back fondly at something like that? I mean, isn’t that just, like...being excited because I stopped making you feel bad? Isn’t that kind of awful?”

Wallace’s expression grows a bit more serious as he listens, though it doesn’t seem to become any unhappier.

“...You had a huge reason for not liking me,” he says to Kip. “Or not wanting to be friends, or close to me, or whatever. But that reason went away, and—the way things were between us when we met is like ancient history now, isn’t it? And even then, you seem to remember yourself as way more awful to deal with than you ever were. And we ARE friends now. We weren’t close when we met, but now we are.” As if providing a literal illustration, he moves a step nearer the counter. “...Plus, it’s not like I remember you as being terrible to me up until the moment you told me you have feelings for me, and I started to think I might feel that way, too. It’s not like that was the first kind thing you did for me—not by miles. And...you know, you’re really just so much better of a person than you see yourself as. Like...you don’t seem to ever see the good in yourself, past OR present. Or future. But I see it, okay?”

He takes another little half-step in as he speaks.

“And don’t say I’m, like, lowering my standards for you,” he laughs. “Or lying to myself, or anything like that. I’m not saying I’m the expert on you, but I don’t think you always see yourself too clearly. And hey, maybe I CAN become more of an expert on you.”

Kip huffs softly, shaking his head slightly. But he’s slightly comforted, despite himself. If only for the fact that Wallace is still willing to argue with Kip’s self-directed misgivings—that he hasn’t thrown up his hands and walked away after just one day of official dating.

But then Wallace’s expression does fall a little bit.

“...And you keep talking about how you got me caught up in everything,” he continues quietly. “But, you know, I kind of always feel like I’M the one who caused all of this for you. I know it wasn’t really either of our faults, and of course I wasn’t doing any of it on purpose, but...YOU were really the one being targeted, you know? I was being used and all, too, sure—but you were the one they were wanting to hurt. You would’ve suffered so much worse than I did. And...still, you DID have to suffer worse than me. It was all your friends and—and your family and your whole life’s history being used against you, and...thinking Briggs was going to die, and...the way you felt about everything with—with Eno, and I...wasn’t having to suffer in those ways. And I just...couldn’t help feeling like I brought all that to you. If anyone should, I’M the one who should feel like—like you should want nothing to do with me.”

Kip blushes, but gazes steadily at Wallace the whole time. Wallace, on the other hand, looks away periodically, down and aside and even up towards the ceiling. But as he finishes he looks back at Kip, until his own silence makes him drop his gaze again.

“...I guess we might as well decide to agree to agree that we balance each other out,” Kip murmurs. “Besides...it really isn’t like we can blame ourselves. I can wish you caught on quicker, and you can wish the same, or that I was more stubborn, or that...I dunno. It’s all just us making excuses for somebody who would’ve killed us both. In essence.”

“Heh...true,” Wallace says quietly. “I’ll try to forgive myself if you promise you’ll DEFINITELY forgive yourself, okay?”

“Ha—deal.”

Kip picks up Wallace’s hand and squeezes it in place of a shake. And then he lowers their hands to the counter, but it occurs to him that he doesn’t really have to let go. And so he doesn’t. And Wallace doesn’t pull his hand away. And Kip stares down ponderously at their knuckles—his own just barely roughened from the work and flecked with a stray freckle or three, Wallace’s sporadically adorned with faintly visible, colorless hairs.

“...Apparently it’s difficult for me to go for what I want,” Kip murmurs. “I guess maybe it’s still having that sense of guilt. Or still having all that...frustration over liking you. Or just the self-loathing. Or being all hung up on junk and messed up and I don’t know how to be happy. I mean...it’s been a tough year for that. Then again—we wouldn’t even be here if I hadn’t tried to ignore my own chances of being happy.”

“What do you mean?” Wallace half-laughs and rubs the side of Kip’s finger with his thumb, cocking his head.

“I mean...telling Pascal to forget about me while I came back to the area I used to live in with my family and tried to fulfill these responsibilities I assigned to myself but didn’t believe I could live up to. Your being here is all thanks to that.”

“Oh...” Wallace says. “Well. It’s not your fault. You’ve told me so yourself already.”

“I have?”

“Yeah, when you were telling me about what’d happened when your family died, remember?” Wallace softens his voice as he says it.

“...Um...”

“You were kind of...saying that even if you do have as many flaws as you feel like you do, or were even worse, it still wouldn’t mean you’ve ever deserved any of the stuff they did to you.”

“...Oh,” Kip says. “Yeah. I guess I did say that.”

Wallace gives him a small smile; Kip returns a little flicker of one and a subtle squeeze to the hand.

“...It’s only been a day, anyways,” Wallace says quietly. “And we haven’t really been in the most private settings yet, or whatever. Plus, I know I told you about liking you and wanting this, but I feel like I haven’t really gotten to show you that I’m, like...serious about all this.”

Kip tilts his head a degree to the right, staring levelly at Wallace.

“You haven’t shown me you’re serious?” he says.

“Well...” Wallace shrugs. “I feel like I haven’t gotten to show that I’m, like...you know, this isn’t really a whim or something I’m just doing because I think it might be fun to hold hands or whatever. I’m just...I’m invested in you already, and I take you seriously, and when I say I like you and I want you to be able to like me back, I’m serious about it, too. It’s not because I think it’d be entertaining or...like I’m just in it because a date gives me nice feelings, right? I know sometimes when I’m nervous, or, uh....trying too hard, I can sorta seem...like I’m only operating on the surface of things. I’m trying not to come off that way too often, especially with stuff like this, but I feel like...with more time and more chances to be a little closer, I’ll...be able to show you that this is...you know, that I’m for real.”

His demeanor seems a bit more serious even as he speaks of it. Kip feels himself blushing; he feels a little warmed overall.

“...I guess we haven’t really had the chance to show each other much of anything yet,” Kip murmurs. “About how we feel or what we want or anything. I’m not... Don’t worry that I’m, like, wanting you to sweep me off my feet or whatever, and that’s why I’m feeling held back—it’s really nothing like that. I’m just...having a hard time switching gears, or something. It’s not even like it’s anything bad. Just weird.”

“Hm.”

“...It’s kinda funny, because times before, when you’d come in here could make me feel so...worked up, sometimes.”

“Like, in a good way?” Wallace asks.

Kip nods.

“This one time I was so, just...kinda clearly taken with you that Kate figured out that I liked you.”

“Really?” Wallace looks quietly delighted by this.

“Yeah. I mean, there’s been all kinds of times you made me feel all...warmth and butterflies and magnetism and all that sort of thing. I mean—don’t you remember that time you had dinner with us, and I was washing dishes, and you came over to say goodbye, and you told me I was handsome and then held me and kissed me? I mean—god.”

“Um...” Wallace blushes and smiles. “Yeah, I do remember that.”

“I mean, not like I can be bitter about it now—but that was one of the things that helped me talk myself into telling you how I felt. Like...it really threw me for a loop. And the way you’d looked at me...I felt like you might like me, too.”

Wallace sighs and absently strokes his fingertip along the side of Kip’s hand.

“...I probably already did, yeah,” he says. “Just...I was kinda clueless about it until you talked to me. Well—evidently I already saw you as really beautiful, and I already loved you, and admired you, and wanted to be closer to you, and felt like you still made me nervous because I really wanted you to like me even when I was just some boring, average guy...”

He shakes his head slightly.

“I guess I basically already understood I had feelings for you...except for the part where I understood I had feelings for you. I mean...I remember you’d said you were gonna have dinner with Pascal. And I kinda understood that that meant you guys were officially getting together. And I sort of felt this pressure then—I dunno if it was like, thinking you’d be totally off-limits soon, or just some weird form of jealousy, but I...I was honestly glad for you, too, and...it really was sort of just following impulse without analyzing it. I remember too that you asked about it later, after I’d pretty much turned you down. And I felt kind of awkward, because...I figured you were basically right to have felt like maybe I was showing you that I liked you. I hadn’t exactly understood it that way at the time, but...”

He sighs again.

“I get why stuff like that probably made it more difficult for me to turn you down. I think I was...maybe giving off some signals here and there without really being aware. Like I said, I feel like I’ve only been realizing the truth of it recently, but from this new perspective, it...seems like it’s all been in the works from—from since I met you, basically.”

Kip laughs under his breath.

“When you met me, I wouldn’t talk to you,” he says. “And within the week I’d gotten all but outright furious with you like, a dozen times.”

Wallace laughs too.

“Yeah, and yet...” He slides his hand a bit further over Kip’s.

“Don’t pretend you even liked me at first,” Kip sighs.

“It wasn’t anything like I even disliked you,” Wallace says. “I just...you didn’t seem hardly interested in me, so I didn’t figure we were, like, bound to become friends.”

Kip shakes his head vaguely.

“...I never really did anything to especially make it seem like I wanted anything to do with you,” he says quietly.

“Aw, c’mon with that—you saved my life. I feel like that alone is pretty adequate.”

“I saved your life because it needed to be saved,” Kip argues. “It isn’t like ‘I don’t want you to die’ is this amazing, intimate sentiment.”

“You also kept risking your own life to save me,” Wallace adds quietly.

Kip shrugs and looks away.

“You haven’t been like, someone who’s treated me awfully for all these months the way you think, Kip. I’m sure we would’ve had the chance to get to know each other better under more...usual circumstances if everything else hadn’t interfered. You’ve said so yourself. When you were telling me why you moving away would let us get another chance to introduce ourselves. It’s not your fault that stuff with District E got between us like, immediately. You had to learn that you could trust me before you could really, genuinely like me. And that didn’t happen until we were really getting into the thick of it together. By then it’s not like you had time to pull back and invite me out for a nice, casual lunch.”

Kip scoffs quietly and shakes his head.

“So where in all of that did you start feeling like it was any good being around me?” he asks. “I started out as the guy who hated you, then I was the guy who had no interest in you, then I was just the guy you had to work with, et cetera, and so on... When did I even feel like a friend?”

“...I think you wouldn’t even have to ask that question if you didn’t think it’s a bad idea that I like you so much,” Wallace says, laughing softly. “I know you know, and I know that you know we’re really friends now, so it wouldn’t even matter if neither of us could point to a particular moment, or anything. But it’s okay. I’ll keep trying to show you that I’m really serious about you.”

Kip blushes, posture lifting further.

“...I believe you,” he murmurs.

“Well, I’ll show you anyway, then,” Wallace says, a touch playfully, leaning in a little. “You’re questioning stuff you already know, just cuz it’s so hard for you to believe it makes sense to feel this way about you.”

Kip knows he might be right. Which is kind of disarming, too.

“...I’m just a pretty face,” he mumbles, scratching the side of his neck. 

Wallace laughs aloud. 

“You’re so much, Kip,” he says. “SO much.”

“Yeah? Of what?”

“You’re heaps of loads of different stuff. AND you’re gorgeous—I noticed that when I first saw you. So, you see? This DID all start when we met.”

Then it’s Kip’s turn to laugh. This seems to delight Wallace, who winds his fingers between Kip’s and rolls their hands onto one side.

“We’ll figure out an evening sometime this week and go out on another date, okay?” he says to Kip. “And we’ll have some warning for it this time, and if I’m lucky I won’t have to spend an hour beforehand talking you into it, right?”

“Maybe,” Kip murmurs. “Tease me too much and I just might need some convincing.”

Wallace beams.

—

Kip lets Wallace steal a quick—but soft—kiss before he leaves with a couple of coffees. It’s strange how it’s both surreal and grounding to be kissing Wallace—it’s so disorienting, but the sensation of the kisses is so unmistakably real. 

The rest of his shift goes smoothly, and he texts back and forth with Pascal on his walk home, receiving plenty of sweet and funny lines from his boyfriend to further buoy his spirits. Everything seems nice—the warm weather, the halo glow of the full moon, the people laughing and talking just outside the front door.

Their apartment is quiet and dim; he hears the shower running and guesses it’s most likely Molly. A few minutes later he’s kicked off his shoes and changed into pajamas and sat back on the couch to relax, and she exits the bathroom to confirm this assumption.

“Hey,” she says. “Work go alright?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “Was it okay for you?”

“Yeah.”

“Roy’s already in bed?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How’s the trip stuff coming along?”

“Oh, it’s good. We’ve basically got everything together already. We’ll just finish packing the very last of it on Wednesday night.”

“That’s awesome,” Kip says.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Molly?”

“What’s up?”

“...Is it weird for you? What I told you about me and Wallace?”

“Weird for me?”

“Yeah, like...do you feel weird about it, or...”

“No? I mean, sure, I was a little surprised, but...” She shrugs.

“...I was just wondering,” Kip says quietly. “I know I didn’t exactly give the most warning. I wasn’t completely sure you were feeling totally okay about it all, or anything.”

“Well, I WAS feeling okay,” she says. “Why? Did you expect me to be mad at you, or something?”

“No, just...I wasn’t quite sure how you felt. I know that’s totally my fault, seeing as I just dumped the information on you guys and walked away, but...well, I figured I should ask how you feel about it.”

Molly frowns thoughtfully.

“I’m definitely relieved that it’s working out so well,” she says. “And I’m glad that two people I care about are both getting something they want.”

Kip looks at her carefully.

“Are you worried about Ben? ...Do you think we’re...that this is a bad idea?”

She shakes her head at him.

“I trust all of you to look out for each other,” she says. “And I know Ben chose this, too. So I don’t see how it could be a bad idea. Are YOU worried it is?”

He glances away.

“I dunno,” he says quietly. “I hope it isn’t.”

“Well, you never know until you give it a shot,” she says matter-of-factly. “But for now, things seem okay. You have my blessing, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t upset about it,” Kip says quietly. “I...I know it’s kind of just been this series of me repeatedly surprising you with some new information completely after the fact. And acting all tense and cagey and weird beforehand. I’m sure it hasn’t exactly been fun, and...I’m sorry. Thanks for being so patient about me. You and Roy both.”

Molly exhales a laugh.

“You’re welcome. I can’t pretend it’s exactly fun to wait for you to feel comfortable sharing little pieces of info, especially when it has to do with these other people I’m also close with, when I don’t wanna accidentally make anything harder for any of you... You and Ben can both be so secretive. I swear sometimes I could just kill you both.”

Kip has to laugh.

“We DID kinda agree that we’re maybe...a little similar at times...” he says.

“Oh, really?” Molly says sarcastically. “Wow. Let me write that one down.”

“Alright, alright...” He sighs and leans his head back. “It’s just that I...”

He looks up at the ceiling in thought.

“I’d hate to make you feel like I’m taking you for granted,” he says. “You or Roy. I know I can be difficult and...exhausting, or annoying. I appreciate that you guys put up with all of it. I don’t wanna act like I’m just...assuming you guys are gonna happily deal with I throw at you.”

He gives half a shrug, blushing slightly. 

“I know it’d be best if I just...didn’t have to say it at all, because I know that you guys know I appreciate you, but...”

Molly rolls her eyes at him.

“We DO know it, Kip. Believe me. It’s only in your head that we don’t. You’ve always been great to us, and that includes now. Like, I appreciate that YOU put up with US sometimes, you know?”

Kip doesn’t know. He glances away for a moment, then back.

“I guess?” he says.

She just shakes her head and sighs quietly at him.

“I just...” Kip starts. “I know that Ben and Wallace are important to you, and...Pascal is your guys’ friend too, and so am I, and...I don’t want to give the impression I don’t think it matters how you feel about stuff.”

“What, are you gonna dump Wallace if I tell you to?” 

Kip blinks.

“Well...I guess if you feel that way, I’d at least like you to tell me.”

Molly laughs quietly. 

“Seriously, DO you feel weird about it?” Kip asks. “I mean, even I’m not used to it.”

“Why am I supposed to feel weird?” she says.

“I dunno...you just kind of seemed like you might’ve had...reservations about hearing it, I guess?”

“Oh, is that it?” She pulls the towel off her shoulders and folds it over her arm. “You know that I was only trying not to make you panic or anything, right?”

“...What?”

“When you told us about being with Wallace. You seemed so nervous that I figured maybe a quiet reaction would help you out. Did that make you worry I disapprove, or something?”

“Oh...” Kip rubs at his arm. “Uh, I guess it did, a little.”

Molly laughs and pats him on the shoulder; he gets pushed back against the cushions.

“Well, I think all of you are great, and I bet you’ll all be great to each other. There—does that make you feel better?”

He blushes again, embarrassed, looking down at his knees.

“Well...” he murmurs, “I guess the good news is that, as far as I know, I don’t have any more new boyfriends lined up or...secret crushes, or whatever.”

“That’s good news?”

Kip shrugs halfheartedly again, and changes the subject.

“I’ve been meaning to ask: you and Roy weren’t planning to move into a new apartment at the end of this month, were you?”

“No—neither of us said so already? We were thinking the end of next month, unless you guys would want more time?”

“I mean, would YOU want more time? I don’t want you two to feel rushed into this. If it’s too soon—“

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” Molly interrupts. “We aren’t rushed. We’re just moving downstairs, remember? Hardly that big a deal.”

Kip shrugs again.

“Well...yeah. Anyway, uh, are you looking forward to the trip?”

“Uh-huh.” She smiles. “It’s been a while since I did something like this.”

“No kidding—“ Kip laughs softly. “It’ll be nice to know you guys are having a good time. You deserve it.”

“Aw. Thanks.”

She pats him on the shoulder again—he only just braces himself in time.

—

Kip gets a goodnight text from Wallace while in the middle of reading a text from Pascal. He sends one back.

He waters his plants and opens the window to let in some fresh air. It feels cold to him, but he tolerates it for the moment. He considers working on something for his blog, but feels too tired, and climbs onto his bed, drawing a few stars around the margins of the erasable calendar mounted on the corkboard. He carefully drags a fingertip across a few vertices, rubbing out overextended lines, evening out shaky edges.

He lies back in bed with a book.

He forces himself awake from a nightmare—he’d been chased through the cinders of his home, through the hallways of the complex in E, until the sheer familiarity of the imagery and the panic made him recognize it as a dream. Or at least made him aware that he could push himself out of the situation. And so he goes from huddling in a stairwell to lying back on his bed, book on his chest, shaking from cold.

At first he thinks the stress of the dreams lowered his temperature, but then the unusually clear sound of a passing car reminds him his window is still letting in the cooled night air. He gets up, closes it, and drags himself into the kitchen to boil some water, which he pours into the hot water bottle he sleeps with whenever faced with a particularly pervasive chill.

He wraps it in a handtowel and brings it back to bed, lies on his stomach underneath the blankets, and rests it on his back.

It’s not too unlike having Pascal’s arm draped over him. Heavy, warm. The distinction between the sensation blurs further as Kip drifts off again. He thinks of Pascal. Wonders what it would feel like to be in bed next to Wallace. How it would feel to be held by both of them. To lie next to Ben and pull him in a little closer.

He imagines it all as soft and gentle and warm.

—

By the end of the next day he’s had a busy shift at the café, enjoyed a long phonecall with Pascal, made a decent meal of leftovers, taken a hot shower, given himself a satisfying orgasm, written a few paragraphs for his blog, looked over the latest photographs Kate’s posted via her new camera, and gotten a text from Wallace asking if he’d like to try going out to dinner sometime in the next few days.

“i’m done with work at 5 tomorrow,” he replies. “if that works for you”

He doesn’t expect Wallace to say it will, but a few minutes later he does just that, asking him if seven sounds like a good time to meet up. And Kip tells him it’s fine. And it’s a date.

Kip tries not to feel too nervous, to focus on the underlying excitement instead. A real date. He wonders if Wallace has any particular place in mind. He sort of hopes it’s not anywhere on Berkley.

The thought makes him look at the photograph by his door. He wishes they could’ve met Wallace. Imagines what it would’ve been like to know Wallace back when his family was still alive. A decade ago, when they were both only in high school. He wishes his family could see him now, loved so securely by amazing people. That, if nothing else, they could’ve just known he wouldn’t be killed—not by the fire, nor by the humans who set it.

He closes his eyes and misses them.

But in spite of this, his dreams are quiet.

—

Kip wakes with an unfortunately familiar feeling—his depression is wrapped around his chest and sitting in his throat. The sense that he doesn’t know who he is or what he should do is no longer merely a mild frustration—its urgency brings a stab of stress that’s all but a physical ache. The absence of his family no longer feels like a quiet ghost—he’s adrift without them, the loss is as much in his present as it is six years in his past, fresh and painful and horrible. The doubt and disappointment he harbors for himself is sharpened. His idea that he isn’t good enough even for Wallace’s attention, much less his love, feels less like an idiosyncratic, mildly frivolous notion, and more like a concern that should worry him—even scare him.

This last worry comes over him while showering, and although the warmth of the water helps to lift the mantle of dread that’s weighed on him since waking, his clearing thoughts include the recollection that he’s agreed to go out with Wallace tonight. And the excitement feels entirely overwhelmed by concern. 

Even on his best days, he wouldn’t feel good enough to lay claim to Wallace’s time and affection like this. But he can already tell that today he’s going to have much less appeal than usual. Wallace has seen him bad, of course. But that was when they were besieged by all kinds of external forces that would warrant worse than depression—that made even his anxiety attacks and collapses and flareups seem practically expected. Wallace has only seen him worn down like this when things were bad. 

He sits in his room, swathed in his towel, and reminds himself that he’s outright told Wallace that he’s been dealing with depression—for over a third of his life. That Wallace claims to be willing to face Kip’s more difficult, unpleasant traits. That Wallace does want him—has repeatedly told him so, has proven it further by asking for this date in the first place.

And he likes that. He knows that he wants Wallace, wants to be wanted by him. But somehow he still hasn’t shaken the mindset he’d gotten into after learning Wallace was already with someone else—the one saying that’s how it should be. Wallace should be in love with someone else. To desire Wallace’s love for himself is selfish and arrogant and completely misguided, unfounded, absurd. And knowing that it might be self-loathing, misdirected frustration, sheer defensiveness, doesn’t help right now. Right now it feels like he’s still cheating someone somehow.

He tries to make himself eat breakfast, but all he does is crawl back underneath his blankets and send Pascal a text to say good morning before resetting his alarm and closing his eyes. He sleeps until an hour before his shift starts. He doesn’t exactly feel that much better when he wakes, but things don’t feel quite as urgent and overwhelming as they had. 

—

His shift goes by frustratingly slowly. It’s definitely a day he’d rather be his room, lying back in bed, trying to relax. Despite it being relatively quiet, the noise in the café bothers him, and his pace is slower than usual, so that it’s like he has to continually push himself to make coffees and clean tables at what feels like a rush. But it’s nothing he can’t handle. The stress is of a kind he can fold up and set aside.

He slips into the back to read a text from Pascal, and the small interruption serves as a subtle little infusion of cheerfulness. It’s only ever nice to be reminded that someone as lovely as Pascal has Kip on his mind at all times of the day. He finishes putting some dishes into the wash and then texts back.

As the end of his shift draws nearer, he finds that, despite still feeling weighed down by collective events of recent years and less than impressed by himself, his anticipation of this date with Wallace isn’t as fraught with worry as it had been that morning. He can’t help but look forward to it, after all—being regarded gladly and fondly by Wallace is objectively pleasing. How can he complain? And a day of active-but-average depression is still better than days on which he feels on edge, on which memories of E bubble to the surface, on which he feels liable to shiver into panic, tears, fury, or some awful combination.

Besides, as always, nothing can go too wrong—because, no matter what happens, Pascal will be thinking of him.

—

By the time Kip says goodbye to Cuddy and exits the café, a homogenous blanket of clouds has overtaken the the whole of the skyscape, emphasized by cumulonimbus islands that drift beneath the layer of light grey. A frequent, shifting breeze and the scent it carries all but promises rain. Kip is only halfway home when the lowered temperature starts to get to him, raising the hairs on his arms, forcing the occasional shiver.

He’s eager to get inside and maybe take another warm shower, but is stopped at once by the sight of Ben outside the door.

All but simultaneously, Kip reacts to this sight with excitement, nervousness, affection, and apprehension. 

He wants to believe Ben will still look at him with warmth, but now that they’re not having an intimate tête-à-tête it’s not as easy to summon that kind of fond, familiar manner he’d achieved in the moment. And it’s not exactly in his nature to optimistically assume that Ben will be happy to see him—not when he has a couple of recent, positive receptions versus the seemingly countless moments over the past year when Ben has subtly expressed something unwelcoming, sometimes wavering on the brink of outright dislike.

But then, how much of that was in his head? A slight disinclination that, through the convex lens of his self-loathing, he magnified into distaste? And, like Wallace, hadn’t Ben told Kip that they’ve both been reflecting themselves off each other, that they ought to forget whatever misunderstandings and tension they’ve quietly piled between themselves?

And Kip can be sure of one thing—Ben will perfectly understand and sympathize with his dampened spirits. 

He works through all of this in a second and a half—just long enough to interrupt his footsteps with a passing hesitation, and for Ben to spot him just as he starts forward again.

Instead of turning away, Ben’s glance lingers, and instead of subtly falling, his expression lifts. Kip smiles simply for being smiled at.

“I was hoping to run into you,” Ben says quietly as Kip walks over.

“Yeah?” Kip is further caught by surprise.

“Uh-huh. I mean, I haven’t seen you since before you let Wallace talk to you. So much has changed, right?” he says, deadpan save for his softly lingering smile. 

“Yeah...” Kip ducks his head, dragging a shoe along the sidewalk, like a horse pawing at the grass, as if scraping something off. “He said he told you. I told Roy and Molly, too. ...And Pascal, of course.”

Ben nods slowly.

“He says you really tried to talk him out of it.” Ben leans back against the wall of the building as he says it. His tone is fairly inscrutable. 

Kip blushes faintly.

“I guess I did,” he responds.

“I’m a little curious why,” Ben says. “You’d been the first one to admit to liking him, right? And when you and I talked, you didn’t say anything about having a change of heart.”

It’s times like these when the tension of his own uncertainty make him nervous and clumsy, when his anxiety nudges at him to trip him up even further, that Kip wishes Ben wasn’t so constantly capable of the sort of sangfroidity he can rarely achieve himself. Ben isn’t ever caught off guard or rattled by others’ nervousness, but Kip would feel less awkward and embarrassing if he was.

“...It makes me nervous when he’s talking about...feeling that way about me,” he finally tries to phrase it. “It’s confusing. I...still feel guilty, I guess.” He speaks partly to the handrail along the stairs.

“Guilty?”

Kip nods, blushing bluer.

“...Ever since he told me he was with you, I suppose I’ve—um, I’ve felt a little ridiculous about the whole thing. I mean, expecting him to...be interested in me. I guess it made it seem, uh, more obvious why he would—that is, why he WOULDN’T want to...”

He fumbles a moment, murmuring the start to various words under his breath.

“...Be—“ He raises his voice out of a whisper. “Be with me.”

“What’s so obvious?” Ben asks. He seems genuinely curious—not challenging or patronizing.

Kip looks at him for a second, despite how it makes him blush even hotter.

“...Well, from the start I’d been, um, more cold to him than not, hadn’t I? And...it was weeks before I knew he wasn’t trying to hurt anyone. And weeks more before I wasn’t so angry with him. And that whole time, even before he actually moved here, you’d been...you’d been sticking up for him. And always helping him. And being someone who was—was on his side, who actually LIKED him. I was—pushing him away and—heh—losing my temper with him. Like I said, even before he’d been here a week I was afraid of him. And even already thinking of—of what I might have to do if he turned out to be dangerous. What I might have to do to protect myself or Molly and Roy or—or you.”

He looks away from Ben and sighs softly.

“Even after I could finally...accept him as a real friend, I was just getting him into trouble. To say the least. He—he had a horrible time trying to help me. I know he wanted to, but...not exactly fond memories for him, I know. And I know that wasn’t my fault, but, still, I...”

He manages a wry smile and looks back at Ben as though it’s ever easy to mention E, even only vaguely.

“He had the worst time of his life being involved with me,” he laughs softly. “And you were there helping to save all of us from anything even worse. You’re—you’ve basically—literally been right beside him all year, being nice to him and helpful and protective and just—just GOOD to him, and it’s like—tolerating him was some sort of prize I gave him? Like finally acknowledging I like him and care about him was the best he could hope for, when you were giving him that right from the start. I was—ha—I feel like I was so self-absorbed to have been surprised to hear you too were together. Never mind that you’d been keeping it private—I can claim to love either of you and not even guess that Wallace just MIGHT be more inclined to want to be with you than with me? Ha—“

He shakes his head at himself with a strained smile.

“I think too much of myself,” he says quietly. “I say I know I’m not that special, but sometimes I really don’t act like it. I suppose I can’t help but—but suspect I think that Wallace should like me just because I like him. And that I set him up to feel like getting...decent treatment from me is something fantastic, because I spent so long being—less than kind to him.”

He shrugs slowly, no longer trying to cover up his concern with weak smiles and sporadic laughter.

In his peripheral vision, Ben looks more solemn, too. He’s no longer leaning against the wall—it almost looks like he’s going to step closer.

“...You remember that you helped Wallace the very first day he arrived?” Ben asks.

“But I didn’t. I just cleaned up after myself after I caused trouble for him.”

“It was more than that. Practically everyone in the building didn’t want him there—it’s true your rejection had more weight, but it was only more of the same. But a display of acceptance from you did more for him than what the same from a dozen other monsters could do.”

Kip flushes, frowning slightly.

“I wish it didn’t,” he murmurs. “And you know that I only did it because you asked me to. It was YOU who was looking out for him, not me.”

“And it’s supposed to be a bad thing that you did it for me more than you did it for him?” Ben asks.

“...I just can’t say that I was helping him then,” Kip murmurs.

“You did help him, whether you did it for his sake or not. You’d just met the guy. Do you feel guilty because you didn’t fall in love with him on sight?”

Kip rubs the end of his tongue against his incisors and flicks his thumb against his index finger.

“I know you know how differently we’ve treated him,” he tells Ben quietly. “Ever since he’s told me, it’s just seemed obvious why he’d like you. And all the reasons it seems obvious are...reasons that...contrast a lot with my relationship with him.”

“Ah—you’re DATING him, Kip. He DOES like you, remember?”

Kip has to blush at this. He nods.

“I do like him,” Kip says, still quieter. “It’s...it’s different than when it was all only just in my head, though. Seeing him look at me like that, I—I can hardly look back at him.”

“It’s nice, though, isn’t it? When he looks that pleased just to see you.”

“...Yeah.”

“...You didn’t say yes when you didn’t want to, did you?” Ben asks.

“Huh?”

“When Wallace asked you out, did you want to say no?”

“Oh.” Kip tugs on his shirt to untuck it. “I...I always wanted to say yes. I just felt guilty about it. I felt like I...don’t deserve Wallace’s, um...wanting me back, or whatever.”

Ben regards him thoughtfully. Kip tries for a flickering smile.

“...Well, first of all,” Ben sighs, lowering his head slightly. “We can agree that comparing ourselves to each other as a method of, criticizing ourselves is, uh, misguided?”

Kip breathes a laugh at that.

“Yeah,” he says. “We can agree. I know I shouldn’t.”

“Alright.” Ben folds his arms as though they’re working through some sort of practical problem together, maybe arranging a garden plot, maybe working on a tricky matter of scheduling. “And I guess you can say that if Wallace can feel negatively towards you over E, you could feel the same towards him?”

“...Yeah.”

“And you...clearly don’t hate him for it,” Ben says.

“No,” Kip says quietly. “I can’t.”

“He doesn’t feel that way about you, either. So just throw that whole line of thinking out, okay?”

Kip bites his lip and nods a bit sheepishly.

“I know,” he murmurs. “I’m trying to remember to.”

“Yeah...I know it’s easier said than done,” Ben says. There’s an underlying gentleness in his tone that makes Kip feel a bit less embarrassed. “But believe me, if anything, Wallace feels guilty about what happened to you.”

“...Yeah, he told me as much,” Kip says.

“I mean...he was basically the harbinger for everything that was about to happen to us,” Ben says quietly. “Even though he didn’t know it or intend it. But he knows it now. And he’s not, uh, very proud of it.”

Kip looks at Ben.

“And...look, you don’t really think you were ever exactly cruel to him, do you?”

Kip doesn’t answer.

“Like I said, the first night you met him you helped him out, despite every reason you’d rather avoid him. You think you’ve ever mistreated him?”

“Well, I was sort of losing my patience with him about every other minute...”

“Without cause?”

“...No, but...I was still harder on him than I needed to be.”

“Than you needed to be?” Ben repeats. “Kip, you said you didn’t know he wasn’t going to hurt us. Even I wasn’t too thrilled to be dealing with a human from A. I looked out for him because it was my job, you know? It’s not because I’m so generous and you aren’t.”

Kip shrugs again. 

“Why not just go on how things have been since this spring?” Ben asks. “If you say that was the start of your guys’ relationship, would you feel so...guilty about things?”

Kip suppresses a shiver as a breeze pushes past them.

“...I’m still...I’m still trying to be better,” he murmurs. “I’m not...”

He sighs and looks at Ben with a slight grimace. Ben blinks.

“...I haven’t been all that...enthusiastic about how I am for...a while,” Kip says slowly.

“What does THAT mean?”

Kip runs a hand down the back of his neck and glances upwards.

“I don’t exactly impress myself,” he says. “I’m not even sure I like myself. And I’m trying to be better, but you’d think getting through something like that might force me to improve, you know? But I hardly feel like it has—I feel as ridiculous as ever.”

“You’re ridiculous?” Ben asks flatly.

“I feel like I am,” Kip murmurs. “And I feel like...I still haven’t changed that much around Wallace. I know he means well now, and everything we went through together means that of course I—I trust him and care about him and feel closer to him, but I...it’s like I still don’t know how to act around him. Or show him who I am. I don’t think I know what I’m like anymore. Except for self-absorbed and temperamental and weak and all the ways I’m—worse than everyone I know. And that’s...it’s ridiculous. I’m ridiculous.” He throws his hands up in exasperation at himself.

“No, you’re not.”

Kip gives a shrug and a small smile.

“...It’s like I can’t ever settle on how to be,” he says quietly. “I only know all my flaws. Except that...I suppose I’m protective, aren’t I? But usually only passively, so that’s all THAT’S worth. I just feel like I’m always in the wrong, or I’m putting on some front, or...”

He attempts some kind of explanatory gesture, but it’s mostly another helpless shrug. But Ben smiles a little.

“...How long have you been pretending to be okay?” he asks.

Kip looks at him. He understands him at once, which is more unexpected to him than being confused.

“I guess...since I was seventeen, or so. Well, no. Since I was fifteen, maybe?”

Ben laughs a bit strangely, sudden and breathy like a cough.

“You poor kid,” he murmurs. “I knew you were worrying all along. You and Molly both.”

Kip almost smiles.

“Yeah,” he manages. 

“Well...” Ben rubs at the side of his neck and shifts his weight over one foot. “What I’m saying is that...you’ve had reason to become a bit detached from your...earnest feelings and reactions.”

“People see me as different than I am,” Kip can’t help adding. “Everyone around here. All that stuff I told you about—feeling like a hypocrite and all that—it’s like it doesn’t matter who I AM, everyone’s already decided, and—and I guess that’s pretty childish or whatever, but it—god, even WALLACE was introduced to me like that. He was the one guy in the district with no clue who I was and I STILL ended up playing that part of—being Kent, or whatever, or—“

He wraps his arms around his front and kicks at the ground again.

“I guess that’s all pretty childish,” he repeats. “And my fault, anyways. It’s not like I haven’t been copying Kent.”

“I dunno,” Ben sighs. “I used to have the idea it must be nice to have everyone think of you like they do. Which seems laughable to me now, of course, but...” He lifts a hand vaguely.

“It sounds...ridiculous to complain about...being respected,” Kip says haltingly. “But since it’s only because Kent’s my brother, it’s not like I deserve it in the first place. But I played into it because it’s...it’s what everybody wants, and...wouldn’t it seem like I’m not proud of Kent if I rejected it all? And—and trying to be Kent is better than trying to be myself,” he admits. “I played into it but I never committed to any of the actual responsibility that Kent would’ve because—I was always scared, and I—and until Wallace came along, I really...I’m sure I wasn’t going to have done anything really helpful, and just...kept playing the part while really I’m just a hypocrite who says he wants to help people but won’t, or—maybe just a liar, who only wants to SAY I want to help, or—I don’t KNOW what I am, but I’m nothing like Kent, and I—I guess maybe it IS good for me that people thought of me like they thought of Kent. Because I would—would’ve just been a disappointment to people otherwise.”

He blushes to say all of it, but it’s nice to put voice to these thoughts. To admonish himself by confessing it to the person who was abandoned while he was supported by friends and strangers alike. 

But Ben doesn’t respond at all.

“...I feel kind of small around Wallace,” Kip murmurs. “Ever since he’s said he likes me.”

“...What?” Ben says, nonplussed.

Kip shakes his head.

“I...I sort of feel just...confused and...like I don’t even process what’s happening until after the fact. I kiss him and it’s like I don’t realize it’s actually happening until it’s over. It’s like I’m either floundering or putting on some act and—and if I have a moment of being positive or appealing it’s just some...burst of inconsistency. It’s like, now that I know he’s turned towards me and looking at me, I only know how to...turn away and back up and...it’s like I only know how to be cold to him.”

“Well, that’s not the impression you’ve given him, from what I’ve heard,” Ben says.

Kip looks at him; Ben smiles.

“You’ve already kissed him a fair number of times, haven’t you?” Ben asks.

“I...guess so. But that’s different.”

“Mm.” Ben’s tone is unfathomable.

Kip folds his arms tightly to combat another shiver.

“...Wallace is so genuine,” he says softly. “It’s like he can’t ever hide how he really feels. While I can hide it so well that I hardly think I know my own feelings anymore. Except...”

He drops his head a little.

“Except for that I love people,” he finishes, voice quieted even further. “But I don’t know who I am beyond that. And Eno’s tried to tell me that that’s okay, or even normal, and I know that it’s...it basically makes sense after everything that’s happened, but I still...I hate it. I wish I was different. I wish I had even a little confidence in who I am or what I’m like, but I really don’t. I can’t...”

He briefly draws a hand over his face.

“Wallace is so real and so definitely who he is that I can’t possibly hold up to it,” he says. “And he’s so kind and determined that I-I think if he focuses too much on me he’ll have to realize that I’m—he was right about me in the beginning.”

“What?”

“He shouldn’t like me,” Kip explains. “He wasn’t ever—I was showing him who I really am from the beginning. I was scared and weak and selfish and—mercurial and bad-tempered and—evasive of everything I could’ve done to actually be helpful to him or anybody else. I was only forced to confront what was happening in E because I was backed into a corner and other people were in danger, and I would’ve just died or worse if it wasn’t for everyone else’s help. Everything good he thinks about me is just because—because—“

He scrapes his foot against the ground once more, face warm, throat tight.

“If I pretend our relationship only started after dealing with E, I might still have a crush on him, but he’d have no reason to like ME. I only seem special because of what happened after—after other people marked me as special. If he finally sees me just for who I am, he’ll see that I’m not even—not even sure about trying to help people anymore, while that’s still his whole sense of purpose, and I’m...boring and dull and I don’t—have that light and warmth that he does, and I’ll just take it and take it and drain him and he’ll still just have this...I’m just like, this glacier. And I’m not kind or patient or...I don’t know how to laugh and relax and he needs someone who can, just—he needs people like him, and I’m NOT like him, and I’m not even sure I’m any good, and he’s going to realize that I’m not good, and I’m—“

He’s rushing, so he catches himself and closes his eyes a moment—now he’s embarrassing himself by, if nothing else, chattering away about his own frivolous self-doubts. He doesn’t want to give Ben the idea that he’s turning to him for reassurance that Wallace will love him—or worse yet, that he’s asking Ben to intercede for him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I don’t exactly understand why I’m so nervous with Wallace and I...sometimes try to work through things just by putting my thoughts into words. I shouldn’t throw all that at you like I did. God. I should save this for my appointments.”

He scuffs his foot against the ground once more and summons more of a smile.

“I think it’s just hard to handle him,” he laughs. “I mean, he’s a bit intense. And I guess it keeps making me back up. I feel like out of all the people we know, I’m the last person Wallace should try to...ugh, I don’t know. I just know I’m...I’m ridiculous.” He laughs again, and a shiver ripples freely through him.

“...You cold?”

“No,” Kip says automatically.

“Hm. Well, I’ve felt a couple raindrops, so do you want to come in and have a mug of tea?”

“Um...” Kip scratches his nose. “...Sure.”

—

Ben sets down a peacock blue mug, curls of steam rolling over the sides of the rim.

“It’s still pretty hot,” he murmurs, sitting down with his own cup. 

“It’s okay,” Kip says, taking hold of it. “Thank you.”

He presses his hands against it and lets the heat diffuse up his arms.

“...Sorry for going on about all that,” he murmurs, leaning in over the steam.

“You obviously have a lot on your mind,” Ben says quietly. “I can’t say I don’t know what that’s like.”

Kip laughs softly. A shudder passes through him as he’s further warmed.

“Does Wallace worry you that much?” Ben asks, leaning back in his armchair.

Kip smiles, flatly and fleetingly.

“...It’s just a bit overwhelming, I guess,” Kip says softly, looking down at the rich red of his tea. “It was one thing when it was all in my head, but I can’t...I stopped thinking it was possible, and now, suddenly...”

“I suppose it did sort of turn around on you,” Ben murmurs. 

“A bit,” Kip agrees. “Ever since he kissed me I’ve...it feels like it’s been happening all in a rush, and I hardly know which way is up...” He breathes a laugh.

“...Do you think it’s been too fast?” Ben asks. “Like you didn’t have enough time to think it over?”

Kip shrugs and cradles his cup closer.

“It’s not like I think it’s...necessarily bad for me to just...try and be with him, but it’s so unfamiliar to be doing this, I...I haven’t gone on a first date with anyone but Pascal in...seven or eight years? And being with someone this way is...it makes me look at myself in a different way, it makes me...it’ll show me in a new way, this new version of myself when I’m with him like this, and when...when I feel like I don’t know myself, I guess that scares me a little. I hardly know what to do with myself.”

“There’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Ben says calmly. “New relationships can be as scary as exciting. I’d say that nervousness shows maturity. You’re serious about it, and you know what kinds of difficulties can be encountered.”

Kip lifts his gaze to send Ben a soft smile. 

“...I don’t suppose I could have the kinds of boyfriends I did back in high school anymore,” Kip says. “When it was mostly fun and easy...” He rubs his arm. “The way I am now, asking someone to be close to me seems like...like asking them to take on a hardship more than any kind of pleasure, or...joy, or anything nice.”

“I...know what you mean,” Ben sighs. “I didn’t feel like I have anything good to offer Wallace. But the way he acted...even if I was right, you wouldn’t know it.”

Kip smiles and raises his cup to his lips and takes a slow sip. The heat spills down his throat and into his chest.

“...I’m glad Pascal and I have gotten as close as we are,” he says quietly. “But I wish we’d had longer in the beginning. Before I...when I was easier to deal with. ...When we didn’t have as much to worry about.”

And then he regrets bringing up their deaths so suddenly—bringing up a relationship prior to their deaths. He flushes and takes another long sip of tea, crossing his ankles tightly.

“Of course,” Ben murmurs. “Nothing good came of what happened. You two didn’t even have a full year together before they died, did you?”

Kip shakes his head, feeling even more selfish. Talking about how his and Pascal’s relationship had to become more serious, when Yumi died—a handful of months before Ben was going to marry her.

“I’m sorry,” Kip murmurs. “I shouldn’t talk about things like that without warning. Just because of what we’ve both been through.”

“You aren’t talking about anything I haven’t been thinking about ever since it’s happened,” Ben says. “You can’t hurt me just by bringing it up. Don’t worry.”

“Yeah...” Kip rubs his ankle against the side of his calf as though scratching an itch. “I know what you mean. Still, I shouldn’t forget that it’s...not just my own perspective that applies.”

“It doesn’t mean you can’t ever talk about your own side of things,” Ben tells him. “It’s not like I’m worried you’re going to say anything insulting.”

Kip laughs a bit more easily.

“I doubt it, yeah,” he says.

When he raises his cup again, there’s a dull kind of clattering, and it takes a moment for him to identify it as raindrops blown against the window.

“There it goes,” Ben murmurs.

Kip turns to look out at the weather. He finally notices the dimness brought on by the heavy clouds—in their indoor setting, it’s almost like the onset of twilight. It’s kind of cozy—he appreciates being off his feet, sitting back on a couch, enjoying a hot cup of tea, rather than watching the rain through the front of the café while cleaning off the counter by the espresso machines.

“I guess a lot of it’s that I’m not sure I’m not just being selfish,” Kip says softly, still gazing out the window. 

“Hm?” Ben’s voice is slightly muffled behind his ceramic mug.

“With Wallace,” Kip continues thoughtfully. “I mean...he’s always bringing this...bright energy, even now, isn’t he. He’s...kind of radiant. And I’m...well, heh, I’m depressed and I’m...worse off for what we’ve gone through since moving here, and I...I kind of just absorb other people’s energy. They need to comfort me or cheer me up all the time. If he adds energy to a room, I detract from it.”

The rain is picking up—the raindrops are heavier and more numerous.

“He’s still optimistic. And I’m only now trying to stop predicting the worst out of any situation. And he’s...he puts himself out there, he just...gives himself, and I pull back and I pretend to be someone else. And he keeps his temper, and mine breaks. And he’s just...he’s friendly and genuine and fun, and, god, but I’m not. He’s a warm person, and I’m not.”

It’s a demonstration of trust to talk about being cold or icy or frigid or any other such thing in front of Ben.

“...It makes sense for me to want to be closer to him,” Kip murmurs. “But I don’t offer him anything. I’ve been...difficult towards him for so long. I know he sees me as a good person, but...he can see the best in everyone. If that’s the only reason for him to be with someone, it might as well be anyone else.”

He turns away from the window to look at Ben.

“I suppose I don’t think I can give him anything. Or at least...I won’t be fair to him. It’s like he’s really reaching out to me and I’m...pulling away, as usual. I don’t know if I’m even being myself with him. I’ll benefit from all the ways he’s so different from me and I’ll...I don’t have anything to offer him in return.”

He quiets in time for a soft, distant roll of thunder. He leans back against the couch.

“I don’t know. I just feel confused. I’m even confused about what’s confusing me.”

Ben breathes a laugh; Kip hears him set his cup down on his coffee table. 

“That’s not so surprising, is it?” he says. 

Kip shrugs.

“I guess not. ...Wallace is always so much more enthusiastic, and now—if HE’S confused, he really doesn’t act like it.”

Ben laughs again.

“I don’t think he shares your doubts, no,” he tells Kip.

“How could he?” Kip sighs, leaning back. “I can’t imagine Wallace feeling like he’s too cold, or he’s holding back, or he’s not...” He trails off into the sound of another distant growl of thunder. 

“...I wonder if, for one thing,” Ben says slowly, “your doubts and your sense of being overwhelmed are getting mixed up a bit?”

“What do you mean?” Kip looks at him.

“Well...” Ben leans in, picks up his tea, and studies it. “Maybe since you...haven’t had much time to think, and you’re probably still feeling caught unawares by Wallace, and you’re dealing with a more layered reaction than simple happiness...some of those complications might be...being fed into all these, uh—concerns you have about yourself.”

“Oh,” Kip says quietly, trying to process this. “Like...I’m...”

“Like maybe you’re taking what’s just you being confused or uncertain and you’re interpreting it as further justification for hating yourself.”

Kip blushes and drops his gaze.

“Don’t expect it to feel like when you were first dating Pascal,” Ben advises. “You’re a different person than you were then, and he’s a different person from Pascal, and its a different situation. It’s like I told you—there’s nothing wrong with being nervous, or even afraid. Feeling like it’s a sign that something IS wrong is gonna just make it worse.”

Kip flickers a smile—he knows that’s true. His anxieties only ever feed into themselves.

“...I didn’t feel the same as when I was first with Yumi,” Ben continues, and Kip blushes harder. “I still don’t. I couldn’t possibly—and I wouldn’t want to. It doesn’t mean I don’t love him, or that I’m not glad to be with him, or don’t enjoy it, or any of that—just that he’s someone else. And I’m different, too.”

Kip still can’t help but feel quietly ashamed. He’s here complaining while he has Pascal, who he loves more than ever, and in just a little less than an hour and a half, Wallace is going to take him out for dinner. While, for Ben, this is all so much riskier, venturing out with his vulnerability, trying to be with someone in this way for the first time since losing so completely someone he loved so dearly.

Kip knows he shouldn’t say so to Ben, but he sometimes wonders if, had he gone through what Ben did, he would even have survived it.

“...I was afraid at the start, too,” Ben murmurs. “I might still be, a little bit.” 

Kip offers him a small smile.

“I think...maybe...” Kip starts hesitantly, casting a glance out the window. “I just feel like SOMEONE ought to dislike me.”

“Uh...you do?”

Kip tilts his head and raises a shoulder in a vague shrug.

“I’ve been selfish,” he says quietly. “And a coward. ...I can hardly stand to think of all the mistakes and bad decisions I’ve made. It’s kind of hard to believe that nobody who knows me hates me.”

He blushes to say it.

“...Or maybe I’m just looking for a way to feel I’ve paid for how I am. I guess it’s not fair to demand that other people punish me. I just figured that...you or Wallace would have most reason to not want to put up with me. Since...”

He rubs his knee, embarrassed. But he figures his embarrassment might have to increase if he shows it.

“Just since he’s only known me a year, and I was so unpleasant to him for so much of it, and nearly got him killed...and since I’ve spent so long being...unhelpful to you, and since I...I know it’s not the best that you’ve had to have me around to...remind you of everything and feel like I was...making people look at you badly...”

“Forget about that,” Ben cuts in. “I’m sorry to have to’ve told you about it, but I’m sorrier that you picked up on it for so long before I said anything about it. But forget about it now. It doesn’t upset me to have you around. I never wanted to make you go somewhere else.”

Kip clutches his tea closer, almost against his stomach. He nods, trying to believe it as hard as he can. It must be true, if Ben trusts him to be loved by Wallace, too.

“...Thank you for saying it again,” Kip murmurs. “I know I’ve probably been projecting on you too much anyways. I should try harder to stop. It’s easier when I’m actually talking to you, though.”

“It would be,” Ben says with a soft laugh. “We should try to catch up on talking, anyhow. We haven’t done as much as it as we should, for people who’ve known each other as long as we have, and live this close.”

Kip blinks and lowers his gaze a few degrees.

“...What about when I move out?” he asks quietly. “I won’t...be as likely to run into you outside Pascal’s building on my way back from work.”

“Probably less likely,” Ben agrees. “But you’re not moving all the way back to D. You won’t have to be completely rid of me—unless you want to be.”

A much closer peal of thunder makes Kip flinch.

“And if you’ll be visiting Wallace, I’ll be literally next door,” Ben adds.

Kip wonders if he’d feel himself on sufficiently familiar terms with Ben to visit him so casually. He’s glad to finally feel closer to Ben, but he can hardly suppose that within this next month and a half he’ll be able to drop in on Ben as freely as Molly does—or that Ben would enjoy it nearly as much.

“Yeah,” is all he says. He looks at his tea. He’s almost sapped it of all its warmth.

“...Why do you want someone to hate you?” Ben asks, as casually as if he’s asking Kip what he had for lunch.

“Oh—um...” Kip shifts a little. “...I guess I just feel like...I deserve it,” he says hesitantly. “People always see me as...as Kent’s brother, and I guess now I’m someone who helped deal with District E, but I...I feel like I’m not that great. I never even—I didn’t ever try to do anything about E. Kent gave it everything he could, and even more, until he was killed for it—and I didn’t even try. All I did was finally move back here and...and in five months all I had to show for it was still just my blog, and if they hadn’t come after me...I bet I never would’ve done anything to help anybody,” he mumbles, head bowed towards his lap, fidgeting with the cup in his hands.

“For god’s sake, Kip.” Ben’s tone is suddenly sharpened as if in rebuke; Kip reflexively looks up, tensed, to see Ben slide a hand up his forehead. “You really think you should’ve just picked up Kent’s work?”

Kip’s heart beats harder. He doesn’t answer.

“You were eighteen, and you nearly died, and you lost your family and your home because someone wanted your brother dead,” Ben continues. “How would you ever be able to do what Kent did?”

Kip shakes his head slightly.

“...I don’t know,” he murmurs. “But I wouldn’t’ve been brave or strong or good enough, even if I didn’t have to worry about involving anyone else. But I...I just have the credit of being related to Kent. People were hoping that it meant that maybe...there was a chance. Just because I was still alive, with the folder he always had. But I never did anything. Even what I did now—I can’t take credit for it. It happened TO me. It was too late to run anymore, or...I’m certain I would’ve.”

“Kip, listen,” Ben interrupts forcefully. “None of this should’ve happened, okay? NONE of it. What happened to you this year was just as wrong as the fire. It doesn’t make a difference that you upended the operation—it STILL shouldn’t’ve happened to you, okay?”

Kip’s heart thumps as he listens. 

“...I know,” he breathes, face hot. “But that...that really doesn’t matter, does it?”

He’s half-genuinely asking.

Ben seems nonplussed to the point of being taken aback.

“...What?”

Kip is sure he’s blushing spectacularly, but what else is new.

“...Doesn’t it make a difference? What we were able to do in E?”

“Of course it made a difference.”

“I-I had Kent’s folder. And people would—they were already prepared to support me. Nobody else would’ve had that...automatic confidence placed in them. Shouldn’t I have...I should’ve tried to do something.”

“What on earth could you have done?”

“I don’t know. But everything we were able to do was because...it wasn’t because of anything I chose to do—not knowingly. If it hadn’t been for their own mistakes and—and sheer bad luck, how many more years would all this have gone on? And if I was able to make as much of an impact like this, maybe if I’d actually tried, I could’ve—I—I don’t know, but it would’ve meant something if I’d done SOMETHING, wouldn’t it? The only credit I deserve is—is being someone who ran away for years and was so—who would talk and talk about wanting to help, intending to help people like Kent did, but when it came to actually doing anything—I never did. I kept having to be forced into it. I kept—I’m just a selfish coward, and the only credit I can take is that I-I’m someone who could try to take on District E because I was just trying to stay alive and keep everyone around me alive, too. I just ran away from everything and—and even when I tried to stop running, if E—if they hadn’t come after me, I wouldn’t have done ANYTHING to help anyone.”

It’s quiet for several long seconds. Kip feels both as though he can’t say any more and as though surging rivers of confessions are fighting to burst from him. He struggles with this, but before he’s resolved, Ben speaks.

“...You never had to, you know. You’re talking like you had to, just because some people might’ve expected it. But you never had to try to help everyone like Kent tried to do.”

“...I always said I wanted to, though,” Kip murmurs. “When I was younger. And even as I was getting older. I said it too much to take back, and—and I thought I meant it. But then the—then I realized that when it comes to anything beyond just...saying it, I’m practically useless. I DON’T want to help people, not in the way they need, not REALLY help and—and really fight for people, sacrifice for them, like Kent did. I just...wanted to believe that’s what I’m like. But I’m not.”

“Kip.” Ben keeps placing increased emphasis on his name. “You never had to be willing to die. Or even willing to endanger yourself. You talk about feeling hypocritical, but why do you think Kent and Yumi and Eno were the only ones anyone could turn to? It wasn’t just how hard it was to get organized. Everyone was afraid. We all knew it was dangerous. Nobody should’ve had to endanger themselves further—not even those three. Nobody should’ve asked YOU to, especially after what already happened to you. If you went three thousand miles away and never came back, how could you be blamed? You NEVER should’ve felt like this was all on you.”

Kip blinks, frowning slightly.

“Kip—“ Again the increased emphasis, nearly urgent now. “You’re saying how you wouldn’t have had the chance to do what you did if those humans hadn’t put you in that position. But you think that means that the only way for you to have been a good person would be if you—you’d chosen to walk right into District E yourself and bring down their little empire singlehandedly? You DID have this forced on you, but you never should’ve had to deal with it at all! Just because you happened to be Kent’s brother doesn’t mean you inherited any kind of responsibility—even KENT wasn’t responsible for what was going on. They were just trying to figure out what it was. If you’d never done anything about any of it, whether you chose to or were forced to, that still wouldn’t have anything to do with if you’re a good person or not.”

Kip doesn’t know what to say in response to this. He just looks back at Ben in silence, his hold on his tea slightly loosened.

Ben closes his eyes and draws a breath, brushing a hand back through his hair.

“...Of course what you managed to do is...incredible and invaluable.” Ben’s voice is quieted again. “But it wasn’t ever your responsibility to do it. You shouldn’t ever have been put in that position, and even with everyone who ended up helping, you shouldn’t have been so alone. And you shouldn’t ever have been made to believe that you had to get involved in anything. You shouldn’t believe that being afraid of E made you a bad person. Or that—that not being Kent means you’re a bad person. You KNOW Kent never would’ve asked you to endanger yourself or risk anything or get involved.”

Realizing he’s holding his breath, Kip exhales a heavy sigh and nods slowly.

“I know,” he manages, voice small. 

“He wasn’t just being protective, you know. He knew it wasn’t fair to involve you just because you’re his brother. And it wouldn’t have been. It wasn’t fair that your family died. And if anybody ever made you feel like you owed it to anyone to take Kent’s place, that wasn’t fair either.”

Kip isn’t sure whether Ben’s talking about being made to feel as though he should’ve died in Kent’s stead, or merely continued his work. He supposes there’s not a lot of difference—the latter would’ve been the same as forfeiting his life. Or maybe that’s just an excuse.

“...Kent was remarkable,” Ben continues, tone now soft. “And I don’t mean to say anything that sounds like I’m trying to undermine his courage and fortitude and...altruism. But it wasn’t fair even for him to have to take on everything that he did. Even if they hadn’t died, it wouldn’t have been fair to be put through that.”

Kip immediately recalls the look on his brother’s face in the evenings after they’d gotten yet more bad news or hit another dead end, as they did with increasing frequency. This layer of fatigue, this shadow to his expression, a heaviness, a strained but distant look that he would slip into. But it takes a few seconds of effort to piece a definite image of him together, push past a certain level of blurriness, and then he’s remembering how bitterly he’d cried when trying to tell Eno about how memories get distorted and bent further towards inaccuracy each time they’re accessed, and how he can no longer say it’s been five years since they died, and how awful Kip would feel when Kent was so worried and exhausted by his work, when Kent never got a break, when Kip wanted so desperately to help him but couldn’t because he couldn’t solve this for Kent or protect him from it, how angry he’d be for Kent’s sake, how angry he’d be at himself for his inability to help his brother, how terrible it felt when Kent would see that Kip was letting it all get to him, was worried and upset and depressed and scared, and Kip knew it made Kent feel guilty, he wasn’t only failing to comfort Kent, he was making it all harder for him—and he would be so angry because it WAS unfair—Kent having to hurt himself like this, bind himself to this unending, deepening disaster, give up all his time and energy and peace of mind—how it felt when they were dead—being unable to stand, unable to hold back his voice, the wailing lamentations that grated at his throat and rang out for several blocks all around, but which he could scarcely hear himself—not five years ago anymore, now six, and his family’s faces are more hidden from him than ever, and they’ll never grow clearer, just more distant, more false—and he’s never done right by Kent—and how unfair that they could never say goodbye—that no one will ever be able to tell Kip that his family didn’t burn alive—that if he’d just learned to use his ice, the way so many other monsters managed their abilities, maybe it would’ve made all the difference—

“Oh,” he says, finally realizing that he’s already so far gone that his pooling tears are brimming at the brink of his lashes. He drops his head in a reflexive attempt to hide this, but the action only makes three heavy teardrops fall in rapid succession onto his arm and his thigh and his hand. 

He tries to breathe steadily and relax his throat.

“...Even if it wouldn’t’ve been fair to me...” Kip says slowly, cautious of any potential tremor in his voice. “If there was anything I could’ve done, wouldn’t it have been worth it if I’d tried to do it? I’m just one person...even if it’d ruined my life, wouldn’t it have been worth it?”

“Wouldn’t WHAT have been worth it?” Ben asks. “If you’d discovered what was going on in E, after looking for that was what got Kent killed? And if you somehow singlehandedly survived that and then dismantled it?”

Kip presses his lips together, trying to take deeper inhales.

“If you’d chosen to take that on, that would be one matter,” Ben continues. “But you’re saying you never wanted to. And that is NOTHING to be ashamed of. Nobody should be FORCED to sacrifice themself, even if it is supposed to be for the greater good. Losing your family was all the more reason for you to want to stay clear of it—and that’s exactly why nobody else stepped up to be the hero in the half decade you were in D. Everyone was afraid for themselves and everyone they loved. Because they were always killing us, Kip. You NEVER had to take that on. You should never have been made to believe that you had to.”

Kip’s eyes are still watering. A shift of the breeze splatters rain against the windowpane.

“But...I had Kent’s folder,” Kip breathes. “I didn’t know whether it would have any answers or not, but I didn’t look, and I didn’t let anyone else look, and...I know people saw me as someone they could trust like they’d trusted Kent, and for that alone I should’ve tried to...should’ve at least tried to...to show that Kent didn’t die for nothing...”

“You didn’t let Kent down,” Ben says, voice again more forceful. “You never have. You never owed anyone anything, and you never needed to try to do what Kent did, even if Kent had left you everything he’d ever learned, and every monster in the country asked you to. You always had as much right as anyone else to try to be safe. You were only eighteen. Even now—you were only twenty-three. You could never have done anything on your own. No one could. And wanting to avoid death and danger makes you no worse of a person than the rest of us. You should never have felt like you’re a bad person for being afraid or wanting to protect people you love, and protect yourself. You should never have thought you needed to deal with what Kent was trying to do. You never had to. You didn’t owe anyone anything, no matter what anyone wanted, or who they wished you were, okay? And if anyone feels you did, that’s their fault. THAT’S what’s selfish, asking you to do something they wouldn’t ask of themselves. THAT’S what’s hypocritical. You never owed anyone anything more. You haven’t let anyone down. Anyone.”

He says the last word so pointedly that Kip knows he’s referring to Kent, and he can’t help a renewed flow of tears. He frowns harder and bites his lip and nods, scratching the back of his neck.

“And I don’t know what you mean, saying you deserve to suffer worse somehow, as some kind of punishment—what could you possibly ever have done that makes you feel you haven’t been hurt badly enough? Your family was killed. How many times have YOU nearly died now? And I can’t imagine how you felt in E, but I know how it feels to be afraid someone you love might die. How many times did you go through that this year? And apart from fear and stress, I know a little about the kinds of things that you went through thanks to those humans. I know your burn is only one part of it. What in the world do you think you could ever do that would deserve even a fraction of what you’ve already been put through?”

Kip laughs helplessly and covers his eyes, dropping his head further and resting some of its weight against the hand. His nose is starting to run a little; he sniffs quietly. He might not be doing so great at concealing the fact that he’s crying, but at least he’s not crumbling into a worse state—his attempts to hold steady seem to largely be working.

“...Please don’t blame yourself any more for not wanting to put your life at risk,” Ben says. “Much less risk the lives of people you love. And don’t blame yourself for not being Kent. And don’t blame yourself for moving here and being around me. Okay?”

Kip nods, head still in hand, and tries to breathe another laugh. He clenches his other hand around his tea—the arm shivers, whether from cold or simple tension, he doesn’t know.

“Ah, hey...” Ben murmurs. Kip hears him get up from the chair, and as he’s trying to muster his composure, Ben touches his shoulder.

Kip flinches hard, uncovering his face.

“Sorry,” Ben says. “Here.”

He’s offering a few folded tissues. Kip carefully takes them.

“...Thanks,” he says quietly.

“Sorry to invite you in for tea and make you cry,” Ben says, tone gently offering humor.

Kip wipes at his nose.

“It’s okay,” he mutters. “I’m the one who brought it all up. You were just...well, I think I’m glad you’ve said all of that.”

“Oh, good,” Ben says lightly, sitting back down in his armchair.

“I’m sorry to—I should’ve said that you didn’t need to comfort me about anything, though,” Kip says. “Before I started talking about hating myself and everything like that.”

“I promise that I’ll comfort you because I want to,” Ben says. “It’s easy, because I don’t hate you.”

Kip laughs softly, trying to dry his eyes.

“...I don’t think I expect anyone to really hate me,” he says. “I just don’t...I don’t think I’m all that great. Even if you—if you throw out everything about how I’m Kent’s brother and about what happened with E, if you just look at...my personality, I guess, it’s...it’s not amazing. I’m not easy to get along with anymore. And there’s nothing that special about me. It’s hard to find people like Wallace, but I’m really just...”

He laughs again.

“All there is to me is that I’m usually in a bad mood,” he finishes.

Ben laughs too.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” he tells Kip, leaning back in the chair.

“Well—I know it, but for people around me—especially people who aren’t around me all the time, or haven’t known me that long, it’s basically all that matters. I’m cold and I’m bad-tempered. That’s all that I can pretend stands out about me, except that people like my face, and blue monsters are rare.”

He explains this matter-of-factly; it’s getting easier to stop crying.

“Like, none of my positive traits are that dramatic. I’m not that nice, and I’m not that funny, and I’m not that thoughtful, not that smart, not that tough, and so on and so on, but there’s a whole list of bad traits that I have that are really just—superlative. I’m hopelessly avoidant, and so much more scared of everything than even other monsters who lost people, and I’m so pessimistic that I can always imagine worse than the worst-case scenario, and I’m all depressed and nightmares and PTSD and phobias and I’m...so cold I’m literally cold and I’m impatient and bad-tempered and my good moments only last a second and then I’m just...ugh.”

He gestures at himself vaguely and dismissively.

Ben had raised his eyebrows as he listened, now he brings a hand to the side of his mouth, tapping a finger against his nose. 

“...You know, from what I know of you, I’d’ve said that you’re actually pretty awful at staying in a bad mood or keeping up a cold demeanor, not the other way around.”

Kip blinks, then shrugs.

“I put up fronts against everyone, and I can’t even be consistent about it—or strong enough to be consistent,” he says.

“Or you’re not as bad-tempered as you think,” Ben says. “And you’re too passionate to pretend to be otherwise for very long.”

Kip blushes—he at least knows the latter statement is dead on the mark, whether it’s a strength or a fault.

“Half the time it’s just that I get upset over something,” he says quietly. “Wallace already has plenty of experience with that.”

“And he likes you.”

“Who wouldn’t he like? He’ll put up with so much if he thinks he has to. It’s why they sent him here. Because he’d deal with all of this, including me, for his job. He’ll endure anything—it’s—he’s incredible.”

“You don’t have to be endured, Kip,” Ben says calmly. 

“Not all the time,” Kip acknowledges. “But with Wallace, it’s—it was always different. Part of me hated him in the beginning. He’d—I don’t know if anything makes me as angry as someone trying to hurt the people I’m closest to, and I knew he might be trying to do that—it was even worse that he might be using me to try to do that—whenever I saw any chance that he could hurt any of us again—I’d get so angry with him—I was looking at him as someone who might kill us—and—“ He laughs softly. “Just...even if I wasn’t afraid of what he could do...him being so—so cluelessly ignorant and clumsy about everything—always so sure that any problem could be handled—he could get under my skin just by—he’d say the wrong things or try to be cheerful about the wrong things and I’d—“

He laughs a little more freely and again wipes gently at his eyes.

“It was so long before I realized he really was on our side, and by then everything was already so stressful and awful that we...whenever we were together we hardly ever felt okay, and even now...he can still frustrate me and set me off.” He laughs again. “He can be so impossible. And I—but I put him through so much—I gave him such a hard time over something he wasn’t trying to do, and I know that now he understands why I was doing that, but I...he has so many reasons to be glad to get some distance from me now, or at least—at least not want to get even CLOSER—“

“I think it makes complete sense for him to be more interested in you after everything you’ve done together,” Ben cuts in. “And either way, he certainly wouldn’t want to distance himself from you.”

“But I’m not...I’m not that great to be around, and he’s probably had the worst of it out of anyone, and I don’t—I just don’t understand why someone like HIM would like ME.”

He rolls up the tearstained tissue and picks up his tea again. He lifts it to his mouth and takes a sip—some warmth lingers within the tea that he can no longer feel in his hold on the cup. It’s a small comfort.

He looks at Ben and gives a weak smile.

“...I’m going on too long again,” he murmurs. “You’ll have to start expecting me to talk about some problem or another for hours anytime you invite me to sit down.”

Ben shrugs casually.

“That’s how it goes. You sit down to drink with somebody, and the conversation can take any direction it wants.”

Kip looks at him a moment more, then moves his gaze to the wall, blushing even before he speaks.

“...Sometimes I feel like I’ve disappointed everyone I know,” Kip murmurs. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Of course you have,” Ben says without hesitation. “Everyone has.”

“What?” Kip says automatically.

“We all make mistakes,” Ben says, shrugging. “You let everyone down in big or small ways, and they do the same to you. It’s just being a person.”

He takes a slow drink of his own tea.

“I mean,” he continues, lifting a hand. “Can you honestly say anyone you know never disappoints you?”

“I mean...no,” Kip says quietly.

“We all disappoint each other all the time, I’m sure. Mostly in the little ways, but still. People are way too complicated for anything else. And there’s nothing wrong with it. I mean, we all disappoint ourselves more, I’m sure. Well—I’m sure that’s true for me and you, at least.”

And Kip laughs, quiet but real.

“Like, you think you’ve disappointed me, right?” Ben asks.

Kip nods.

“Well, I’ve disappointed myself for not knowing you better and sooner. The stuff you say can be so similar to stuff I think that it keeps surprising me over and over. And I like you, whether you believe me or not. And not just because you seem so similar.” He smiles at Kip. “And I know I’ve disappointed you. So if you’ve ever disappointed me, it’s no big deal. It just means we’ve been close enough to want anything from each other. Being close to people means that sooner or later you’re gonna hurt each other, and your relationship is either able to survive it and work from it, or it isn’t.”

He shrugs as he speaks, then takes another drink. Kip is quiet a moment.

“...I’ve disappointed people I’m not even close to,” Kip says thoughtfully. “Even people I’ve never known. Giving them nothing for over five years.”

“You never had to give anybody anything,” Ben says. “You’re not a bad person for not being Kent.”

“I was hoping I could be like him, though,” Kip murmurs. “I even started to try. It’s my fault that I never really...did anything myself to help. I just happened to get involved in something, and in the end it turned out that what I did helped.”

“You’d blame yourself for looking up to Kent as a role model?” Ben says. “Everyone else admired him for what he was doing. But nobody else had to have any sense of obligation after he was killed. You shouldn’t’ve, either. It’s okay that you aren’t Kent, alright?”

Kip frowns slightly, looking down at his tea.

“I get that you’ve been holding yourself to him as a standard,” Ben says slowly. “And of course there’s nothing wrong with that in itself. But you should’ve never been made to feel like you had to do what he did. You shouldn’t feel like you had to sacrifice yourself to become him.”

Kip blinks, frowning a little harder at his tea.

“...Do you ever feel like people want you to have died instead of him?” Ben asks.

Kip hesitates only a second before giving a nod, exhaling a sigh.

“Yeah, see, that’s all wrong. You shouldn’t feel like you have to become Kent so that it’s not like anyone lost him. Because, you know, even if you did manage to replace him in the eyes of everyone else, YOU still wouldn’t have him. And you’d be suffering doubly, giving yourself up like that. Nothing about that would be right.”

Kip looks at Ben. He’s so calm, saying all of this so easily. 

“It was never fair of anyone to make you feel like you had to do ANYTHING after Kent died,” Ben continues. “And it’s never fair of anybody to make you feel like you do have to be Kent, whether you chose to try or not. You never should’ve had to deal with any of this—none of us should’ve.”

He sets his tea down on the table in front of him, looking at Kip as he leans in.

“And you know?” he says. “You three loved each other. Kent never would’ve asked you to do anything he was doing, even if he knew he was going to die. He was always trying to make sure you didn’t get involved.”

Suddenly Kip remembers Molly, saying that Kent wouldn’t’ve turned away from his work even if he knew he was going to be killed. How much clearer that had made all the ways he didn’t hold up to Kent, despite his efforts to rise to it. How guilty that had made him feel for being so driven by fear. Almost as though he was disgracing or insulting Kent.

But what Ben is saying is making him feel completely different. 

“I know for certain that Kent did and would love you for no less than all of who you are, Kip,” Ben says quietly, now looking at him with a bit more intensity than before, a slight sort of sadness. “It’d still be true now. He’d never want you to feel like you’re not worth as much as him. He wouldn’t want you to hate yourself—especially for not being him. For just being you instead.”

Kip blinks and bites his lip, but doesn’t shy away from meeting Ben’s gaze.

“...Yeah.” He only just speaks loudly enough to surpass a whisper. “But they were...well, they’re gone.”

“So you can still feel obligated to Kent and everyone who knew about him, but it doesn’t matter how he felt about you?” Ben says flatly, with the hint of a laugh.

“No,” Kip says, voice much stronger. His face is hot.

Ben smiles softly, again leaning back in the chair with a quiet sigh.

“You’re just way too inclined to think badly of yourself,” he says. “You have to be inconsistent in any of your arguments or interpretations to back up that belief. I understand it, believe me.”

His tone takes on a heaviness; Kip’s slight rise in temper is assuaged by an effortless recognition of the sympathy—at times flickering into empathy—between them.

“...Look, Kip, I know that all the justifications for feeling inadequate seem natural to accept and...give precedence over reasons to think well of yourself. And it makes you assume that anyone who says you deserve better must have to override their real instincts and reach for weak arguments that they don’t really believe. But for other people—everyone else, really—it actually does seem just as natural to like you.”

Kip lowers his eyes back to his tea, blushing faintly. If anything, a skeptical reaction to this could only serve to support Ben’s point.

“By the way, I’m fairly sure Wallace understands you better than you think.”

Kip is caught off guard by the sudden leap back to Wallace. But Ben just takes an unconcerned draw of his tea. 

“...And do you think maybe you’re afraid of being, ah, fully yourself around Wallace now?”

“What?” Kip says.

“Now that you’re with him, do you feel like you can’t be angry or worried or pessimistic or any of that kind of stuff around him?” Ben elaborates. “I know his...demeanor is, on average, uplifting, but you don’t have to pretend to always be uplifted. Or pretend to always be—you know, patient and cheerful like he generally is. You can be yourself. I know you feel like that’s a bad thing, but it’s really not. It’d be lots better for you, and Wallace knows you well enough by now to know you beyond the superficial anyhow. How many different situations and emotions have you guys been through together, after all? You know that he knows you so much better than he did in those first weeks after he came here.”

Kip tries to further voice his doubts, but already he’s considering things Ben’s been saying, and they counter him at every turn, leaving him with repetitions and protestations that feel weak even to him. Ben seems to be waiting, but when Kip doesn’t speak, he continues quietly.

“...You aren’t bad for not being Kent, and you’re not a bad person for not being Wallace, either,” he says. “You don’t have to try to force yourself into becoming a perfect reflection of either of them. You can be yourself. You really can.”

“But...” Kip murmurs, then tries to lift his voice a little. “But I’m not sure what I’m like. I’ve been looking up to Kent since I was old enough to understand what he was always doing and I...it’s like you said, I’ve been—even before they died, I was trying to act like I wasn’t as scared as I was, and then I-I had to act like I thought I could live through it and then just...try to go through the motions of every part of life and act like someone who was okay for months and months before I even started to feel like I might really be able to adjust, and even then it would keep on—and deciding to move here was a huge mess that got me so confused about everything I’d been trying to get my head around, and then actually moving here, and I had to act like I was tougher than I am and I had to seem like Kent did and I had to seem like I—wanted to be here and thought I could adjust all over again, and then Wallace moved here and I had to realize I was just as scared as ever, maybe even more than ever, and...”

He puts his head in his hands to sigh heavily.

“And then everything was such a disaster that even this far on the other side of it, I feel like I’m trying to gather up the pieces of whoever I’ve been trying to be and figure out which are real and which are just...” He sighs again but leans back up. “I’d’ve thought that everything I did might’ve actually made me better, you know? I had to be strong and brave and tough and all that shit I’ve always been trying to be—I finally actually was like that, but I don’t—I still feel just like—me,” he says finally.

“Good,” Ben responds simply, helping himself to another sip of tea.

“...I mean that I don’t think I—I thought doing that kind of stuff might force me to—improve, but I don’t feel all that much improved, I feel so much more similar to how I always have than I thought...”

“Sure,” Ben murmurs. He shrugs and crosses his legs. “You weren’t ever going to transform into a completely different being. And maybe all the good traits you thought you still needed to gain were already there. I mean, you didn’t become Kent, which is maybe what you were expecting, or even hoping for—but you’re not so unlike him as you maybe think. And you’re not as unlike Wallace, either. Not in the ways that matter.”

“What matters?” Kip asks quietly.

“Oh, y’know...” Ben shrugs. “Caring about people, wanting to protect the ones you’re with, having a huge capacity for love, all that kind of thing. Not to mention you’re both fairly passionate people. I would hazard a guess that’s another reason Wallace can get you so worked up sometimes.”

Kip blushes, and blushes again.

“I told you before that I used to be a somewhat jealous of how you feel so strongly and show it so easily, you know.”

“...In spite of myself,” Kip modifies.

“Alright,” Ben laughs. “But then, you should understand—it’s in spite of myself that I always hold back how I feel. I might want to reach out to someone or speak or...at least show what I’m thinking and feeling somehow, but I end up hesitating or holding it back or...at least smoothing it over so that only a fraction of it reaches the surface. I don’t suppose that’s anything like what you feel? Trying to act smoothed over and unmoved, but before you can, you surge up with how you’re really feeling?”

“Ye-yeah,” Kip says, shifting in his seat. “Yeah, it’s a lot like that.”

Ben smiles at him. Kip haltingly returns it. 

“I don’t doubt we’re both very familiar with similar issues—if not often the same,” Ben says slowly. “I know all about doubting yourself. Who you are and what you’ve done, what you could do...even doubting the fact that you’re alive.”

Kip hesitates in lifting his tea to his lips, looking carefully at Ben. Ben looks down at his own drink, and when he continues, he seems to be speaking partly to himself.

“...I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gone over that day. Thinking of all the ways I might’ve changed things. I still think about it now, honestly.”

Kip’s breath catches silently. He sets down his cup and finds himself studying Ben’s quiet expression.

He knows Ben isn’t telling him that he truly blames himself so much as that the thought of how easily things might’ve turn out so differently still haunts and weighs on him.

“...I guess we’ll always wonder if there was a way for them to stay with us,” Kip says quietly. “There’s always these moments of imagining them still with us, and that means we have to...imagine how it could’ve been different...and ask how we could’ve changed it...” He says it without seeming to have to think or choose the words.

Ben glances at him.

“...Sometimes I even feel guilty for thinking about it,” he tells Kip. “If everything that happened led to stopping District E...and now that Wallace is here...”

He sighs and pushes some of his brown hair back.

“I know it’s pointless to think of things that way,” he murmurs. “But there’s times when no matter what angle you take, you look down on yourself.”

Kip smiles faintly.

There’s a sudden crack and boom of thunder; Kip flinches.

“Well, anyhow,” Ben sighs. “I guess that’s my advice. You don’t have to be the exact same as Kent, or Wallace, or anyone else—you’re perfectly good as yourself, shortcomings and mistakes and all. Don’t feel like you have to stifle yourself around Wallace—really, go ahead and embrace everything about yourself around him. You can count on him to appreciate you. He already does.”

Kip blushes, shifting slightly self-consciously on the cushion.

“And, you know, having said all that, don’t be afraid to be afraid,” Ben says. “Or, anyways, nervous. I don’t expect to have given you all the confidence you’ll ever need just by sitting down with you one time. But I hope that any of this might’ve helped in some way. And not just—heh—not just with things with Wallace. Or at least I hope this hasn’t hurt.”

“It hasn’t,” Kip says quietly.

“And I hope none of this has come across like I know better than you about everything. I just feel very—well, familiar with the kind of things you’re talking about. And I know how hard it is trying to deal with it all just in your own head. But if I stepped over any bounds, I’m sorry.”

Kip shakes his head.

“It was all okay,” he murmurs. “I figured you were saying stuff you’d already thought about a lot. ...I think I’ll just keep being surprised less and less by anything it turns out we have in common.”

Ben laughs softly.

“Yeah, I’m starting to catch on to it, too.”

Kip scratches the back of his neck and glances at the window, the even coating of raindrops flecking the pane.

“...I wish I’d talked to you like this sooner,” he says. “And not just for advice and things.”

“It’s alright,” Ben says, voice even quieter than Kip’s. “I think it was just...always going to be a difficult thing for us to be living in that kind of proximity for the first time. I’m sorry for my part in maybe helping the difficulty along. But I’m glad we’ve gotten to this point, even if it took a while. And...took some other events along the way.”

Kip automatically drops his gaze, smiling weakly down at his knees.

“...Speaking of feeling like you ought to have changed coming out of E,” Ben continues, “I was frustrated with myself for still sort of...just seeing you as a point of comparison. I figured being around you like that must’ve had to make me see you just as you are, but I guess it still needed a little more work, huh. At least I felt like every now and then I’d manage to act normal around you,” he laughs quietly.

“...I think I noticed those times,” Kip says. “Because I’d try to tell myself it didn’t matter if you liked me or not, except I’d keep finding myself wishing that you did.”

“Oh god—“ Ben blushes slightly and laughs, bringing a hand to his face. “I’m sorry—“

“I told you I remember you helping me walk? You were practically holding me up?”

“You did tell me that,” Ben says, and both his blush and his smile lingers.

“...I remember when we stopped, and you helped me sit down, and you gave me water,” Kip says softly. “You helped me hold my head up.” He brushes the nape of his neck as though simulating it. “You helped me hold the glass.”

“I knew you were awake for that much,” Ben says. “But you passed out so soon afterwards that I wasn’t sure you’d remember.”

“Well, I did.” Kip shrugs. “Even when it was happening, I kept thinking about how patient you were being. And you were holding me and the water really steady. I don’t know—I just remember it was really comforting to be treated that gently. I needed that right then.”

“God, I bet,” Ben murmurs. “I was trying not to stress you out any further. Or at least not hurt you.”

“It was good,” Kip says. “I’ve been grateful this whole time. I know it’s a really small thing compared with everything you’ve done that’s helped me, but thank you for it anyways.”

“Oh—well, you’re welcome,” Ben laughs. “It’s a little while after the fact to say so, but I’m just glad you’re okay. You did have me a little worried.”

Kip smiles, shrugging modestly.

“I’m glad we both came out of it okay,” he says. 

There’s a quiet moment during which he can hear some rain blown against the window with a faint patter.

“...I’m sorry I’m sure I wasn’t really somebody you could...really feel like you could get help and support from. When I first moved here, I mean. I know it’s not...I know it’s okay, and it’s not like you ever needed me in particular, but...I’d’ve liked to be there for you in some way or another. Or at least let you know that I could be. It’s just that I wish I’d—I’d found a way to be better to you sooner.”

“Aw, I feel the same towards you,” Ben says easily. “I guess we’re lucky we had other people who weren’t stuck at an impasse with us,” he laughs.

“Yeah,” Kip agrees. “I really missed out, though, obviously. You’ve told me so much in just this week. If we’d sat down for talks like this from the start, maybe you’d’ve solved all my problems for me from the beginning.”

“Oh god, hardly—“ Ben shakes his head and leans against the arm of the chair. “I can only MAYBE help with the fallout from what happened to the both of us. But only a little—I’ve hardly got it figured out, either. Actually, I feel like I’m only just starting to grasp some essential basics, even if I did have to spend the whole five or six years working up to it.”

“Yeah...” Kip sighs softly. “I feel like I’m still figuring it all out, too.”

“Well—“ Ben scratches his shoulder and offers Kip a smile. “If anybody ever figured out some cure for grief, we’d’ve all heard about it. I don’t suppose we’re about to be the first.”

“I doubt it.” Kip leans back against the couch, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s too general and too damn personal at once. Like, everyone who’s lost someone understands that loss in someone else, right? But at the same time it’s a completely individual, unique thing. And it’s—it’s the harshest kind of sadness, and the deepest, and...probably the only kind that can really never go away. Like...as soon as you’ve started to love someone, the potential grief behind it is already incurable. I mean, of course it has to vary with the relationship—“

“Of course,” Ben murmurs in agreement.

“But once someone’s gone, it was already too late from whenever you started really loving them. If that love is there somewhere in the history of your relationship with them, the grief is already there, just...waiting. Maybe building up. Ugh.”

He remembers his fear of losing Pascal and stops voicing his trail of thought, dragging a hand down the side of his face. Thunder growls low in the distance.

“True...” Ben’s voice is low and quiet. “What’s grief but the pain of love. It’s not like you don’t hear how the only way to avoid grief is to never care about anyone. And then, since you’re still alive and still have that love for who you lost, you’re never done grieving for them.”

Kip traces a fingertip along the seam of his pants, gazing down at his knees.

“...And there’s so many ways to love people,” he adds quietly. “You can grieve for complete strangers. Not the same way that family or friends would—people who really knew them—but still—“

“Yeah,” Ben sighs. “Imagine if you grieved as much for people you never knew as you do for the people you were closest to. We’d wouldn’t have room left for anything else.”

“God—I barely made it through what I did,” Kip groans. “And that made me so afraid of going through any more of it that I’m still trying to stop holding everyone I know back by the throats. Figuratively.”

“Mm.”

“Pascal told—“ Kip starts without thinking and cuts himself off, blushing a little. He doesn’t love bringing up Pascal while talking with Ben about the deaths of his family and of Yumi. And despite the topic being as weighty, encompassing issues as grief and love and loss, their conversation has flowed lightly enough in comparison—and this will be something of a sobering shift in tone.

“Mmhm?” Ben prompts casually.

“Uh...” Kip traces tight, nervous loops on the side of his thigh. “...Well, a little while ago Pascal told me that he’d spent about half an hour thinking I’d died.”

“Sorry?” Ben sits further upright in attention, turning his head a degree. “When did that happen?”

“Um, after the fire,” Kip says quietly, still feeling self-conscious. “Someone who knew him must’ve heard about the fire pretty quick, because they called him to tell him that my home was burning down, and he didn’t know that anyone was still alive until Eno called him too about half an hour later. And, you know, all he had was this, like, ancient, beat-up laptop and an even slower internet connection, and I’m sure that...verified updates weren’t coming along very quickly. I mean, technically I wasn’t confirmed alive until after my family was, uh, confirmed dead...except for that everyone knew it because of all the eyewitnesses who saw me. And all the others who heard me.”

“Heard you?” Ben repeats.

Kip is almost taken aback—he’s forgotten how many details they haven’t actually ever shared, whether for their own sakes or each other’s.

“Oh, um...” he begins tentatively, brushing imaginary stray hairs from the side of his face. “I kind of was, uh, kind of involuntarily, uh...keening?”

“You...what?” Ben turns his head an inch further.

“Er...screaming, I guess. Yelling my head off. But not like—not saying anything—and it’s not really right to call it screaming, even though I definitely was...” He crosses an arm across his chest, gripping his bicep and kneading it slowly. “I mean, I was screaming when I was in the house, right? But what I was doing out there was different. It wasn’t like you scream when you’re angry or afraid or whatever. It’s just...it had a different sound from that. Despair, I guess, might be a word for that difference? Existential horror? But whatever it was, I didn’t stop for a long while. And I know I was loud—I’m sure it was, um, kind of alarming to hear that kind of noise. There were enough people around to see me, but probably plenty more heard me.”

He shifts restlessly, winds his ankles together, and grips the edge of the cushion beneath him.

“But still—just—we were talking about things a little while ago, and Pascal said that he’d—that between those two phonecalls, he’d actually...thought I must’ve died in the fire.”

“...Wow,” Ben murmurs. “I guess it’s even less surprising you guys lived together after that.”

“I guess so...” Kip breathes a laugh. “I suppose he kind of lost someone, too. Though for less than an hour. I guess that’s the way to undo your grief, is to have it turn out that the person didn’t actually die after all.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t happen too often.”

“No,” Kip says solemnly.

“Still, feeling like that for a single minute is terrible enough. I’m sure that what he went through still made an impact, poor guy. He’s as sweethearted as when I first met him, though. ...You wouldn’t easily guess he’s been through much of anything different since back when you two first started dating. Not unless you already know—or can read him a bit better than I can.”

“...He’s always been amazing,” Kip murmurs, finally picking up his cup again. “I swear he’s only gotten better since I’ve known him, but he’s...such a gentle person that I guess he CAN be kinda hard to get a read on, if you’re not very used to him. He’s quiet about himself, too. ...I think people overlook him a lot, even if they do like him.”

“They do?”

Kip nods, frowning slightly at his tea.

“...He’s been lonely, I think, since he moved here,” he says quietly. “And I’m sure since we moved away...but then, I mean, all of you guys knew he was back before I did, and visited his shop, and I’ll accept being embarrassed about that, since I’m grateful for it. But still, you know...his whole life, he’s kind of tended to be alone. Being moved around a lot when he was growing up didn’t help, I bet—but—“ He interrupts himself with a sigh. “I don’t know if he intimidates people, being built as huge as he is, but I keep suspecting that, since he’s so goodnatured and soft, people kind of...don’t realize how much he has to offer?”

He looks at Ben with a small grimace as though to prompt input of any critique of this theory. 

“I mean, I’m not sure, since it’s his being so damn patient and kind that makes everyone like him, right? But even though people take to him really easily, it’s like...they don’t really stick, somehow. He really never pushes himself on people, though, and...I dunno if his being so soft and sweet makes anybody assume that he’s just a kind of...pleasant background presence, and nothing else? I dunno, but I wish he felt like he had more friends.”

He sighs softly again, then glances up with a blush.

“I’m not trying to say I don’t think any of you guys are good enough for him,” he quickly amends. “I just...I mean, like I said, I’m really, really glad he knows all of you, and you were able to make him feel more at home here, even when I wasn’t, but, it’s kind of that...even after living with Roy and Molly for as long as he did, I think he still kinda feels like...he still sort of only knows all you guys only through me? I think...you know, like it’s MY circle of friends, and he’s sort of just pulled into the orbit.”

And then he feels like he’s gotten ahead of himself, and drags a hand down his face.

“Oh god, I shouldn’t be trying to speak for him like this,” he sighs. “I’m sorry—I’m not putting it well, I just mean that he’s been kind of pulled into preexisting friendships through me, not exactly made brand new ones himself, and that’s—that doesn’t mean I’m saying he feels like his relationships with everyone he met through me are lesser somehow, or they’re not as real or important to him, or he doesn’t love you guys, just...”

He drags his hand down his face again.

“I mean, if I’ve made it seem like I’m trying to say anything like that, I could hit myself... And if I have, please don’t tell anyone else, because then I’d seriously die, I’m just letting myself talk and talk and I’m so bad with my words sometimes, and I’m just clumsy enough to hurt people’s feelings or make things harder for people or...god...”

“It’s okay,” Ben cuts in, laughing. “I get it. I didn’t assume Pascal felt intimately close to me anyways, you know, so I wouldn’t be offended even if you were saying so. And I’m not about to spill anything you tell me to anyone else unless you tell me to—what you talk about over tea is private. Or coffee,” he adds.

“Thanks,” Kip murmurs, face still warmed from his distress. “I promise I wasn’t trying to say anything about him not liking you guys as much as he seems to—or not caring as much, or wishing he could replace you, or anything—cuz none of that’s true. I mean, just because he’s met someone through me doesn’t mean he thinks it doesn’t count as much. Like—knowing my family meant a lot to him, you know? And it was just him visiting me, and hanging out, staying for dinner sometimes and going out with us sometimes and staying the night sometimes...”

His voice falters slightly; it meant a lot to him, too.

“I mean, technically he was only around as my boyfriend, you know? Meeting them through me the whole time, just like how he was around all you guys through me, but it...it meant a lot to both of us. Even though he was visiting for less than a year, and Kent could be so busy for so much of it, I think he was really made to feel at home right away. Welcomed, and everything. All you guys treated him like that.”

“I remember I met him over there a decent number of times,” Ben says. “I didn’t realize I treated him so excellently, but I’ll take credit.”

“Well, y’know—“ Kip shrugs lightly. “Not that everybody wasn’t nice enough all on their own merit, it’s not like there was really...any competition.”

He pauses a moment, in time for another nearby rumble of thunder that makes his ear twitch towards the window. 

“He loved them a lot already for as short a time he’d known them,” he murmurs. “...I don’t think he felt like he could act very sad, because of...in part because of how much support I needed, and because...well, I don’t think he felt like he had the right, y’know. I mean, I don’t think he knew them long enough to feel like they really were family for him, too, but...another couple years and I’m sure it would’ve gotten to that point.”

“Well, you guys were a great family,” Ben says slowly. “I saw that all the time. I’m sure Pascal loved even being around that—he’s a good person, and so were they.”

Kip smiles and sends Ben an appreciative glance.

“Yeah...sorry for going down this whole tangent,” he laughs. “We were just having a casual chat about grief, and I throw it all off course like this.”

“Ha—I think we’ve gone through so many different subjects already that there’s not a definite course to get thrown off of.”

“Yeah, that’s true...” Kip leans further back, then just as quickly sits upright again. “Shit, how long have we been talking?”

He quickly slips his phone out of his pocket and turns on the display—it’s not quite half past six.

“Oh,” Ben says. “What time were you gonna meet Wallace? I think he told me, but I forget...”

“Seven,” Kip answers, putting his phone away again with some relief. “I still have a little time before I should head upstairs and change—but, I mean, it’s not like he even has to leave the building to meet up with me.”

“Yeah—“ Ben laughs. “Besides, you can just go into my kitchen and bang on the wall there. If I remember which layout his place has relative to mine, I think he should hear it in his living room.”

Kip laughs too.

“Yeah, I could just walk out there and knock on his door even quicker than I could text him to tell him to sit tight a minute.”

“Still, I don’t mean to sabotage you or anything, I swear,” Ben says. 

“Sabotage him, more like,” Kip argues. “You’d be the one getting to spend all the quality time with me while he’s stuck waiting up.”

“Yeah, let’s both just dump him,” Ben laughs. “I bet he wouldn’t see that coming.”

Kip grins and drops his head to hide a soft blush, exhaling a laugh through his teeth.

“...Thanks for everything you’ve said to me,” Kip says, scratching at the side of his neck. “And thanks for listening to everything so patiently, too. Actually, it seems like it’s been kind of one-sided again, and I’m the one who’s gotten all the benefit...”

“Don’t worry,” Ben says. “I’ve benefitted.”

Kip looks up with a teasing smile.

“How could you?” he laughs. “I haven’t done a damn thing.”

Ben shrugs.

“I’ve gotten to have a longer conversation than I’ve had in about two weeks, and I’ve felt like I’ve gotten to say something useful for once—about stuff I usually keep to myself, and which definitely never really feels useful to talk about, you know? So now I get to feel good about that. And I like your company, by the way.”

“My company’s still been crap,” Kip laughs, but he’s blushing. “I just get all depressed at you, and you have to convince me not to freak out about everything.”

Ben casually waves this off and takes a long sip of his tea.

“Oh, yeah—and you gave me tea, too,” Kip adds.

“Uh, YOU gave me tea,” Ben retorts.

“Oh,” Kip says. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“I’ve been enjoying it, by the way—thank you. Pascal’s teas really are on their own level.”

Kip smiles, feeling a bloom of pride. 

“So...” Kip rocks a heel against the floor. “Maybe I should finally ask—how are you doing today?”

Ben laughs, and it’s quiet but warm and genuine; Kip is further gratified.

“Oh, I’m doing magnificently.”

—

Kip spends the next twenty minutes or so keeping the conversation centered on Ben, asking him question after question, taking care to keep his own contributions concise and to the point. They both laugh a lot—the topics are now light and easy, and Kip finds himself even tending towards playfulness. 

Ben’s own contributions are fairly concise as well, but he doesn’t seem reluctant to talk about himself with Kip—though in talking about himself, he mostly mentions recent incidents of conversing with others, and places the focus on those others. He tells Kip about chatting with Molly just hours earlier, talking about her imminent getaway, hanging out with Kate for a while the other day, talking about her photography, talking with Wallace about his work, his ongoing process of settling into C, about Kip. He talks about trying to teach himself to cook a wider variety of recipes—Kip holds himself back from offering unprompted advice—and little ways he tries to deliberately pause and relax for a bit, especially at the end of the day, to unwind from stress or weighing concerns and reorient himself to the present.

Just this brief span of listening to Ben further emphasizes what Kip’s already known of and appreciated about him—he describes people kindly and with care, betraying the compassionate nature belied by his somewhat unconcerned, level tone; he includes details that only someone both observant and attentive of small or simple examples of beauty would mention; and he speaks with a continuous and considerate awareness for Kip, his listener.

The last element comes into play by Ben being the one to check the time and inform Kip that he had better go ahead to his own apartment to get changed before meeting up with Wallace.

“Thank you SO much for listening to all that stuff,” Kip says, standing up. “And thanks even more for—everything you’ve said to me.”

“Of course.” Ben stands up too. “I’m just glad if you feel like it’s been helpful.”

Kip offers him a smile.

“I do,” he says quietly. 

Ben smiles back and then looks down, scratching the side of his neck.

“At least I left you less time to be nervous,” he says. “But sorry if I kept you too long.”

“God, no, it’s totally fine,” Kip says. “All I have to do is get out of my work clothes. And all this would’ve been worth being a little late anyways.”

Ben laughs softly.

“...I’m not exactly as nervous anymore anyways,” Kip says. “Putting my mind to other stuff for a while always helps.”

“Oh, well then, good,” Ben says with another quiet laugh.

“I woke up feeling kinda bad today, too,” Kip adds, glancing away with a touch of self-consciousness. “And now there’s not as much of that either.”

“Oh,” Ben murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah—it’s nothing to worry about. Just one of those...off days, you know?”

The slight strain to the smile Ben offers suggests that he does.

“Well, listen, Kip,” he says with a small sigh, loosely folding his arms. “Just...I really mean it that you should be able to feel okay with yourself as you are. Whether it’s about feeling bad for not being Kent or Wallace or anybody else. Don’t be afraid to be depressed or shortfused with Wallace or anything,” he says with a breath of a laugh. “He could always use a bit of a challenge.”

Kip smiles, blushing a little.

“I’ll try,” he says quietly. “Thanks for all of this.”

He steps forward and Ben drops his arms and so Kip puts his own arms around Ben’s shoulders, rising a little over his toes. He feels Ben’s hands on his back with a gentleness just short of tentativity. He stretches up just a little higher and turns his head so that his lips press to the side of Ben’s face, brushing the whiskers along the edge of Ben’s cheek. He pushes the touch softly so that it’s more unmistakably a kiss, then lowers himself back onto his heels.

“Thank you for this,” he says, and lowers his head for a moment to Ben’s collarbone, closing his eyes. “It was really, really nice of you.”

And then he opens his eyes at the feeling of Ben softly kissing the top of his head. He blushes and feels a warm surge in his chest and squeezes his hug around Ben a little tighter.

When Kip lets go a few seconds later, he slips his hands down to Ben’s forearms, and lets his touch linger there a moment longer.

“I’ll talk to you later, then,” he says.

Ben’s smile and gentle look are enough to make Kip feel as though he’s already won the day.

—

Kip glances at Wallace’s door as he passes, then hurries up the stairs into the apartment. He doesn’t immediately encounter either Roy or Molly before entering his room; he finally pauses a moment to sit on the edge of his bed and let his thoughts catch up with him.

It’s true he doesn’t seem to be quite as nervous, and having successfully talked with someone has him feeling more adequately primed for another instance of socialization. He even feels a little more confident than usual—which he knows is hardly saying much, but he hadn’t expected to receive such insistent support, and at such length. Being caught so off guard by it makes it all the more effective—not long ago he was steeling himself to be met by Ben with the barest and most begrudging tolerance, at best, and although he’s adjusting to the truth of Ben’s feelings towards him more easily than to the truth of Wallace’s, he wasn’t quite prepared for this afternoon’s conversation. 

He’d always kind of assumed like the best anyone could do was deign to forgive him for his inaction and avoidance over the past few years. But for someone to say so easily that there is nothing that needed to be forgiven—even moreso, to seem almost defensive on Kip’s behalf, even suggest that where he considers himself to have failed is where he’s actually been wronged—he’s wholly bemused, and it’s clear that he won’t be able to process it all in the remaining dozen minutes before this date.

He stands a bit abruptly—keeling off balance before catching himself with a small stumble—and paces a couple of circles around his rug to refocus himself on the task now at hand, unbuttoning his shirt before he comes to a stop and faces his mirror.

While he undresses, tries to freshen up a bit, and redresses, he finds himself thinking of middle school and early high school. Such times are slightly strange to him now—the stirrings of what was reaching out from E were only just beginning to unsettle the collective awareness, and certainly hadn’t become a daily concern for him or his peers. And he’d felt as if he was on the verge of himself and his life in the wider world—moving steadily forward, lengthening his strides, set to emerge unhesitatingly into an arena he couldn’t yet see but didn’t yet fear.

And in that unshaken period he was discovering boys as he had previously only glimpsed them. His gaze would be drawn to various classmates and linger there—he’d furtively glance at older high school guys as he walked home from middle school, slowly discerning that he wasn’t so much struck with intimidation as appreciation. Despite having a wide assortment of friends from all sorts of social subgroups, he found himself remaining single while the others were well into the realm of trying out relationship after relationship, never quite finding the desire to date the girls some friends would suggest, feeling stricken whenever someone implied that they could set him up with an unidentified admirer, blushing and stumbling some excuse, pretending that his eye had already been caught by someone equally anonymous. And then his first proper kiss, coming on sudden and unplanned with a casual friend in the otherwise empty auditorium, surprising him with how pleasant and natural it felt, surprising him further that it was completely okay that it had happened. His second kiss—a different friend who knew the first, talking to him about learning how to feign a kiss for stage performances, and offering to demonstrate, Kip laughing along with him while his heart beat harder and he wondered if this was going to become a real kiss and feeling an unambiguous, unflinching desire for that very possibility. His first subtle but real attempt at seduction—this tiny effort to prompt the potential kiss, and what a triumph it felt to have those three seconds of lips pressed to lips. The smiles they shared afterwards, the laughter between them, different from what it had been just moments before.

He remembers what it was to first be conscious of wanting other boys, beginning to understand it. Wanting them close, even closer than he had already long been comfortable with, closer than hugging and sitting side by side or back to back and slinging arms around each other’s shoulders and sometimes even holding hands. Wanting the scruff on their faces, their bared shoulders, the shifting muscles of their backs, their opened legs, their mouths against his. Wanting to know them in ways he hadn’t yet known anyone.

He’d started to look at himself more often then—with a new kind of attention, at least. He wondered if he looked better without glasses, what haircut might suit him best, whether anyone counted his unavoidably obtrusive ears as a point against him. And he started taking to sweaters with wider necklines and some sort of subtle but eye-catching detail, started to wear layers, to set aside outfits the night before when he felt some stroke of inspiration—his developing sense of style was restrained enough that anyone who noticed the evolution didn’t tease him about it, even in spite of the fact that in retrospect he realized an unconscious yet significant influence via Eno’s own fashion.

And he’d started to have those moments like he has now, scrutinizing his reflection, trying to see himself with someone else’s eyes, feeling both anxiety and excitement as he prepares to go meet up with a guy. In a way it’s completely odd, feeling these echoes of an utterly bygone version of himself, younger by a decade or even more, so assured of things about to be cast into doubt and so unaware of what would soon eclipse all else, inexperienced, softer. But in another way it’s almost refreshing—if nothing else, it casts a new perspective on the moment. While he’s definitely matured and changed on many fronts, in ways more and less certain of himself, much more experienced, much more demanding, and seemingly a wholly new person, he can feel the threads that connect those earlier years to exactly who he is now. And he can almost imagine himself now as the new incarnation of his younger self who’d approached so many things this way—preparing himself for a venture towards something uncertain yet desired.

—

Kip procrastinates a little at the last minute—second-guessing his choice in a grey sweater, decorated only with darker grey horizontal stripes of varying pattern and width, fitted around the neck, wrists, and waistband, but otherwise loose to the point of bagginess; then sending a text to Pascal to say he wants to hear how he’s been doing, but the response might be delayed a while as he’s going out with Wallace—but finally he looks at himself, huffs a sigh, and turns away to stuff his keys and wallet and phone in his pockets. He reaches for the door before checking himself, turning to grab his umbrella.

“Okay,” he says to himself. He looks over at the picture. “Okay,” he says to them. “I guess I’m going out on my first real date with Wallace. It’ll be fine—he’s nice. And then I think I might see about spending the night with Pascal. So that’ll be good.”

He draws a bracing inhale, then smiles softly at their static faces and steps out of his room.

He double takes as he glimpses Roy through the kitchen doorway.

“Oh—hey,” he says, pivoting around to face him. “Is your day going okay?”

Roy is apparently in the midst of cooking something, and as usual seems to be using about thrice as many bowls and utensils as Kip’s sure the task requires—he draws another deep breath and chooses to ignore this for the moment.

Roy pulls out another rubber spatula and slides the drawer shut.

“Yeah,” he says brightly. “I didn’t know you were back yet.”

“Yeah, sorry, I just stopped in and I’m heading out again,” Kip says quickly, pointing at the door. “I’m actually not sure if I’ll be back tonight or if I’m gonna head out to Pascal’s. I haven’t seen Molly yet, so, you know, if she’s wondering...”

“Oh,” Roy says, opening up a cabinet. “I’ll tell her, don’t worry.”

“Okay—thanks—sorry for just running out like this—I’ll at least see you tomorrow, or—“ He pauses and frowns slightly. “Ugh, I close next, if I stay at Pascal’s I might not see you until tomorrow tomorrow night? God...”

“Aw...” Roy turns away from the cabinet and smiles at Kip. “You gonna miss us when we leave this weekend?”

Kip shrugs and smiles in turn.

“I’ll be okay,” he says. 

Regardless of this assurance, Roy gives him a hug goodbye for the night; Kip pats his back with the hand not occupied with his umbrella.

“Ah—I’ll see you later, anyways,” he says. “In a few hours, or days, or whichever.”

“See you then,” Roy laughs.

And Kip heads out for real this time, and feels a response from Pascal vibrate in his pocket as he descends the stairs, and he’s only the slightest bit self-conscious as he reaches the ground floor. There can be nothing new about him to Wallace anyways. They both know each other, and know what the other looks like, and have already shared plenty of hours and meals together. Neither of them ought to be intimidated by anything about this.

Still, his heart beats a little quicker as he heads down the hallway. But it’s not as though it’s only nerves involved—he’s also feeling a bit eager to meet Wallace, and flattered that Wallace wants to take him out, and, despite everything, still quietly flustered by his feelings for Wallace, and now even moreso by Wallace’s feelings for him.

He doesn’t spot Wallace in the lobby or hallway, so he smooths himself over and goes up and knocks on the apartment door. The instant he has, he thinks of the possibility that Wallace has gone upstairs to knock for him, and they’ve missed each other by taking different stairwells, and then the thought of texting Wallace makes him realize he doesn’t know for sure that his phone had vibrated with a text from Pascal rather than Wallace, and then he’s chiding himself for having not texted Wallace before coming down in the first place, and then he’s interrupted.

“Just a sec!” Wallace’s voice comes from somewhere in his apartment.

Kip feels a little jolt in his stomach and takes a few steps back into the middle of the hallway; he glances over at the door to Ben’s apartment, where he was just about a quarter of an hour ago, and wonders what Ben’s doing now. 

Suddenly there’s the quiet rattle of a turning doorknob—then Wallace appears right in front of him. He’s wearing a similar outfit—jeans and a v-necked tee of muted blue, with a greyer-blue fabric for the sleeves. Kip takes it in at a glance before looking up to Wallace’s face, where he notices at once that Wallace’s hair is freshly cut, maybe an inch shorter than it had been, still long enough to sit in its familiar sweep across his forehead, but lying a bit more smoothly, ends further from his darker eyebrows.

“You cut your hair,” Kip says automatically, before either of them have even exchanged greetings.

“I—yeah, I did,” Wallace says, followed by a small, nervous laugh. He scratches the back of his neck, blushing. “It was getting kinda long. Roy helped me cut it the other day.”

“Oh—I just saw him on my way out,” Kip  
says. “If I’d had time to stop and talk, I bet I’d’ve heard all about it.”

“Yeah, we talked a lot,” Wallace says. “It was fun.”

His pink blush persists, and he shifts his weight from foot to foot as he speaks, rubbing at his forearm, throwing glances aside or upwards. It’d be an unmissable display of self-consciousness even for someone less sympathetically attuned to the feeling than Kip—and Kip can’t help but try to help assuage it.

“Well, it looks good,” he tells Wallace.

Wallace blushes harder but looks at him with a pleased grin; Kip sees Wallace squeeze at his own wrist before releasing it.

“Thanks—“ Wallace says quietly. “You too. You look good, I mean.”

Kip smiles softly.

“Well—uh—“ Wallace looks around and puts a hand on the doorframe and rubs at the side of his neck with the other. “Did you, uh, wanna come in, or should we just go ahead and go out, or...” He fades off uncertainly.

“I dunno, which were you planning on?” Kip asks. 

“Uh...” Wallace hesitates, then suddenly laughs and pushes a hand back through his hair. “Let’s head out,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Heh—alright.” Kip steps aside to give Wallace more space to walk out. “Did you have anywhere in particular in mind?”

“Um...” Wallace turns and locks his door; Kip waits until Wallace’s focus is redirected on voicing his answer. After a couple of seconds Wallace finally works the key in the lock and then turns back to Kip. “...I was thinking there was this place near where I work? It’s nothing fancy, just this diner, but I go there sometimes for lunch...”

The little fluttering rise in his chest makes it clear to Kip that the suggestion is perfectly appealing. He thinks of sitting in  
a corner booth with Wallace, turned towards each other as they talk, rain pattering against the windows behind them.

“That sounds great, yeah,” he says.

Wallace lights up a little as he looks at Kip.

“Really?”

“Yeah, I don’t go down that way much. I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen what building you actually work at now.”

“Oh—yeah, I could walk us down there, too. It’s only a little further off.”

“Alright. Cool.” 

They stand there for a moment. Kip looks at Wallace. 

“Okay,” Wallace laughs. “Yeah. Let’s head out, then?”

“Okay.”

They both turn and walk the short distance to the lobby, Kip a half pace behind Wallace, just a few inches from his side.

Wallace hesitates at the door.

“Oh,” he says. “I meant to get my umbrella—I was reminded by yours, but then I forgot, I’ll—hang on a just a second, sorry—“

“You can—“ Kip starts, but Wallace is already hurrying back to his apartment, face reddened.

Kip watches him go around the corner. And then he’s alone for the moment, and he walks slowly over to stand closer to the wall, on the small chance that someone will use the front door in the next half minute or so.

He thinks about what they might talk about when they sit down to eat. He had been about to offer that Wallace share his umbrella, but he supposes he’s not entirely disappointed by the fact that now they might not even be able to walk side by side. He doesn’t quite feel like he’s ready to bestow upon Wallace the privilege of always automatically getting to hold his hand, or kiss him, or even touch and be near him.

And then there’s the fact that he thinks he’d like to see what would happen if he kept a little cushion of space between them more often than not. He’s curious if Wallace would make any move on his own to get a little closer. He wouldn’t move away if he did.

He remembers something Ben said, half-joking—how Wallace could use a challenge.

Maybe that’s what he’s feeling here. He doesn’t want to fight Wallace off—he’s already gone through with that step. He doesn’t want to back away from him. But he does want to challenge him. 

Just a little. Not as a confrontation, not a challenge that pits two people against each other to see who’ll get the better of the other, but more as a subtle test. A challenge that says show me what you’ve got—show me if you really want this—show me if this means something to you.

He doesn’t want to insert any manufactured difficulties into this—he doesn’t want to set an obstacle course before Wallace. He just doesn’t exactly want to hand everything directly to him. It’s who he really is, after all—he’s cautious, and elusive, and needs new people to prove themselves a little. And Wallace he knows very well, and trusts very far, and loves very dearly—but he’s a new boyfriend. This whole form of their relationship is new. And he wants to figure out what it’s going to be without trying to force it to fit any particular mold.

And he wants to see that Wallace really likes him. Beyond just the feeling of liking him, which he’s sure Wallace is genuinely experiencing. He wants to see if the reality of this intimacy with him doesn’t fall short of Wallace’s expectations or needs or desires. If, after getting to kiss him a while, it doesn’t turn out that it was just a bit of sexual attraction that needed to be explored, or at least burned off. If Wallace truly isn’t put off by the fact that some of the states he’s seen Kip in will come back, and as far as Kip knows, keep coming back indefinitely. If Wallace likes him like that.

“Sorry!” Wallace reappears, still blushing, and strides back over to Kip. “Thanks for waiting up—sorry.”

“No problem,” Kip laughs. 

He leads the way outside, and holds the outer door open for Wallace with his foot while unfolding his umbrella. Wallace follows suit, and the steady rain taps above Kip’s head like drumming fingers, and they look at each other.

“Okay,” Kip says. “Show me the way.”

—

They’re mostly quiet for the first minute or so. Then they come to a stop at an intersection to wait for a traffic light to change. 

“So how’s your day been?” Kip asks, looking out across the street.

“Oh, it’s alright...” Wallace says. “It was a pretty routine day at work. I didn’t sleep great last night though, so when I got home I pretty much laid down and passed out for an hour,” he laughs.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I am, yeah,” Wallace says quickly. “I’m just—some nights I’ll wake up about a hundred times and take forever to fall asleep again. It’s mostly just annoying. But I’m okay. I usually sleep good the next night, so it’s not too terrible.”

“Mm. I hate being tired at work,” Kip says. “It must be worse for you, all that paperwork and stuff. I can usually just go through the motions with stuff at the café.”

“Yeah, I can be a little out of it—but luckily I can kinda reshuffle things so that I can deal with uncomplicated things until I’m a little more woken up.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Kip says, wishing he had something a bit more eloquent to say. But he’s never actually worked in an office before, and apparently Wallace has never worked anywhere else, save for their brief stint doing field work together. 

“Did you have to work today?” Wallace asks.

“Yeah. It wasn’t too bad. Not very long. I just kinda started the day feeling off too, I guess.”

“Ah—that sucks. Is it any better?”

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “Yeah, I feel alright now. It wasn’t too bad.”

The light changes.

“Hold my hand,” Kip says, glancing back at Wallace with a little smile. 

He reaches towards Wallace as he looks for any turning cars—Wallace puts his hand in Kip’s, and Kip leads the way across the street, and lets go once they’re both on the sidewalk again. His hand retains some of the warmth of Wallace’s for several more seconds.

The showering rain starts coming down harder; the thudding noise against their umbrellas and the increased difficulty of staying dry makes extensive conversation much more impractical. Wallace occasionally points out other shops and eateries as they pass by, and glances over frequently at Kip, who pretends he doesn’t notice the latter until he’s caught already looking at Wallace—Wallace grins and looks ahead again with a lingering smile, Kip laughs softly and looks at Wallace a moment longer before dropping his head.

Wallace suddenly slows his pace, falling back and touching Kip’s arm.

“Here,” he says. “Right on the corner, there.”

The row of windows along the diner’s front are luminous and warm in contrast with the overcast, slightly dimming blue from the evening sky. Wallace reaches the door first, opening it for Kip, and Kip slips inside and returns the favor while Wallace struggles momentarily to wrangle his umbrella past the doorway.

“Is there any corner booths?” Kip asks, looking around at the collection of other humans and monsters scattered around at tables, booths, and stools.

“Yeah,” Wallace says. “See, the one down on the left there is free.”

The back of the booth is rounded, a quarter circle. Kip slides down a third of the way, and Wallace does the same from the opposite end. His knee bumps Kip’s, and Kip flinches in surprise but doesn’t move it away. 

“Ah, hang on, they have menus over there—“ Wallace gets up again. “I’ll be right back—“

Kip slips his hands under his thighs and watches Wallace hurry over to the counter and pick up a couple of menus in a plastic sleeve, then hurry back.

“Sorry,” he says, and then he knocks Kip’s knee again as he slips back into the seat. “Oh—sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Kip takes the offered menu. “Do you have any recommendations?”

“Uh, I usually get a sandwich, but they make a great potato soup here, also. It’s hot, too, y’know.”

And that’s what they end up ordering. About five minutes afterwards a generous helping of creamy soup is brought to Kip, issuing wisps of steam, bowl flanked with a couple of buttered rolls. Just another minute more, and Wallace gets his sandwich, cut in half, with chips and a pickle spear.

Kip pinches the end of his tongue between his teeth and watches Wallace bite off the end of the pickle.

“...Was it nice getting to nap while it rained?” Kip asks him. “I remember you telling me, you know—you feel like rainy days are cozy.”

“Yeah, it does help me sleep, too,” Wallace says. “I like a little background noise sometimes. Though I don’t suppose I have the best vantage point for hearing the rain, being on the bottom floor—I get the traffic sounds, and stuff.”

“Ugh, does that keep you awake?” 

“Not really. It’s not too bad. It’s kinda nice, sometimes.”

Kip finds himself unable to immediately think of something else to say; he blushes at his own nervousness. He tries instead to think of what he might say if this wasn’t a date. He’s had countless conversations with Wallace about all kinds of topics, talked to him while hanging out, laughing, chatting about anything, and while huddled together in a dark room, hearts hammering, whispering urgently about how they might possibly find a way to survive this. He can’t possibly be at a total loss for words just because he’s sitting close to him.

“Um...” he starts weakly, stirring the surface of his soup. “I was talking a while with Ben after I got back from work. ...He seemed like he’s doing okay.”

Maybe he’d’ve said this casually if this wasn’t a date, but now it’s only making his blush more pronounced. But Wallace answers without hesitation.

“Oh, yeah, he’s doing good,” he says. “I mean, he’s sort of still shaken by everything, y’know, he’ll have worse days every now and then, but this past month especially it really seems like he’s really doing well. Like, he’s sort of been quietly recovering all this time, but it doesn’t always exactly show. I mean, well, you know how he is.”

“Yeah...” Kip breathes a laugh. “I do. I’m glad if he’s feeling better about everything now. I think it’s been a long time since he’s gotten to feel this way. A really long time,” he says softly. 

Wallace looks over at him. Kip realizes that Wallace probably wants to hear things he has to say about Ben—being the one who’s known him for over a decade and a half, after all.

“...The last couple of years before they died were pretty rough,” Kip murmurs. “We didn’t really ever go a solid month without there being some kind of bad news. Even though he and Yumi were engaged for the last half year or so, I...I doubt that was enough to protect him from everything else that was going on. Emotionally, I mean.”

Wallace nods.

“I’d just...I mean, if it was anything like it was for me...the last time I could probably honestly feel like things were okay was...about ten years ago, I’d estimate it.”

“Oh...wow.”

“Yeah.” Kip scratches his arm and smiles softly. “Sorry for bringing up all this stuff right off.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” Wallace says quickly. “I’m always okay to talk about it. It’s relevant to a lot of stuff anyways, right? We don’t have to avoid it.”

There’s a pause, and then suddenly Kip laughs—he stifles it and turns his head away, grinning.

“What is it?” Wallace laughs too.

Kip shakes his head.

“I just remembered—speaking of talking about this kind of stuff on dates—“ He brushes a hand through his hair and turns to Wallace again, still smiling. “There was this story Kate told me a few years ago—back when I was still living in D, you know.”

“Right,” Wallace says.

“We were visiting each other, and talking about stuff, and—well, anyways, she ended up telling me about this time she went out with this guy she’d met, and it was, like, a few months after the fire, so it was still being talked about all the time around here. And basically—she said like, twenty minutes into this date, this guy brought up what happened, and...”

He laughs lightly again, blushing a little.

“I guess maybe he was trying to be impressive somehow, like, seem like a...rebel or iconoclastic or whatever, but, well, he did it by kind of...insulting the whole situation. And Kate told him right off he didn’t know what he was talking about, and she said he backed off but then he tried to like...well, sort of make a joke at my expense. And she told me she just looked at him in silence for a bit while she was trying to figure out how she was going to react, and then once he tried to say something else she just, like, told him to go fuck himself and got up and left.”

He rubs his face as if to wipe away his stubborn blush over some stranger who, almost six years ago, thought he and his grief were worthy of derision.

“It was some luck for whoever he was,” Kip continues. “He didn’t know she was actually friends with me, of course. It’s just, like...what a clueless thing to do anyway. Like, what if she’d known someone who was taken? Those people took an extra blow when—when we lost Kent. When she told me about that date with that guy, I almost wondered if he had to be from District B or something. Anyway, he got off easy, I’d say. Kate doesn’t lose her temper over much, but she doesn’t really hold back when she does.”

“Heh—“ Wallace scratches at the back of his head. “I feel like I’m lucky I didn’t get myself into a similar kind of situation when I first moved here. I guess I sort of did, that one time...”

“How could you have?” Kip asks. “You didn’t even know the full story until just now.”

“No, it was on accident, and of course I didn’t realize—it was that time I was talking to Louise, and I said that thing about houses being burnt down...” He says it quietly, face pink.

“Oh, right...” Kip says. “You told me about that.”

“Yeah.” Wallace laughs a little nervously. “I wasn’t even really joking, I was just...exasperated, and being sort of sarcastic...”

“I know you didn’t know,” Kip says. “Still, yeah, I’m glad you didn’t say anything like that to me back then. I might’ve hit you or something.”

Wallace blushes a bit harder, smiles a bit shyly.

“Well, don’t worry,” Kip says, leaning back against the booth. “I know you wouldn’t’ve said something like that if you’d known. It’s weird, though, that over in A you guys don’t have any idea about that kind of thing. News that’s basically universal over here, I mean.”

“Oh, yeah...” Wallace sighs. “Yeah, Jerry’s been sending me articles from out of A that’ve been covering events since E, and they’ve had to use a lot of introductory explanations and all. Lots of that background information is just totally obscure to people in A. The news about E seemed pretty out of nowhere there, I’m guessing.”

“Lucky for them,” Kip says coolly.

“Yeah,” Wallace murmurs.

There’s a pause. Kip looks over at Wallace and smiles softly when he looks back. Wallace smiles a bit tentatively in return.

“...How’s, uh, how’s Pascal?” Wallace asks.

“He’s doing alright. He’s steady as a mountain, y’know, whether he’s doing well or not, but he’s actually okay.”

“Yeah?” Wallace’s tone brightens. “That’s great. I’m glad things have been going okay for him, too.”

“Mmhm.” Kip tears off a piece of one of his rolls. “He’s not very ambitious—by other people’s standards, anyways, but considering how things used to be for him, he likes having an apartment, and still having his shop is a huge bonus, and he’s adapted pretty well to being in C. And, uh...well, you know, he likes me...”

“Yeah,” Wallace laughs. “I know a little bit of that.”

“He really liked this class he was taking, too—it was sculpting, pottery and clay and that stuff, and the things he made are just amazing,” Kip says. “They’re gorgeous. And he had this guarantee that one evening a week he’d get to go out and be around people and do something he likes. I’m hoping maybe that if I move in with him, and he has me around to help out with more stuff, it’ll be easier for him to maybe find something like that again. I dunno what, though.”

“What, like another class to go to?”

“Yeah, or some group to join or project to take up, or whatever,” Kip shrugs. “He really deserves to have something like that. If he didn’t have to pay to do it, and if he could know it’d last longer than six or twelve weeks, that’d be even better, but anything he’d want to do is fine with me.”

“Hm.” Wallace looks thoughtfully at the opposite wall. “Maybe I should think about something like that, too. I mean, I have work, and I’m still really into that, but it’s good to have something outside of that. Like what you’re talking about for Pascal.”

“Oh,” Kip says. “Yeah.”

He doesn’t want to say anything about how he doesn’t really have something similar for himself, either. Maybe his blog counts, but it can at times be little more than a chore, and he’s still not certain if he even wants to keep it up indefinitely. 

“Maybe Pascal and I could start our own society,” Wallace says. “And you and Ben could join to support us.”

“Maybe,” Kip says. “Let me know if that happens.”

“We could be a club for people who wanna kiss you,” Wallace laughs. “Apparently we might be able to get a lot of members that way.”

Kip blushes.

“I don’t know why people like me,” he murmurs. 

“I dunno...I think you have a kind of wide appeal,” Wallace says, head cocked as he looks Kip up and down. “Like, anybody who likes guys would like you. Well—I bet there’s been dudes who thought they were straight and got a crush on you anyways.”

“There were in high school, at least, yeah,” Kip acknowledges.

Wallace giggles.

“...I had this one friend who kept going through a bunch of girlfriends,” Kip says quietly. “He was nice, and pretty cute, but he’d jump into a relationship and find some reason or another that he didn’t like it, and back out, and have a new one in a week or so. And anyways, go figure, one time his parents were gone for a weekend, and he had a party one day, and me and a bunch of other friends hung out with him the next day, and a few of us stayed over, and...basically, we ended up sleeping together.”

“Wh—all of you?” Wallace asks.

Kip has to laugh.

“No, I wasn’t ALWAYS having group sex,” he says. “It was just me and him. We made out a while and then undressed each other and got each other off in his bed. And slept naked together. I showed him how to do his own laundry the next day, cuz we came on his sheets.”

“Oh,” Wallace says, blushing.

“Mmhm. I liked him. I maybe wouldn’t’ve wanted to date him, but it was fun being his friend. And sleeping beside him. He had these scales on his chest that I liked to feel. They were kind of soft, and smooth, like how rows of sequins would be. And he worked me over pretty decently, too. And then later on he started having a few secret boyfriends. I don’t know if he ever came out to his parents or not, though.”

“Oh...” Wallace says again.

“...I had a few other times like that,” Kip murmurs. “Being other guys’ first time with another guy. I kinda liked it. Showing them what to do. Trying to show them it could be good to like it.”

Wallace blushes a bit deeper. 

“...I even liked being a guy’s first kiss with a guy,” Kip continues thoughtfully, staring at a point on the edge of the table. “I know I recruited a few more people that way. And I like kissing, anyways. So—it’s all fond memories.”

He tears off another piece of bread.

“It’s kind of funny, because some of that stuff was before I was totally sure I was gay. Like, I knew I liked boys, and I knew I enjoyed it, and I never had girlfriends—like I told you, there was that couple of times I let girls kiss me, but I just got scared off worse that way, and kept messing around with boys when I had the chance...and I was kissing them and hooking up with them before I’d made up my mind that it was all real and definite beyond any doubt. I don’t really know why it took me so long. It’s not that I was scared of being out—well, I was, but not in the way that, like...not how you have to be afraid of being thrown out, or worse.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Wallace says:

“I don’t know why I was so nervous. Or why it took so long for me to fully realize the whole truth of it, when I’d been doing gay shit all my life, and got more and more aware of it as I got older. It doesn’t make much sense.”

“It’s okay,” Wallace says quietly. “No matter what, I don’t think many people get to feel like the whole process was smooth and simple for them.”

Kip laughs softly.

“Yeah...god,” he sighs.

“Though, y’know,” Wallace says slowly. “I bet those guys who you were their first time, or their first kiss with a guy...I know you must’ve made sure it was a great experience for you both. And probably at least some of them were more scared about it than you were—about, you know, liking another boy. It’s a good thing that they had you.”

“Oh,” Kip says, looking down with a light blush. “I...maybe. I did try to make everything good. Nobody ever...like, started avoiding me or anything, at least. So that‘s good. And a lot of the time, it was really nice. And more than just playing around, y’know. Even times when me and the guy knew we weren’t gonna try to date, or anything, it would be...really affectionate, still. We’d be kind of...sweet to each other, I guess, even if we were only hooking up for one night or something. And that helped me, too, because I got brave enough to try having boyfriends.”

“Aw.”

“Mmhm. Heartwarming. I’m just glad I figured it all out in time to meet Pascal, so that both of us were ready for a boyfriend like that. I mean, I’d had a couple of times where I got a crush on a guy, but he didn’t like me back, or started dating someone else, or whatever. It was awful. I can only imagine if that happened with Pascal. It was such a chance meeting that if we didn’t both like each other and weren’t both okay with that, I’m sure we wouldn’t’ve seen each other again.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you do, just run into each other on the sidewalk or something?”

“Nah. Some friends brought me along to this small party at somebody’s house. And Pascal was there because he would stay over at that house sometimes. And he says he saw me and made an excuse to talk to me. Didn’t I ever tell you that’s how we met?”

“Yeah, you did, sorry—I remembered as soon as I asked,” Wallace laughs, blushing. “I think it’s cute.”

“I guess it did go pretty ideally for the both of us,” Kip says. “And I appreciate that a lot.”

“He must feel the same way,” Wallace says. “He’s a great guy. And I can tell you guys are both really in love.”

Kip blushes, and can’t bring himself to say anything to deflect this, or even shrug it off. It’s true, and he’s glad Wallace knows it, and wants to say so.

“...The four of us ought to meet up, I think,” he tells Wallace. “Maybe go out like this, or something. Not like—I’m not saying we need to have a council, or anything. I just feel like it’d be nice for us to be in one place for a minute. I mean, when’s the last time the four of us were all together?”

“Hmm...I guess it was when Molly and Roy invited all those people to your guys’ place for the evening.”

“Mm. Yeah. That sounds right,” Kip says. “And I was feeling really awkward around you two especially.”

Wallace laughs.

“Yeah, it doesn’t hardly count,” he says. “It’d be nice to get together, yeah. We could all talk about what we like about each other, and have a group hug, or something.”

“Yeah, something like that...”

Kip throws a small smile at Wallace. Wallace beams back at him.

“How have YOU been?” Kip says. “Overall, not just today.”

“Oh—well—“ Wallace shifts against the cushion of the booth. “I’m good, I’m doing good. It’s...well, I said a little while ago that I was starting to feel like I really fit in here. And, you know, I’m not trying just to play up to you, I swear, but you saying you’d go out with me made me kind of really feel like I’m at home here.”

Kip raises his eyebrows.

“What? How?”

“Well...” Wallace glances upwards, face nicely red. “I was wondering too, and I think that it was all coming on this whole time, but I just didn’t realize it till now because I...I didn’t really realize what felt out of place. But once I figured out that I...that you liked me, and I liked you, and we finally got to talk about it and work it out, it didn’t feel anymore like there was something kind of...out of alignment, you know? And in these past few days especially—“ He laughs and brushes his hair back. “I dunno, maybe it’s just that I’m excited, but I do feel more like I really belong here. I mean, not to put all this pressure on you, or say it’s at all your responsibility, but...so much of my being here is, like...well, it’s pretty intertwined with you, isn’t it. I don’t think I would’ve felt right if I’d made YOU feel out of place.”

Kip bites the inside of his lip and glances aside.

“I remember how many times I’d tried to tell you that you weren’t in the way, but you’d keep saying it,” Wallace laughs. “It felt wrong, you feeling like you didn’t belong as much as anyone else, all because of things that happened from my coming here.”

“But you...” Kip brushes a hand over his face, sitting up. “You didn’t...you haven’t, like...”

He struggles to find his next word, brow drawn. Wallace, though, like Pascal, waits.

“...You didn’t decide to ask me out to help me feel less in the way,” he finally says.

“No, no,” Wallace says quickly. “I just didn’t—I mean, it’s like how I said, about how I feel like I knew I liked you before I was actually...aware of knowing it. Like, yeah, either way I would’ve felt bad if I thought I was pushing you out after it was me who kind of...crashlanded into the middle of your whole life and situation and all, but...well, I guess I can only tell you that I’m not here because I felt guilty. It’s because I want to be here with you.”

Kip has to smile at that, albeit a bit faintly. Wallace seems to pick up on Kip’s reservations.

“I didn’t mean to say it to make you feel like I only want to smooth things over, or something—it’s just that I...” He sighs softly and touches his lip, looking slightly perturbed. “Since I kissed you—or, y’know, since you kissed me, it’s felt more like...I’ve felt more like everything’s more in place for me, I guess. And it feels a lot more right than when you were thinking you’d...you were making things worse for me just by living near me. That’s all that I mean. I’m sorry if I made it sound like I meant I only wanna be with you to fix that. I’d’ve wanted to fix it anyways, of course, but I really—that’d be true whether I liked you or not. And I do like you. It’s—ah, god, I’m putting this terribly...”

He laughs a bit helplessly and puts a hand to his forehead.

“I’m sorry...” He laughs again. “I didn’t say all this very well. I don’t mean to imply that I’m just trying to make you feel better or anything. I’m sorry.”

Kip shrugs loosely and looks down at his soup. He’s already remembering his own embarrassment over the sense he’d fumbled his words about Pascal’s feelings, and how Ben let him walk it back.

“...It’s okay,” he tells Wallace, looking over at him. “I can be bad with how I phrase things. I’m sure I’ve accidentally implied a lot worse to people,” he laughs quietly.

“Heh—“ Wallace grins at him. “Well...what I really mean to say is that I really feel like...this isn’t just the place I moved for my job anymore, you know? It’s just...it’s where I live now. Obviously, I know, but it’s...it doesn’t feel uncertain or temporary anymore. It’s definitely my home.”

Kip smiles softly.

“...I mean, I haven’t forgotten I was in A for my whole life up till this year,” Wallace adds quickly. “I know it isn’t my home like it’s your guys’ home, but I...I mean that I feel so confident about having a life here that it doesn’t even need my confidence anymore. It’s just...it feels natural.”

Kip bites his lip and smiles a little brighter. 

“And it’s not just my being here that feels like that now,” Wallace says. He glances at Kip, rubbing the side of his neck. “It feels natural to be...to be closer to you.”

His voice softens and he flushes and it’s all such an onset of genuine shyness that Kip almost feels gripped in the chest. Wallace feels strongly about him, strongly enough that it can affect him like this.

Kip waits for Wallace to look over at him, and smiles at him when he does. Wallace laughs and brushes his hair back again. 

“Do you like to text people?” Kip asks.

“Huh?”

“Like, how do you like to be in touch with people when you’re not face to face with them?” Kip asks. “Me and Pascal will text each other, and call every now and then. I know you and me live in the same building, but we still don’t see each other every day. Do you like to talk every day, or every other day, or...” He trails off, then laughs. “I dunno—what do you like? What’re you comfortable with?”

“Oh...god, I talk a lot, but honestly, I just...I don’t text very well, just because sometimes I forget. I get distracted, I mean, or I’ll think I’ve already sent an answer when I haven’t...” Wallace says a bit awkwardly. “But if it’s something like, you definitely want to text every day, I ought to be able to get into the habit of remembering.”

“Well—I just...I do like to sort of at least be in touch once a day,” Kip murmurs, feeling a bit self-conscious. “It doesn’t have to be the same way every day, and it’s not like it’s an emergency if I don’t hear from somebody constantly...”

“No, I hear you.”

“I could say something like, well, I’ll just drop by for five minutes sometime in the evening, but I know that that wouldn’t always work. Like, sometimes it’s good if it’s just something more flexible and convenient. Just—I don’t mean to say that we should draw up some sort of contract right here—I just felt like it would be something good to ask about—“

“No—yeah—“ Wallace leans forward a little. “I could definitely do with talking at least once a day.”

“You don’t have to...” Kip says again. “I don’t want it to be, like...this is just our first date and already you have to do this whole thing...”

Wallace grins.

“Well, yeah, it’s our first date, but it’s not like our relationship is just a week old, is it,” he says. 

Kip shrugs.

“It’s at least older than that, yeah,” he murmurs.

“I can text with you in the evening if we haven’t talked already,” Wallace tells him. “It’s not some huge request to make.”

“Well—I mean, it’s not even like...” Kip sighs. “Sometimes I’m at work in the evenings, and you’re at work all afternoon and don’t have your phone on, and sometimes one of us might be with somebody, or might be going out and doing something, or whatever...”

“Mm. Well, if we’re both busy all day, we can fall back on sending a text goodnight, or something. Say how we’re doing, and to just reply whenever you get a chance. And the one person will get done with whatever we’re doing and get to see that text, and then the person who sent it might get to wake up to the reply.”

Kip smiles and shrugs again.

“Yeah,” he says. “That could work. It’s—well, when you’re texting someone, do you like to get a reply right away? Or are you fine with waiting on it for however long?”

“I’m good with both,” Wallace says. “Actually, I don’t really mind waiting for replies anyways, because usually after a while I kinda forget I’m even expecting one. And then when the person does respond, it’s like this pleasant surprise.”

Kip laughs softly.

“Okay,” he says. “I just figured that if you and me were gonna text a bit more, our schedules being different could mean that there might be times when we will have a while between messages being sent.”

“Right...” Wallace nods thoughtfully. “I think it’ll be okay. And I do at least make sure to check my phone at the end of the day, so even if I forget to reply, I’ll remember before I go to bed,” he laughs.

Kip smiles softly.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll text you before bed too, if we haven’t texted or talked already.”

“Okay—yeah. Cool.”

There’s a pause.

“...You look...really good, by the way,” Wallace says. He smiles at Kip a little nervously, gaze flickering away and back, blushing.

“Oh...thanks,” Kip murmurs. “I didn’t try to do anything fancy. I just wanted to wear something kind of usual, I guess.”

“It’s cute,” Wallace says. “All your outfits are cute.”

Kip blushes.

“Thanks,” he says again. “I...I meant it about liking your hair. And I like your shirt, too.”

“Oh—good—awesome—thanks—“ Wallace laughs slightly breathlessly. 

Kip glances over at him.

“You have a great smile,” he says softly. “You always look really good when you smile.”

“Oh,” Wallace says, voice quieted too. His face grows even pinker. 

“That isn’t to say that you only look nice when you smile,” Kip clarifies. “You have a nice face all the time.”

Wallace laughs.

“Remember when you told me I was ugly?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Kip’s face feels hot at the memory of how stressed he’d been at that time. “I was just mad at you, though. I thought you looked alright, even back then. ...And I always liked your smile.”

“Oh...” Wallace recovers quickly from his laughter. “Well, that’s good—I’m glad to hear it.”

Kip finds himself avoiding looking at Wallace, as though saying he likes to do so would be more believable this way. So he’s a little caught off guard when he notices in his peripheral vision that Wallace is still gazing at him. He tries to conceal his resulting blush by lowering his head to take a spoonful of soup.

“I like your lips,” Wallace says, quietly but matter-of-factly.

Kip blushes all the more brilliantly, not at all helped by the fact that now he’s hindered from responding by the potatoes in his mouth. He keeps his head bowed instead as though nothing has been said.

“...The color of blue is just...beautiful,” Wallace continues regardless. “I’ve been noticing for ages now. I’d just want to stare for a while sometimes, but...well...I always figured that even glancing too often was risky enough. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Kip blushes even harder at the idea of how he might’ve felt if Wallace HAD shown an affinity for looking at his mouth. Kip had already had impulses and vague ideas about kissing Wallace. But if he’d thought that Wallace might’ve been attracted to him—maybe it WOULD’VE scared him off.

“I guess you have the chance to stare at me now,” he says to Wallace. And he looks at him, and Wallace is definitely gazing down at his lips. Wallace parts his own before gently starting, then quickly meeting Kip’s eyes instead, face growing pinker. “...You know what? I’ve never dated a human before.”

Wallace blinks.

“What—really?”

“Really,” Kip laughs. “I’ve slept with one before, technically. That time I had sex with three guys—one of them was human. And I’ve kissed a few. But never dated any.”

“Oh...” Wallace says. “I’ll try not to make you regret it, then.” He laughs—a little nervously.

Kip offers him a small smile, trying to make it mildly encouraging. 

“Were any of those humans you kissed any good at it?” Wallace jokes. “Or, at least, better than me? I’ll try to improve if they were.”

“Mm. No, they weren’t great. There was only a few, and mostly I kissed them because...y’know, I was sort of letting them have their first kiss with a boy. But none of them were great kissers. I kind of tried to teach them how to do it a little better.” He laughs softly at the memories of it.

“Oh man, they were really lucky then,” Wallace laughs. “I was so nervous about it in high school—being bad at it, I mean. I would’ve loved having someone to coach me...but instead I was on my own to try to pick up tips wherever I could find them so I wouldn’t be caught unprepared.”

He laughs too.

“When I finally did kiss someone, I was definitely way better. Way, way better. I’m not sure what she was trying to do half the time, actually. But I tried not to let on how bad it was...” He blushes, laughing again, and shakes his head. 

“Oh, god...” Kip laughs too. “That sucks. Kissing when you don’t have a clue what you’re doing—it’s risky. And scary, if you don’t feel confident about it, whether you’re actually any good or not.”

“Yeah, I was pretty terrified about the idea—thus all the preparation,” Wallace says. “I guess realizing how much worse I could’ve been did give me a confidence boost though. I wasn’t really ever as nervous about it after that.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess that’s a bonus,” Kip says.

“Yeah. Dunno if it was worth it though. Being kissed that badly kind of robbed it of any appeal. It was a little rough enduring it long enough to at least be polite.”

Kip immediately remembers trying to force himself to tolerate being kissed by the girls who’d tried to make a move on him—trying just to make it through the moment, not really focusing on whether he enjoyed it or not, how good it was, because they weren’t kissing him badly, it wasn’t about that, it was hardly about any element of the kissing that experiencing a kiss SHOULD be about—trying just to ignore the chilled tension in his chest like a shard of metal pressing into his lungs, his shortness of breath beyond anything the pace should’ve warranted, how much of his nerve he had to muster just to kiss her back slowly and softly, the tightness of his limbs, beginning to tremble, this helpless incredulity at whatever was wrong with him, whatever was making him shake all over, making his inhales strain and finally rasp in his throat, his inexplicable dizziness, the twist in his stomach—

“Was it alright for you?” Wallace asks, interrupting his silence. “Your first kiss?”

“Oh—er—“ Kip sits up and needlessly brushes his hair behind his ear, trying to smooth away the slight frown that he’d developed. “Well, I guess my first kiss was with a human, technically, but it hardly counts, and it was a disaster—but my REAL first kiss was pretty good. We were alone in the auditorium after school—me and this friend of mine. It just kinda came on, and it was pretty relaxed, so it was hard to mess it up. Neither of us were that bad. I liked it.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” Wallace says. 

“Yeah. The only real drawback is that we were sitting in those rows of seats...it was kind of awkward trying to turn around and lean in like that. And we couldn’t exactly share a seat. But it didn’t go on long enough to get too uncomfortable.”

Wallace breathes a laugh.

“What was wrong with that kiss before that, though?” Wallace asks, tone suddenly more solemn. “Only if you want to say, though, I mean,” he adds quickly.

“Mm. It’s just sort of yet another sad story. The kiss itself was okay. But we were only four. It’s not like it didn’t count, but...just as a gesture. It wasn’t really kissing, like, as boyfriends, obviously.”

“You were four?” Wallace repeats.

Kip nods.

“I was in pre-K. It was when we were playing outside, in this playground and field beside the building. I remember it was cloudy. There was this one boy, who was kind of quiet and shy, but I liked him, and I’d go and play with him sometimes, or bring him into a group if there was other kids playing. And he was sweet to me. The way that you can be when you’re four, anyway. Like, sharing things with me, basically.”

“Oh,” Wallace says. “What was wrong about it? Did he not want to kiss you?”

“Nah, it wasn’t that,” Kip sighs. “There wasn’t anything wrong with the kiss. It was just a typical sort of human and monster issue.”

Wallace blinks and cocks his head a degree in that habit he has when at a loss. Kip smiles a bit wryly, sure he’s blushing. 

“There’s a lot of, ah, pointless misunderstandings in early school especially,” Kip says. “Human kids aren’t always used to monsters. They don’t know anything, or...well, have already been taught something worse.”

“But didn’t that other boy already like you?” Wallace asks, head tilting a little further. 

“Yeah. It was the ice,” Kip says.

“Oh.” Wallace blushes. “Sorry. That was kinda clueless of me.”

Kip flickers a smile.

“It’s okay. It was...we were off playing together towards a couple trees that grew in the field, and we just—we took hands, and I leaned over and kissed him on the mouth, and then he did the same, and I already—I thought it was fun, and I liked it, and I was four, and so I was excited by something new like that and my left hand froze. I couldn’t help it, you know, monsters that age hardly have any control over powers they have. But, you know—the powers are proportionally weak, too. I just made this thin little layer of ice, but his hand was in mine, so it covered part of his hand, too.”

“Oh,” Wallace says seriously. “I guess that might’ve hurt after a second.”

“Mm. And I doubt he understood what was going on,” Kip says. “And of course I couldn’t undo the ice—I didn’t know what to do any more than he did. We just sort of stared at our hands for a second, and maybe it started to hurt him like you said, and he tried to pull it away, but that might’ve hurt more. Anyways, before I knew what he was trying to do, he took hold of his hand with the other and kind of shoved it against the tree trunk we were knelt beside. It cracked the ice apart, but a piece must’ve cut him, and he scraped his hand on the bark, and his hand was bleeding a little.”

“Oh,” Wallace says again, wincing a little. “That’s a mess.”

“Yeah—“ Kip huffs a laugh. “And, you know, he’s four, and between being hurt and seeing blood, he just automatically ran off to find the teacher, and so in the course of like, ten seconds, I was just left sitting there and trying to process what had all just happened.”

“God. Was YOUR hand alright?”

“Yeah. I was just confused and kinda scared. It wasn’t like I’d never made ice before, but it’s still not like it happened all the time back then. And I hadn’t ever frozen anybody else besides my siblings, who never freaked out about it like that. Just my own hands, or things I was touching—usually just drinks. But it had hurt him and made him run off. I figured I’d done something bad, obviously.”

Wallace’s expression falls sympathetically. Kip shrugs.

“I was also sort of clueless, so being confused kept me from being too scared, or anything,” Kip continues. “I just stayed there and kept working on this little castle I’d been making out of twigs and grass. Until one of the grownups came and got me. The other boy hadn’t—it’s not like he was mad at me, I could tell. He hadn’t been trying to get me in trouble. He’d just explained how he hurt his hand, and the staff already knew I could get really cold or make ice sometimes. They took me inside and put me in one of the offices and were trying to figure out if I’d done it on purpose. I think it—I mean, like I said, the other kid didn’t say anything like that I’d tried to hurt him. But he’d been scared, and upset about his hand hurting, and they didn’t know that he wasn’t scared of ME, right?”

“Oh...” Wallace says quietly. “God. Didn’t what you had to say help at all? You didn’t get in trouble or anything, did you?”

“Well, I couldn’t explain myself great—I was four and still really confused, and I was scared too, away from the rest of the class with the adults all worried like that—I thought that that alone meant that I’d done something wrong, and that it must be my fault. I told them I did make the ice that made him hurt his hand. They tried to ask if I did it on purpose and all, and I said I didn’t. And a couple of the adults were monsters, y’know, and I’m sure that helped. But then, um...well, I think what happened is that the other boy told somebody that we’d kissed. And I guess some of the grownups assumed that must’ve meant one of us must’ve gotten upset about that, and must’ve had a fight, and that’s why the ice happened, and we must’ve been lying to try to keep each other from getting in trouble or something. They knew we were friends, you know? And they just put together this picture based on assumptions, and we were two incoherent four year-olds without a clue, so, y’know, trying to get the story out of us was probably a disaster. It would’ve been hard enough even without us both being freaked out about different shit.”

“Ugh, I bet,” Wallace sighs. “But did they really think there was some huge issue if neither of you guys was mad at each other, or scared of each other, or saying that either of you had tried to hurt the other, or anything? If they didn’t KNOW you’d hurt anyone on purpose...”

Kip shrugs.

“I think it would’ve all been let go, too, even with some people getting all freaked out about a kiss like it must be some disaster. But the kid had, uh...protective parents, I guess. THEY got upset. I doubt they felt very friendly towards monsters, and their kid having this scratched-up hand and a story about his friend kissing him and freezing it...I think there was kind of a whole mess,” he says slowly. “I didn’t understand what was going on at the time, of course. I just knew that...there was some problem. It’s a common enough cause of tension for humans, even ones that live around monsters. This thought that we’re inherently more dangerous. After the end of that week, the boy didn’t come to the school anymore. And I knew enough to figure it was my fault somehow. And even moreso when this one day the teacher took me aside and told me I had to be careful not to freeze anybody anymore, or I might hurt them. I didn’t think they’d be telling me that if I WASN’T dangerous, or if it hadn’t been my fault. But I knew I couldn’t control my ice, so all that happened is I was afraid of touching anybody. I thought I might freeze them, and they’d stop coming to school too.”

“Man, didn’t they know you couldn’t control it?” Wallace demands. “That’s completely unfair to make you feel like you’re—that you’re dangerous, or something.”

“Yeah, well...I DID accidentally freeze that kid’s hand,” Kip sighs. “They just didn’t exactly...convey the nuance of the situation to me. I didn’t exactly understand intent. I thought if I could hurt people, I might...be worse than everyone else somehow. I didn’t realize I was no different from everyone else—y’know, ANY kid might make a mistake and...play too rough or try something too dangerous or lose their temper and do something they don’t mean to. For the whole rest of the year I didn’t feel like I fit in anymore. I played by myself more and I held back a lot around everyone else.”

“That’s such...” Wallace sighs heavily. “What a mess.”

“Those kinds of things could be,” Kip sighs. “Just something totally innocent and it blows up into some situation nobody can get a handle on, especially two four year-olds. That stuff isn’t too unusual, in early school years especially. You get a bunch of little kids running around, and monsters with powers they don’t have much control over, or just...other shit that distinguishes them from humans, and the humans don’t understand any of that or know anything, and there’s overprotective parents and all the tensions of the outside world making its way in, and...”

He tosses his hands up.

“I went to kindergarten with different kids, and I bounced back pretty quick anyways at that age, and I just...in all of that, one thing I remember is Kent being so angry for me.” He laughs suddenly. “He was five years older, y’know. Just in fifth grade, and already that protective towards me. That helped, too. HE didn’t tell me I’d done something bad—not about the ice, and not about kissing my friend, and not even for him going away. He told me not to feel like there was anything wrong with me, so...soon enough, I believed him,” he says casually. 

“Heh—“ Wallace smiles at him. “That’s great he was able to help you.”

“Yeah,” Kip murmurs. “It helps having somebody who’ll always tell you you’re great as is. When you’re a monster, you’re gonna encounter the opposite over and over, even if you’re too little to understand yet. And I did. Everybody did. Being able to go home and be completely accepted was a nice antidote for that. It helped too that I didn’t have any more incidents much like that one in pre-K. I was young enough to mostly forget about it all. It wasn’t until, like, a decade later that I kind of looked back and understood more about it, and realized what an effect it could’ve had on me if I HAD understood. But, lucky for me, it’d all kind of faded by the end of kindergarten, and it didn’t even manage to put me off of kissing boys. And soon enough I wasn’t so afraid of touching people, either, or letting them touch me.”

Wallace smiles.

“So,” Kip sighs. “That WAS the first time I’d kissed anyone. But we were just being kids. And it was all kind of overshadowed by the mess after. Like, when I was older and wondering if I was gay, of course one of the things I looked back on was this time I’d kissed a boy I liked. But I still don’t really count it, you know? Well—I do and I don’t. But I was twelve when I had my first kiss properly. And I liked it, and there was no disaster afterwards—for one thing. nobody else knew it happened. It was just us. And that was a lot better. Just having it be nice and quiet and secret, no pressure or anything. I liked it. I didn’t have to be scared, or worry I’d hurt him.”

He smiles lightly at Wallace, then preoccupies himself by needlessly adjusting his sweater.

“So, you know, not an outright tragedy, but I’m still sorry for telling you another downer of a story from my whole background,” he laughs. “Nice to bring up these kinds of long, heavy topics on a first date.”

“Aw—“ Wallace takes a sip of his water through a straw and shakes his head. “It’s not like you and I have to go through a bunch of introductory questions or stick to small talk as some whole get-to-know-you process, is it? And I’d love to hear anything you have to tell me. Or anything you WANT to tell me, anyways. I don’t think it’s wrong if anyone wants to keep some stuff private. I get it if there’s stories you don’t wanna tell.”

Kip moves his leg so that his knee presses to Wallace’s, then gives him a warm smile.

“Thank you,” he says. “But, you know, after what I told you, I sort of suspect I can go ahead and tell you about anything else that’s happened to me.”

“Huh? Really?”

“Yeah. I’m talking about when I told you about my family,” he explains. “What happened. I wasn’t sure I could.”

“Oh,” Wallace exhales, face flushing gently. “Right...”

Wallace looks down at the table.

“...Still, I hope I didn’t make you feel pressured into telling me about it,” he says quietly. “I don’t feel so great about getting frustrated with you over it.”

Kip tries to let the reminder of his and Wallace’s periodic arguments roll off his back. And likewise tries to ignore the immediate following of doubt that demands to know what in the world Wallace sees in him that’s so great, what on earth there is about him Wallace could want any more of in his life—what he could possibly seem to be offering now, sitting here awkwardly, acting even gloomy or reluctant—

He tries to rein his anxieties in a little.

“It’s alright,” he says quietly. “I decided I wanted to try.”

“It was...” Wallace restlessly touches the side of his neck and glances at the window. “Of all the stuff I’ve seen you do, I still thought that you telling that whole story was one of the bravest.”

Kip flushes blue. He looks down, self-conscious. He knows Wallace can’t be exaggerating—not when they both know Wallace has seen Kip racked by a mortal terror for himself and those he loves. It’s much too deliberately significant a statement to be shrugged off, and yet Kip can’t bring himself to accept any sort of adjectives suggesting courage. 

He settles for a murmured, adequately noncommittal “thanks.”

They’re quiet a moment; Kip can hear the gentle sound of rain against the glass behind him.

Kip tries to figure out what level of coldness is an artificial defense he’s trying to drive between himself and Wallace, and what’s his natural caution and hesitancy and slow-kindled trust. He supposes the former springs from the latter, which doesn’t encourage his efforts to extricate them.

He glances over at Wallace a few times. Finally Wallace catches him, and Kip averts his gaze guiltily. He blushes at the kneejerk reaction.

“Sorry,” he says, laughing weakly at himself. “I’m, uh—I’m still kind of nervous, actually.”

“It’s okay,” Wallace says unhesitatingly. “I can tell. I figured you might be.”

“Oh. Well...” Kip smiles faintly, face warm.

“It reminds me a little of that night we met, remember?”

“I do, yes.”

“You guys took me out to dinner, and I remember how surprised I was to even see you smile a couple times. I didn’t figure you liked me all that much more than when you’d first saw me.”

Kip’s blush seems permanent.

“...Sorry. It’s not that I really hated you at the time, or anything. I just, uh, didn’t want to be there.”

“Yeah. I figured maybe you’d been dragged into it by Roy and Molly.”

“Ben, mostly,” Kip says.

“Oh—really?”

“Mmhm. You showing up had caused a bit of a stir in the building, and me losing my temper like I did didn’t help. He came up to tell me so, and asked me to take you out for a while. Molly and Roy wanted to come along.”

“Oh...” Wallace says slowly. “So it could’ve been just you and me, like this?” he laughs.

“I doubt like this,” Kip murmurs. “You’re probably lucky Molly and Roy were there to make decent conversation. I would’ve given it some effort, but I couldn’t’ve been as friendly as that. I doubt it’d’ve jumpstarted our relationship or anything.”

“Heh—yeah, maybe not. Sorry.”

“There wasn’t much you could’ve done about it at that point,” Kip sighs. “Too many things were already in play. It would’ve taken at least this long anyways, I’m sure. I had to get stuff figured out with Pascal, for one thing. ...Though I did think about kissing you sometimes even before then.”

“You did?” Wallace sits up a little.

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “Every now and then. And it’s not like I hated the thought.”

Wallace grins, gaining a pleased flush.

“Well, I thought about it sometimes, too. I guess it was kinda hard to avoid. Not—uh, not to say I was wanting to avoid it, or anything. I just...”

“I know what you’re saying,” Kip cuts in. “Yeah. It was a bit hard to avoid.”

Wallace laughs lightly.

“...I felt a little guilty sometimes though,” he tells Kip. “Because I’d known since a few days after I met you that you still had feelings for Briggs. And him for you, y’know. It felt like you were pretty, uh, previously engaged, you know? And I’d just been intruding on your life from the start. I figured I’d have to feel pretty entitled to ever try to kiss you.”

Kip laughs.

“Yeah, I dunno if it would’ve helped or made things harder if either of us had complicated things earlier. Who can guess. But here we are. Not kissing worked out eventually, I guess.”

“I guess so.” Wallace laughs too. “There was so much going on—it’s impossible to say. Like, I’m sure if you actually HAD liked me from the very first day we met, it would’ve just made you angrier with me later on.”

“Mm. That’s true.”

“I feel lucky everyone still likes me, honestly,” Wallace says with a sigh.

Kip looks at him.

“I do, too,” he says softly.

“Heh—well, I figure if YOU still like me, it’s easier to believe everybody else does, too,” Wallace laughs.

“I meant that I feel lucky you and Ben and even most of my friends still like me,” Kip clarifies.

Wallace blinks, eyebrows raised.

“Oh,” he says simply.

Kip looks at his lap and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Everyone else liked you from the start, anyways, by the way,” Kip says. “I can’t say I...I DISLIKED you, exactly, but I didn’t like you being here. And then pretty soon I thought you might be trying to hurt us. Like, well—the afternoon after our first brilliant house call together.”

“Wh—that soon?” Wallace leans in a little. “I mean, I know it was that first week, but...man, I just figured maybe you were in a bad mood the next day, tired or something... You already thought I was dangerous?” 

“Mmhm.” Kip takes a spoonful of soup. 

“Wow. Sorry we didn’t get a few more days of peace to get to know each other better,” he laughs quietly.

“It was probably better to get it all over with,” Kip says. “That’s what I tell myself was a silver lining, anyways.”

“Hm. Yeah. I guess I’m glad I didn’t have the chance to feel settled in until just now, really.”

Kip sends him a small smile, but Wallace is looking down at his plate. Kip considers his own food for a moment before looking back over at Wallace.

“You’d belong here whether I liked you or not, you know,” he tells him. “As long as you want to be here, anyways.”

Wallace lights up with a smile at once.

“Aw man, thanks,” he laughs, rubbing the back of his head. “I do like being here, honestly. I don’t—well, to the extent that I can be, I’m glad I was sent here.” He laughs again, more nervously. “I mean, I AM glad I’m here—it’s just that—with everything else involved, it’s hard for me to—to declare it all as good or bad or whatever—“

“I know what you mean,” Kip says. “But you weren’t ever the cause of what was already in motion. I think it’s okay to say you’re glad to be here. I’m glad too, to the extent I can be.”

Wallace laughs again, more easily.

“I’m glad you’re glad,” he tells Kip.

And he bumps his knee against Kip’s—but overshoots somewhat, so that it’s more of a knock than a nudge. 

“Oh—s-sorry—“ 

Kip breathes a laugh, shaking his head, and reaches over to put his hand on Wallace’s. He goes to pull it away—but Wallace turns his hand over and catches Kip’s fingers with a gentle squeeze, and Kip lets him hold his hand.

—

Kip quickly finds that more casual topics now feel within reach, as if their discussion of heavier subjects had bestowed them with a conversational momentum. He soon asks Wallace to describe what an average workday is actually like for him, and to elaborate on more technical details whenever he can.

“I’ve never worked at an office,” he explains. “I don’t actually know what it’s like.”

Wallace can be excitable, and his enthusiasm is often related, but Kip knows it’s distinct—for one thing, it seems to grant him an increased sort of steadiness. He gains that steady enthusiasm now, talking to Kip about the evolution of his preferred format for notes, about organizational pros and cons, about how he plans out the order in which he’ll tackle a day’s tasks. He tells Kip about his deskspace off in a corner, and about who talks to him, and who he goes to lunch with, and who he likes to ask for help on various projects.

He keeps getting into his stride only to interrupt himself with a laugh and an apology for going on for so long about something so mundane. But Kip keeps earnestly assuring him that it’s fine, that he should go on. 

The details of it all really are of some interest, both as general information about an area largely mysterious to him, and as a picture of what exactly Wallace does day-to-day. But what holds Kip’s interest best is that building glow of enthusiasm. The way Wallace’s focus bears down on some description of a chart he drew up, and he’ll stare intently towards the saltshaker while trying to illustrate his words with gestures. How this unthinking smile rises up again and again as he speaks of his small successes, of the things he’s learning and picking up, of how involved he feels despite now keeping to the office again.

He has so much to tell and is so engrossed in telling it that they both finish their food a good ten minutes before he winds down.

“...You should show me the building,” Kip says.

“Like, what—now?”

“Uh-huh.”

And so, after Kip insists on giving Wallace some money for his part of the bill, they take up their umbrellas and head back out into the near-dusk evening. It’s drizzling gently and the cloud coverage remains unbroken, but it somehow feels warmer than it had earlier in the day. Kip looks expectantly at Wallace, who looks off down the street with a slight frown.

“It’s not really an interesting place, though,” Wallace warns.

“It’s okay. You’ve been in the café; I have no clue where you actually go for forty hours a week.”

“Alright then,” Wallace laughs. “It’s just a five minute walk from here—this way—“

He leads the way down the sidewalk. Kip follows closely enough that the edges of their umbrellas keep bumping together. He drops back behind Wallace when they pass a small group walking in the opposite direction, and he remains there until Wallace stops and Kip nearly walks into his back.

“Oh—sorry—“ Wallace steps aside and puts a steadying hand to Kip’s arm. “That’s it here. This place.”

He gestures to the three-story brick building right beside them. There’s a sign by the door, listing the offices inside—insurance, physical therapy, realty, social work.

“Hm.” Kip looks up at the darkened windows. “You work at the top floor?”

“Uh-huh. I guess we have the best view.”

They both stare up at the building in silence.

“...I could show you inside, if you want.”

Kip looks over at him. Wallace looks back.

“I have a key,” Wallace elaborates. “This entrance isn’t locked or anything. See?”

He steps forward and pulls the front door open.

Kip wavers for just a moment before walking into the lobby. Wallace follows him in; the door shuts quietly behind them. It’s twice as dim as it had been outside. Kip is made much more alert of Wallace’s proximity and all his movements.

“Is it alright to take the stairs?” Wallace asks. “Elevators kind of make me nervous—I try to avoid it when I can—“

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Kip says, and Wallace pushes open the door furthest from the entrance.

Their footsteps echo in the bare stairwell, all the louder for the lack of any other sounds in the building.

“Is that why you live on the bottom floor?” Kip asks, somewhat overly-conscious of Wallace following four steps behind him.

“What?”

“The elevator thing. I know it’s not actually why. Just a bad joke. Well, not even worth being called a joke. Anyways, ignore it. Sorry.”

“Oh, okay,” Wallace laughs.

Kip holds the door open for Wallace at the top of the staircase. Wallace glances at him as he walks past and flashes a small smile.

“Down here on the end,” Wallace says, walking down a drab carpeted hallway of various shades of tan. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and works one into the lock of the glass-paneled door. “Again, it’s not very exciting, but—well, this is it.”

He holds it open and Kip walks inside, glancing at Wallace just as he had done. He can’t really see much of anything until Wallace reaches across the wall and flicks on a switch. A group of fluorescent lights flicker on in the middle of the space. For the most part all Kip can see is high-walled cubicles.

“That’s me over in the corner there.” Wallace points across an aisle of grey carpet towards a row of freestanding desks along the wall. “Want the grand tour?”

He brings up an elbow towards Kip with one of his effortlessly good-natured smiles. 

“Of course.” Kip smiles back and takes his arm.

Wallace grins and turns them to the right, away from the corner he’d pointed to.

“So all these desks in the middle are for the people who meet directly with clients,” Wallace explains. “The cubicles are that big so that clients have room to sit when they come here to meet with someone. And over here you’ll see one of the potted plants.”

He points at a small fern next to a copy machine.

“And the copier. It’s pretty alright, not too old. And go around this corner here, and...here’s the little meeting room we’ve got.”

He swings open a door to reveal a small room taken up mostly by a rectangular table surrounded by chairs with thin metal frames. A large whiteboard hangs on the opposite wall; an easel sits in the corner. Wallace closes the door again and leads Kip further on, walking along at a leisurely pace.

“More cubicles,” he murmurs. “More plants along the windows here.”

They walk down the length of the wall and turn the corner.

“Here’s the shredder,” Wallace says. “And here’s the stack of boxes of printer paper. Well, usually it’s more of a stack—we get restocked once a month.”

“Mm.”

“Down here’s the most exciting part, though—it’s sort of the break room.”

“Sort of” turns out to refer to the fact that it’s also apparently something of a supply closet. It’s an L-shaped space, with shelves in the back filled with boxes of various sizes and labels. But closest to the door is a counter with a sink in the middle and a coffeemaker in the corner. There’s a refrigerator and a small circular table bordered by several chairs—part of a newspaper has been left folded on one of them.

“Very nice,” Kip says. 

“Yeah. I usually eat at my desk, honestly. Or go out somewhere. Or sit outside. Here, you haven’t seen the file cabinets yet, they’re much better.”

Kip immediately thinks of his and Wallace’s investigation into the records in E, the room of rows and rows of cabinets that held files of reports so horrific Kip’s still having nightmares about them. But he only smiles softly to himself and moves an inch closer to Wallace.

“File cabinets.” Wallace holds a hand out towards them. And next to them are a couple of shelves filled with binders and folders. “And other records all over there.” He gestures towards the shelves. “And, well...”

Wallace steps away to face Kip.

“That’s pretty much all the points of interest,” he says. “It’s not very big or fancy, but the staff is basically great.”

“Including you?” Kip asks, smiling at him.

Wallace blushes gently and shrugs.

“I’m alright,” he laughs. “Well, I’m pretty good, yeah, now that I’m back in my element here...”

“Which is your desk?” Kip asks.

“Oh...it’s the one on the end there.”

Kip heads over to it and sits in the desk chair. He puts his feet on the plastic mat underneath the wheels and pushes the chair back and forth an inch, then swivels it around a few degrees. He runs his fingers along the wooden surface of the desk as Wallace walks over.

“A whole desktop computer,” Kip says. “Nice.” 

“Yeah, I’ve got a whole—I use my laptop and phone too, and then there’s the physical paperwork, and it’s all very—I’m lucky I’m good at keeping track of all of it.” He laughs softly and leans on the edge of the desk.

Kip pulls the keyboard closer and experimentally taps out a few random strokes. He glances at the jar of pens and highlighters beside the monitor.

“You don’t have anything to decorate your desk,” Kip points out. “I thought that was part of working in an office.”

“Ha—yeah, usually, but I dunno—I can’t ever like, decide on something I wanna put on my desk, and if I DO have stuff on it, I’ll just be knocking it off half the time as I push papers around, or being annoyed that I can’t settle on one perfect arrangement of paperclip holders and snowglobes, so I just don’t bother.”

“You have snowglobes?” Kip laughs. “Is there a collection you’ve never showed me?”

“No, that was just hypothetical. I don’t have any collections of anything.”

“Oh. Me neither.” Kip leans back in the chair. “...You don’t hate the person at that desk right next to yours, do you?”

“No, why?”

“I was just thinking that it’d be a pain if the one person you worked near was somebody you couldn’t stand,” Kip says with a shrug. 

“Oh, yeah...there’s really nobody here like that,” Wallace says. “Nobody I can’t stand, I mean. And if anybody hates ME, I haven’t noticed yet.”

Kip breathes a laugh and leans his forearms on the desk.

“I’m kind of surprised how quick I seem to be fitting in, actually,” Wallace says, gazing around the dim room. “But part of it is just that I was kind of nervous about starting... I haven’t been the new guy for, like, three years.”

“You were the new guy when you moved here.”

“Not at my job, technically... I mean, as scared as I was about living here and trying to do house calls, I still...I get nervous about applying somewhere and interviewing and...and getting used to a new place and new coworkers and new procedure and all the uncertainty...”

“But you’re always looking on the best side of things,” Kip teases lightly. “Were you really that worried?”

“Well...no, it really hasn’t been that bad. I’m just happier when I start feeling more relaxed about everything, y’know?”

“Sure, yeah,” Kip says. “I guess everybody hates all that stuff about getting a new job...applying and interviewing...the first day at a new place...or, unless you’re way up in the ranks and know you can get whatever position you want—I guess then you don’t have to be very nervous about anything.”

“Heh—yeah, I wish.” Wallace scratches the back of his neck. “I feel like at...at my old job I might’ve been on the verge of sort of getting promoted, at least before the, uh...management change. But I don’t know that I really want to transition over to the more removed side of things, you know? I don’t like feeling like stuff is more abstracted—I don’t think I work as well in that framework, either. Not to say I feel like I’m that cut out for the most direct kinds of work...I never did get the hang of those house calls...” he sighs.

“Ah, no,” Kip murmurs. “I don’t pretend you were inspiring the most confidence in me.”

“When have I ever?” Wallace laughs, looking over at him with a grin.

Kip laughs and gives a shrug.

“D’you think these people are impressed with you yet?” he asks. 

“Mm...I dunno. I think I can at least say they’re not disappointed?” Wallace says tentatively. “Maybe I’m even better than they expect.“

“Oh, yeah—did anyone already know you?” Kip asks, leaning back in the chair again. “Or, well—know OF you, at least?”

“Ah, a few people seemed to at first, yeah...and by now I figure that everyone knows,” Wallace murmurs, blushing softly. “But it’s not like my being a social worker was really the most widely-known part of the story most people heard.”

“Oh,” Kip says simply. “Right.”

“It’s okay, though. I feel like my career was ultimately pretty separate from the larger picture of what happened. Like, for everyone who wasn’t already involved, the story of how it came about doesn’t really matter. They don’t need to pay attention to all the details of the backstory...well, unless they want to, I guess.”

“...I guess so. Still, it’s not like people didn’t see you in the news, even if they weren’t paying attention to detail.”

“I think that’s how they knew me here,” Wallace says. “One person seemed to know me by sight, which is always pretty unbelievable. I don’t mind not getting all the attention, though.”

“Mm. Yeah. I guess it’s not like it’d do much one way or another, huh.”

“Not that I can think of,” Wallace says. “Now that I don’t do any direct work, anyways. I suppose any clients who know me now might give me some extra benefit of the doubt,” he laughs.

“You’d probably start off on a better foot with somebody now, yeah,” Kip agrees. “Still, it’s not like you HAVE to take advantage of that. I never got the impression you were that much more comfortable than I was when we were trying to do those house calls.”

Wallace laughs again and leans further against the desk, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“I’m not really in my element like that,” he says. “I suppose it’s not really interesting when your talent is stuff like paperwork and spreadsheets...”

He looks over at Kip. Kip offers a small smile.

“Not the flashiest, maybe,” he acknowledges. “But, I mean, I work at a café—my job isn’t very fabulous either.”

He swivels the chair back and forth again and looks straight across the room.

“...It’s nice that you can see part of a window from here,” he remarks. “It’s not a bad view.”

In fact, it’s mostly the sky, which is currently darkening fast, though not yet too dim to make out distinct shadows in the thickly layered clouds. 

“Oh, yeah, it is. It can start to feel a little cramped in here sometimes, with all these cubicles and tiny break rooms...it’s part of why I like to go out for lunch. Even when I bring it—I’ll take it outside and sit on a bench down the street. Get some fresh air and a chance to stretch my legs.”

He’s nearly cut off by a growling peal of thunder. It rolls across the sky, fading, then growing again.

Suddenly, Wallace laughs.

“What?” Kip says, laughter at the edges of his own voice.

“Oh...” Wallace sighs, turning to face him, leaning his hip against the desk. Kip stills the chair. “Everything. How after all of that, we can just end up...here. Like this.”

“Like this?”

“Hanging out in my new office and talking about whatever we feel like, and we don’t have a single thing to be afraid of, and our lives are almost normal, and...” Wallace crosses an arm across his chest to scratch at his shoulder. “...And, well, and I’m thinking about kissing you...”

Kip grips the side of the chair as a tense, fulgurating warmth radiates from his core. Wallace shifts his weight and glances over; Kip’s already gazing back.

“...Sorry,” Wallace murmurs, smiling bashfully. “I don’t think I have much talent at trying to flirt, either.”

Kip stands up, eyes still fixed on Wallace. Wallace blinks and flushes a deeper pink, making a few wavering sounds that never settle into any particular word.

“That wasn’t terrible,” Kip says. 

“O-oh.” Wallace breathes. 

Kip stands there, blushing hard, but refusing to look away.

“...You want to kiss me?” Kip asks.

Wallace laughs quietly, nervously. He brushes some hair behind his ear and glances down.

“Well...I’ve liked it every time we kissed. And I’ve thought about kissing you plenty of times before, but lately a lot more, and already today I’ve...I’ve been thinking about it a lot today, yeah, and I...yeah, I...yeah.” His voice softens; he looks at Kip.

With a subtle shift in the shoulders and neck, Kip lifts his posture proudly. He faces Wallace, looking at him with a level focus. Wallace is blinking a lot and seems to want to speak, but never says a word.

Wallace’s gaze jumps down to Kip’s mouth for a heartbeat before he again meets Kip’s eyes, now expectantly, even questioningly. Kip responds with a slow blink and a soft hint of a smile.

Wallace takes half a step towards Kip, hardly more than a shift of his weight. 

“So...” Wallace’s voice dips into a whisper. “...You...” 

He takes another tentative step closer. Then another. Kip simply waits, watching him calmly.

Wallace comes to a stop about a foot and a half in front of Kip. For a good few moments neither of them move, save for Wallace’s flickering smile. And then Kip lifts his head a few degrees—both regally adjusting his posture and bringing his mouth that much closer to Wallace’s.

A single, confident step brings Wallace mere inches from Kip. 

Kip’s heart is thudding, but still he gazes steadily at Wallace, lifting his head further to do so.

Wallace reaches forward and puts his right hand just above Kip’s elbow. 

“Kip,” he whispers—almost as if it’s a simple observation.

Kip allows himself to give a small but real smile in return.

Wallace kisses him.

Kip closes his eyes and tilts his head over further and kisses him back.

They’re slow, gentle. Wallace’s lips feel smooth against Kip’s. After however many long seconds, Wallace’s hand slips from Kip’s arm to his back, palm and fingers flat against him. The touch feels warm even through his sweater. 

Wallace pulls out of the kiss. Kip lowers his head a little, eyes still closed.

“Kip,” Wallace says. 

“...Mmhm?”

Kip inhales deeply and opens his eyes to see Wallace looking back at him. He waits for whatever Wallace is going to say—and maybe Wallace did intend to speak, but what he actually does is kiss Kip again.

He kisses softly still, though not as slowly as before. He leans closer, pressing gently, but very much refraining from pushing—or pulling, with regards to the hand resting at the center of Kip’s back. His movements are simple and repetitive—he’s kissing Kip’s lower lip, taking it delicately between his own, then pressing in a little, releasing it as he pulls away a little, taking it again. After a half dozen such lingering cycles, he finally breaks the routine by kissing Kip’s top lip instead.

Kip responds to the change by putting his hands on Wallace’s sides. Wallace reacts by curling the hand on Kip’s back so that the fingertips press against him, then rubbing several inches up and down along the path of his spine.

It doesn’t take long for Kip to start relaxing into it all—his hands sink down to rest atop Wallace’s hipbones, he learns the rhythm of Wallace’s movements and reflects it, his eyes roll back. A couple of times a quiet inhale catches.

For several uncounted minutes, it all remains pleasantly soft and slow as Kip continues to follow Wallace’s lead. But eventually Kip tries to send little inviting signals, should Wallace be seeking them out—he meets each kiss a little more eagerly, shifts his weight towards Wallace, opens his mouth a little further, and slips a hand closer to the small of Wallace’s back. It at least doesn’t seem to go unnoticed: Wallace gives a throaty hum so quiet that he might not be aware of making the sound. But Kip definitely hears. And if Wallace isn’t trying for more intimacy, at least he doesn’t seem to have any desire to stop kissing him.

But as nice as it all is, eventually Kip pulls away, blinking his eyes open. Wallace lags behind for a second or two—during which, even in the dim lighting, Kip observes the deep pink of his cheeks—before looking back at Kip, smiling softly at him.

Kip can still feel him dragging his nails in lazy circles against his sweater, while Wallace’s body shifts minutely beneath his own hands. 

“That was really nice,” Wallace murmurs.

At once Kip feels a little onset of nervousness. He doesn’t know whether that simply means what it means or whether Wallace is also saying he’s ready to call it a night with that alone. And if so, then Kip’s not sure if Wallace just wants to progress slowly, or whether that’s really the only level of intimacy he’s interested in. It’s possible, after all—Wallace has admitted he’s thought about having sex with Kip, but that doesn’t mean he wants it to become a reality. Maybe he doesn’t even want to make out for a bit.

“You alright? Was that okay?” Wallace asks, leaning away a degree.

“Yeah, it’s good—I’m good—it was good,” Kip fumblingly reassures him.

Wallace smiles at him and puts his other arm behind Kip’s back in something of an embracing hold, and Kip shivers nicely in the chest and is suddenly hit with a strong, strange, encompassing sensation. After half a second he realizes that the way he’s feeling as he looks at Wallace is actually a familiar one, and that’s what makes it seem so startling. For this moment, all his nervousness and uncertainty about the new structures and contexts of first dates and boyfriends is pushed aside to be replaced with the broader picture. 

The collective tangle of their experiences together, so varied in tone and emotion; the dramatic range of the state of their relationship and the change and growth within that scope; the full spectrum of his and Wallace’s interactions; the at times contradictorily conflicting, at times harmoniously flowing evolution of his feelings for Wallace, somehow unfolding as they became more layered—somehow, in all this complexity, there’s an emergent simplicity in his feelings about Wallace and sense of who he is. 

He likes Wallace. It’s as impossibly complicated and impossibly simple as that. 

Whenever Wallace has looked at him and gained that boyishly pleased smile, blushing and fidgeting a little like he’s slightly shy about his enthusiastic affection but it just can’t be restrained—Kip’s immediate and uninhibited emotional response has always been a pleasant one. In fact, despite how his developing feelings for Wallace seemed for a while to complicate matters with his feelings for Pascal, the crush itself was easy and nice, all warmth and heartbeats. And now that they’re actually together, Kip can’t be sure whether the tension he’s experiencing within his own feelings is due to the pressure and bewilderment of this new, unprecedented, unexpected relationship, or if it’s due to the echoes of the previous rejection which, no matter how reasonable and amicable, had to bruise his ego.

But as always, no matter what friction or doubt or frustration there might be, that simple affinity eventually rises to the surface. 

And Kip is in Wallace’s arms, and watching him smile like he can’t help it, and he knows him, and he likes him. And Wallace keeps flickering his gaze across Kip’s face with a seemingly appreciative expression—Kip supposes his own cheeks must look flushed and his lips must look kissed. 

Kip wavers for a moment or two, then takes a few more moments to convert his intention to speak into his audible voice.

“Do you...” he starts quietly. “Is it, um...”

“Hm?”

Kip is conscious that his hands are still resting at the bottom of Wallace’s waist, and now he has no idea how it’s been so effortless to keep them there. 

“Would it maybe...” he murmurs. “...Could I kiss you? Or would you rather I—would you rather save it for later, maybe.”

“Oh—yes,” Wallace says. “I-I mean—you can kiss me. Yes.”

“...Okay,” Kip breathes. He shifts an inch closer. “Then I’ll...”

He keeps his gaze locked with Wallace’s as he leans towards him, lifting his head up, subtly tilting and turning it. Wallace follows his example, lowering his head just slightly, tilting it in and to his left, until there’s just an inch between their lips and Kip can’t see his target anymore—so he just closes his eyes and finds Wallace’s mouth perfectly anyhow.

Kip starts out as lingeringly as before, but after half a minute he begins to push a little further. He slides his hands around to Wallace’s back—his kisses press into Wallace’s with a little nudge—their noses bump together. Finally, Kip gathers his nerve and grazes his teeth against Wallace’s top lip, only just refraining from nipping it, and then lifts his tongue so that it fleeting brushes against that almost-bitten spot.

He pauses then, retracts all pressure, waits to see if Wallace will use this moment to pull away. When he doesn’t immediately sense this, he half-opens his eyes—Wallace’s are still closed, so Kip closes his again too. And then he opens his mouth against Wallace’s lips, presses in like that, and slowly closes his mouth to catch Wallace’s top lip. Quickly and smoothly he drags a gentle lick across it, then presses his lips harder together to provide a parting tug as he draws away.

He can feel Wallace’s hands push a little harder against his back and slide closer to his spine. He brushes his nose to Wallace’s cheek and stays there a moment, his own warm breath rebounding off of Wallace’s skin, lips touching the corner of Wallace’s lips. 

Slowly, tenderly, he opens his mouth against Wallace’s. 

He waits there, counting time with the beat of his own heart.

Wallace tilts his head over and opens his mouth further as well. 

Kip waits—slowly, slowly raises his tongue towards Wallace’s mouth—slides his hands up Wallace’s back—

Wallace’s tongue presses against his. Kip licks it. Licks it again. Then slips his tongue into Wallace’s mouth, puts it behind his front teeth at his gums, slides his tongue along the curve to the ridge down the center of his hard palate. He strokes it, tenderly as he can manage, once, thrice, five times. Then slips his tongue out and gently bites Wallace’s top lip. He flicks it with his tongue and gives a soft suck as he pulls away.

With a deep inhale, Kip opens his eyes.

Wallace’s eyes are still closed and his lips are still parted. His face is as pink as if he’s just taken shelter from a stinging winter wind.

Wallace opens his eyes.

Kip looks back at him.

Wallace doesn’t say anything, so neither does Kip. Instead, Kip moves in again and brings their mouths together, kisses him harder, with teeth and tongue and the stretch of his spine and the wrap of his arms. He hugs Wallace close enough for their chests to touch—he can feel Wallace’s inhales pressing against his stomach—he leans in further and his weight shifts Wallace back until he can feel Wallace’s thighs bump against the desk. Wallace presses his tongue to Kip’s and slides his right hand up and down between Kip’s shoulderblades, bunching up the fabric of his sweater.

Kip bites Wallace’s lower lip, rolls it between his incisors before letting go. Wallace grasps at his back.

“Put your—put your tongue beneath mine,” Kip pants out.

“Wh—huh?” Wallace breathes.

“Put your tongue under mine and press the end against the base of mine,” Kip elaborates, scratching gently at the small of Wallace’s back. “I like how it feels.”

“Oh—okay,” Wallace murmurs. “I’ll try.”

He brings a hand to the base of Kip’s head and threads his fingers into his hair and pulls as he brings their mouths together. He does as Kip asked—he pushes his tongue firmly against the root of Kip’s and rubs along it a little. And then he curls his tongue back, nudging Kip’s up, and licks slowly at its underside. 

Kip soaks this in for a few lovely seconds before deftly slipping his tongue away and gently trapping the end of Wallace’s between his teeth. He gives a light suck before releasing it in favor of catching Wallace’s lower lip again, nipping at it while Wallace draws a roughened breath. Wallace lines his nails up against the nape of Kip’s neck and drags them up and down from his hairline to the neckline of his sweater.

Kip’s fang grazes Wallace’s lip; Wallace gasps, his hands tighten against Kip’s back and neck. Kip pulls away, softly kissing the offended spot as he departs. 

“Sorry,” he whispers. 

He blinks his eyes open to glance down at Wallace’s mouth, searching for any sign of a scratch or swelling droplets of blood.

Wallace opens his eyes too.

“It’s alright,” he murmurs back. “It didn’t hurt.”

“Oh...it didn’t?”

“Nah,” Wallace says. “I kinda...I kinda don’t mind stuff like that.”

Kip blinks and turns the statement over in his mind.

“Okay...” he whispers, leaning in again. “Well...still, I’ll be careful...”

He knows he doesn’t much have to worry about accidentally biting Wallace once he’s fully accustomed to the calibrated geometry of Wallace’s mouth against his and the tendencies of Wallace’s movements—he never has any mishaps when kissing Pascal, whose lips are fuller than Wallace’s, and he’s rarely nicked anyone’s lips or skin out of the entire population of people’s he’s made out with—but all the same, he would really hate to interrupt and spoil this newfound intimacy by drawing blood.

So he returns to a pattern like before—opening his mouth invitingly, closing it slowly as he pushes in, stroking with his tongue at Wallace’s lips and tongue and teeth, sucking gently at his lips, allowing Wallace’s tongue into his own mouth whenever he feels it brush this request against his own. He moves slowly and steadily but surely, luxuriating in this, savoring every second.

And imagine assuming that Wallace hadn’t wanted to kiss him any more.

Despite their pace coming well short of anything too heated, after a couple of minutes Kip moves his lips to the corner of Wallace’s to focus on catching a few deep breaths. He kisses Wallace’s cheek—hard, grazing it with his teeth, burying his nose alongside Wallace’s. He nips playfully at the soft, pliant skin.

Wallace’s breath hitches.

“Kip,” he sighs.

Kip’s automatic reaction is to move his body closer to Wallace’s. He shifts just an inch, and finds that this is enough to brush the front of his pants against Wallace’s. 

It’s so light that their bodies don’t even push against each other—the majority of the contact Kip feels is that of his own clothes dragging against him while shifted by the delicate friction. He’s very certain he didn’t feel an erection rub against him, and he knows his own is still too soft to have betrayed its presence. He’s been keeping the climb of his desire very slow and very controlled, more basking in its warmth than stoking its flame. Yet this tiny, fleeting moment has done nothing to help his restraint.

Kip draws a long, silent breath and shifts his weight back far enough to leave a half-inch gap between their hips. 

One of Wallace’s hands drifts down his back—another inch or two and his fingertips will be within the boundary of the slope of Kip’s ass. Kip again imagines taking hold of Wallace’s wrist and guiding it further down—maybe coaxing it inside his waistband—he distracts himself by kissing Wallace’s mouth again, more conscious of his body than ever.

He tilts his head to his right this time and runs the tip of his tongue along the arc of Wallace’s teeth. 

Wallace pushes his chest into Kip’s and rolls a vocal sigh into his mouth—very nearly a whimper.

“What is...” Kip murmurs against Wallace’s lips. “What is it?” He kisses him. “Do you like teeth?”

“Mm—mmhm,” Wallace hums. He pulls out of the kiss. “...I like being bit and stuff,” he murmurs. “I don’t mind feeling your fangs at all. I—I like it. You can...you can bite me, you know. Uh, gently, obviously, but I—I wouldn’t, um...mind it...”

He bites his own bottom lip as he says it.

“...I mean that I’d like it,” he amends quietly.

Kip is hit with a frisson as he processes the fact that Wallace is admitting a way to turn him on. And is practically asking him to use it.

In a flash, Kip imagines biting Wallace’s neck while reaching down his pants—pushing him down into the chair and just going ahead and giving him a blowjob—

But as wonderful as it would be to wholly gratify themselves right now, something tells Kip not to. Maybe he’d rather plan it ahead with Wallace so they can anticipate it, or maybe it just seems like too much at the present, or maybe he’s still too nervous to have sex with Wallace, or maybe it’s just that he’d rather their first time be in a bed—or at least not here. As that last explanation occurs to him, it immediately starts feeling likelier.

“...I don’t think I want to try getting us too worked up,” he murmurs to Wallace, blushing as he says it. “I mean, if we were to want to, um, do more, this isn’t exactly the most accommodating place for it...”

“Oh—“ Wallace’s hand jumps up to the midpoint of Kip’s spine. “No, sorry, I didn’t mean to say we have to—to—or that YOU have to do anything—I was just telling you that I...well, that I like when...”

He’s getting flustered; his arms are tensing around Kip. So Kip shushes him with a soft kiss.

“It’s alright,” he says quietly. “I know. I just feel like...if we do something together, I don’t want to do it here—not now—and I don’t want to make that too disappointing, y’know?” he laughs.

Though relaxing a bit, Wallace is clearly still nervous. He’s nodding quickly even before Kip finishes speaking, still tinged pink.

“Right, yeah, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like I was asking for more than we were already doing...”

“No, it wasn’t you—I was just thinking about myself, and about how—how, um...” Kip falters. “...Uh, I was thinking about how if I did anything that you obviously really liked, I’d...want to keep going, and for right now I’d rather just...”

“R-right,” Wallace repeats, going even pinker. 

Kip blushes harder in turn.

“...But I don’t think I’d mind rounding this all off with something for you to, uh, enjoy,” he murmurs slowly.

Wallace blinks.

Kip looks pointedly down at Wallace’s mouth, then back up at his eyes. After a second’s pause, Wallace parts his lips and inclines his head towards him.

Kip stretches up and presses their lips together again. 

Wallace is following Kip’s lead to the point of hesitancy; Kip gently yet coaxingly flicks the end of his tongue against Wallace’s lips. Wallace opens his mouth for him and Kip pushes his tongue inside, nudging the tip to his palate. He slowly rubs up and down Wallace’s back as he does so. He can feel Wallace relaxing.

“Mm...” He allows himself a pleased sigh before pulling back to kiss Wallace’s lower lip. “Here you go,” he breathes.

And he bites. Gently for the first fraction of a second, reorienting himself to the novel feeling of Wallace’s lip between his teeth, then increasing the pressure to what he’s sure is a pinching nip.

Wallace’s fingertips slide up into his hair again; Kip takes this as a positive response. He opens his mouth and sets his upper left fang against Wallace’s lip, then very carefully closes his jaw until he feels the bottom fang pressing into it too. Wallace gasps quietly.

It sounded like a good gasp, but Kip still releases his lip and kisses it.

“Is that alright?” he whispers, eyes closed.

“Y-yes.”

So Kip delicately shifts his body and puts his mons against Wallace’s. He’s still too soft for there to be any risk of frotting from his end, and he doesn’t feel anything from Wallace either—just the touch of pelvis against pelvis and the sparking desire that wants him to press just a little harder so they can touch just a little lower, too—

He carefully rises up on his toes to rub his mons against Wallace and nips his top lip with his fangs, too.

Wallace grabs his ass.

Kip’s breath hitches and he releases Wallace’s lip at once, dropping his heels back onto the floor. There’s a moment in which they’re both frozen there—until Wallace lets go and tentatively moves the hand back to Kip’s spine.

“Sorry,” he whispers to Kip. “Oh my god—I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

Kip is still processing the act. His pelvis still has tangential contact with Wallace’s.

“I’m sorry...”

“No. It’s fine,” Kip tells him. “I was just caught off guard.”

“I shouldn’t’ve...after you’ve just said you don’t want to go further...”

Kip shakes his head.

“I don’t want us to actually have sex right now, but I want to give you something to work with anyways,” he says quietly. “I like this, you know—I like what we’re doing. I like what you did.”

“What—really? You do?”

Kip nods, face warmed.

“You wanna feel my ass?” he asks upfront. 

Wallace is blushing so hard.

“Um...I mean. If that’s alright with you. I could.” His voice is a little louder and higher.

“Here.”

Kip takes hold of Wallace’s wrists and pulls them down to either side of his hips, then puts his hands on the backs of Wallace’s and slides them around to his butt. He presses gently before moving his hands to Wallace’s waist. He looks up at him—Wallace, unmoving, is staring at a point somewhere on the left side of Kip’s nose.

Several seconds pass. Kip holds off on kissing Wallace, patiently waiting on him to make a move one way or another.

Finally, Wallace slides his hands lower, carefully and gently, as though afraid to exert any more pressure against Kip’s ass. Kip blinks as Wallace’s fingers pass the lower seam of his back pockets, slowly following his curve. And then the tips of his middle fingers bump against Kip’s thighs. Kip closes his eyes and inhales as he drops his head an inch.

Wallace pauses there again, but only for a moment. Then he turns his hands to slide his fingers beneath the arcing base of Kip’s ass, following his shape, moving in from either side towards the center. He stops when both hands, from fingertips to the heels of his palms, are cupped against the underside of Kip’s ass, as though he might be about to try picking him up like this. And after another little hesitation, he lifts his hands an inch and curves them further, gently but unmistakably squeezing.

Kip exhales and rubs his hands up and down along Wallace’s hips, subtly pushing his own hips back a little, pressing himself further into Wallace’s grip.

Wallace might register this, because he moves his hands up from where they’re scooped beneath Kip’s butt and puts his palms against the fullest point of his ass on either side—splays his fingers out—and squeezes hard, pulling in and up. 

Kip impulsively responds by pushing his mouth to Wallace’s neck, nudging his jaw up and aside, kissing his warm skin.

Wallace spreads his fingers back out, just slightly rotating his hands, then pulls in and up again, like he’s gathering him in. Kip bites his throat the way he would if he was going to give Wallace a hickey, gently rolls the skin between his teeth, lets his exhale wash out slowly. Wallace starts this pattern, sliding his hands in elliptical paths from outer and lower to upper and inner, pressing, lifting, squeezing, all without shying away. 

Kip wraps his arms around Wallace, pulls him in so that they’re chest to chest, tucks his nose behind the corner of Wallace’s jawline and slowly drags his teeth along his neck. Having Wallace grope his ass is both just like he’d imagined and nothing like imagining it. He’s deeply pleased that Wallace is dropping his restraint so quickly—and seems to want to touch every inch and hold it increasingly tight.

He opens his mouth wide enough to let all four fangs press against Wallace’s throat. Wallace reacts by both squeezing his grip tighter and pushing his neck harder against Kip’s mouth. Kip softly relaxes his jaw, letting his teeth close in against Wallace’s skin without any real force behind it, and then rolls his hips up a little. 

And then he gives Wallace’s throat a slightly clumsy kiss and leans back upright. A half-second later Wallace blinks his eyes open, and they look at each other. Wallace seems to be a bit nervous about having made eye contact with Kip while feeling his ass up, so Kip quirks a little smile at him. And then his smile becomes a grin, and bubbles into a laugh.

“Y-yeah?” Wallace laughs in turn.

“It’s just been—fucking forever since anybody with hands held my ass.”

“Oh—right, yeah, I bet.” Wallace’s hands are completely stilled against Kip.

“It kinda makes your fingers sort of, uh, unexpected somehow.”

Wallace gives a tiny hum in response and moves his hands to Kip’s hips.

“Not that it’s bad,” Kip says quickly. “Just that it’s a little different, and I kind of keep realizing that. Like how kissing you is different. And hugging you. Not different bad. But different as in the first new person I’ve made out with in nearly a year.”

Wallace blushes and nods as he listens, then tilts his head to his left.

“Nearly a year? Did you have some other boyfriend besides Pascal when you moved here?”

“Oh, no. I was just depressed and missing him really bad, so I kissed this guy I met at a bar for a while, and it was pretty good up until it wasn’t.”

“Wh—he didn’t do anything to you, did he?” Wallace asks urgently.

“No, he was nice, it wasn’t like that. I just still missed Pascal too much. So we made out a little until suddenly I wanted to stop, and I didn’t try to get with anybody else after that.”

“Oh.”

Kip breathes a laugh and takes a step closer to Wallace.

“Don’t worry that there was any kind of similar problem this time,” he murmurs, holding Wallace’s gaze. “I like kissing you. And I like you touching me.”

“...Yeah?” Wallace says softly.

Kip smiles and gives a small nod. He reaches down and slips his hands around Wallace’s, then lifts his head towards his. Wallace parts his lips. Kip kisses him.

They kiss for at least two minutes—Kip keeps his fangs to himself but gently slips in a bit of tongue now and then. He pulls away when he’s getting slightly short of breath, head spinning pleasantly; Wallace leans in a couple of inches to follow after him, seeking out his mouth a moment, then opening his eyes upon realizing that Kip’s retreated from the kiss. 

“...You’re a good kisser,” Kip tells him.

Wallace’s smile flickers on.

“Th-thanks,” he laughs. “I’m always trying to improve.”

Kip lifts one of Wallace’s hands and brushes his lips against the backs of his fingers. 

“You’re good,” Kip assures him. “And besides, if you think the other person’s doing better than you are, it’s never a bad idea to copy them.”

Wallace giggles quietly; his smile is clearly irrepressible, and it lights up all his features beautifully.

Kip feels a swell of affection and is brilliantly glad that Wallace actually likes this too—wants it. 

He lets go of Wallace’s hands.

“Cross your arms,” he tells Wallace. “Like this.”

He demonstrates, making an X with his forearms in front of his chest. Wallace blinks at the display for a second and then mirrors him.

Kip takes hold of Wallace’s hands again, this time with his right hand in Wallace’s right, his left in Wallace’s left. Then he lifts up their left hands over his own head and turns around as he does, so that his back is turned to Wallace—their hands are still together, arms now straight at their sides.

He pulls Wallace’s hands to his stomach, just below his navel, and holds them there. And then he moves back a couple of inches and pushes the top of his back to Wallace’s chest, then slowly, deliberately moves back another quarter of an inch until he only just feels his ass touch the front of Wallace’s crotch.

“Oh,” Wallace breathes. He spreads a hand flat against the front of Kip’s stomach. Kip can feel its warmth through his sweater.

Kip rolls his hips and shifts his weight back—he’d only thought of giving Wallace a light brush of a grind as a playfully seductive parting gesture, but he’d underestimated how nice it would be to have Wallace’s arms around him like this. He’s always a sucker for a good embrace. So now he can’t help but put a bit of real pressure into it.

He pushes his ass gently back, and just slightly rolls it upwards. Wallace’s hands press tighter against his stomach—one slides up towards his sternum. And Wallace shifts his whole body closer, pressing his hips up against Kip’s ass, burying his nose in Kip’s hair and kissing it.

“...You’re sweet,” Kip whispers, in part to help steady himself. 

And then Wallace drags his lips lower, to Kip’s nape, and then plants one light kiss after another, trailing them like stepping stones along the path to the side of Kip’s neck. Once there, he slowly works his mouth down to the crook of Kip’s shoulder—his hair along brushes Kip’s ear. 

Kip closes his eyes and draws a long, ragged inhale. Wallace’s kisses are too measured and tender to be meant for any other purpose than quiet seduction. And for the moment, Kip is letting himself be drawn in—almost literally, as Wallace is pulling his torso in even closer against his own, one hand on Kip’s chest now, the other still on his stomach.

If Wallace were to either move the hand on his stomach up into his shirt or down between his legs—Kip isn’t sure what he’d do. Maybe they’d be able to indulge in a little bit of physicality and simply call it quits after a few minutes. Maybe they could bring each other to orgasm without even getting undressed. Maybe—

He imagines Wallace kneeling down and kissing the front of his pants—

He takes both of Wallace’s hands back in his own, then gently pulls them to his hips. Slowly, he turns back to face Wallace. Wallace lifts his head as Kip pivots, but takes a few seconds to open his eyes. 

Kip smiles softly at him. And leans up, and puts his hands on Wallace’s jaw, and presses a light kiss to his lips.

He slips one hand down the side of Wallace’s neck to the trapezoidal arrangement of tiny circular indentations.

“Lucky you,” he murmurs, running a fingertip along the marks. “Liking to get bit, and now you’re up to your eyes in monsters with fangs.”

“Heh—yeah, I’m not doing too bad for it, am I...”

“You really aren’t.” 

Kip leans in, kisses his throat, then takes a step back. Wallace lets his hands slide off Kip’s waist and back to his own sides.

“This’s been alright for one night, hasn’t it?” Kip asks, sort of jokingly and sort of rhetorically and sort of earnestly.

“Hm?”

“I mean that we’ve, uh, accomplished some stuff. Broken down some boundaries, anyways—and, at least speaking for myself, it’s been...really enjoyable.”

“I’ve enjoyed it too, yeah,” Wallace says softly.

Kip looks at him a moment, then smiles.

“It wouldn’t sound too terrible if I suggested walking back home, would it?” he says quietly. “It’s not that I’m sick of you, or that I haven’t been having a good time, but I sort of...I feel kind of like I’ve given myself a lot to process already.”

“Oh—“ Wallace blushes. “No, it’s good, you’re good! We were just going out for dinner anyways, right?” His genuine laugh comforts Kip. “I wouldn’t mind taking you home. Uh—“

He blushes and laughs at himself.

“—I mean, I’d love to walk you home—even though it’s my home too.”

Kip laughs too.

“Okay,” he says. “Well...if it sounds okay to you too. If there was somewhere else you were wanting to go, or something, I don’t wanna just force you to abandon your plans or anything.”

“You’re not forcing me to abandon my plans,” Wallace assures him, grinning. “It’d be nice to get back and relax for a bit. And it sounds like the rain should keep up even when I get back to my apartment. That’ll make it even more relaxing.”

Kip smiles softly at him.

“Alright,” he says. “Then I guess you can finish your tour of the office by showing me the exit.”

—

Despite the umbrellas, Kip winds his hand into Wallace’s and holds it with a decided grip. After all the contact back in Wallace’s office, he’s guessing that to touch while they walk home will feel more natural than refraining from it. Wallace doesn’t act surprised by Kip’s unflinching initiation of the handhold—in fact, he simply reacts by threading his fingers between Kip’s.

At first they simply walk along in the quiet of the evening, breathing in the fresh air, listening to the patter of the rain over their heads. Kip occasionally glances discreetly over at Wallace, enjoying the sight of him looking straight ahead of himself with this effortless little smile.

“Your hands are warm,” Kip finally says. “...They feel warm whenever you touch me. Do I feel cool to you?”

“A little, sometimes,” Wallace answers. Then adds: “But it’s not bad. I don’t mind it.”

He sounds earnest enough.

“I’ll definitely be cold to touch at some point or another,” Kip says. “It’ll just get to be a little mystery when that’ll happen for the first time.”

“I mean, it’s already happened,” Wallace laughs. “I’ve touched you when you were totally freezing before.”

“Oh. Right.” Kip frowns down at the sidewalk. “God, of course you did. I just go and forget that we aren’t actually only meeting for the first time today.”

“We are not,” Wallace agrees, voice still edged with laughter. “And I’m not worried about you being cold.”

He squeezes Kip’s hand for one, two, three, four heartbeats. Kip smiles gently to himself.

“...You know something?” he starts.

“What?” Wallace replies.

“That disqualified first kiss I told you about? It turned out it wasn’t a completely depressing story. There was a little more to it.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Remember how I used to live in D with Pascal?”

“Uh-huh?”

“A few years in, I happened to run into the guy. The guy I kissed in pre-K, I mean. Just right in the middle of this store. I remember I was looking at the aisle signs and I heard somebody saying my name like they couldn’t believe I was real.”

“No shit, he recognized you all that time later?” 

“Well, it was probably a little easier for him than it would’ve been if I was the one trying to pick him out of a crowd. Plus, he’d kind of gotten reminded of me in recent times, what with my family dying being pretty big news. He came up to me and told me who he was, and I told him I remembered him, and we were both pretty amazed at running into each other fifteen years later and one district over, and then he told me he’d been really sorry to hear about what happened.”

Kip’s voice quiets as he says it.

“He told me he’d always wondered about me every now and then, and he felt bad for that little mess back when we were kids. And I told him it wasn’t his fault and that at least it hadn’t gone any worse. And we went out and found a place to sit down and talked for a while about what our whole lives so far had been like. I’d been kind of hoping I hadn’t made his parents way harder to deal with. And he’d just been worrying I’d gotten into trouble, or I thought he’d hated me, and all.”

“Aw. So you guys got closure, then?”

“Yeah, we did. He was nice, and seemed happy, and his life had been okay, and he said his parents had grown up a little since the days they were freaking out and deciding pre-K was too dangerous for him or whatever.”

“I guess that’s good,” Wallace laughs.

“I was glad to hear it, yeah,” Kip says. “And we talked for about an hour just about all kinds of stuff before he had to leave. And he kissed me when he did, same as the last time, except with a bit more coordination about it.”

“Oh, nice. Even more closure.”

“Yeah, he held my hands again and everything. It was really sweet. He was kinda cute, too,” Kip laughs.

“Oh my god, really?” Wallace looks over at him with a grin.

“Uh-huh. Too bad I wasn’t single, right, because that’s supposed to be the sort of romantic plotline of, like, a lengthy separation and the happy reunion that makes it all worthwhile. And probably destined, or whatever. And he WAS nice, and I’m not sure if he liked guys, but the chance did seem decent. But, honestly, even if I HAD been single...I dunno that I would’ve been looking for anything.”

“Yeah. It doesn’t sound like anything was very simple for you back then.”

“Not especially. And I was happy with just getting to meet him again and see that he was alright. It was a nice surprise. It felt strange too, because it could seem like my life from before was completely gone, and then here was this friend I’d had from almost as early as I could remember. But I’m glad we got to see each other again. It’s lucky he was visiting the area, and happened to be in the same building at the same time, and that he saw me.”

“Yeah, that IS pretty surprising. I lived in the same town as a bunch of people I went to school with for years and I barely ever ran into a single one.”

“Is that good or bad?” Kip asks. “I mean, running into old friends from school is kinda a mixed bag for me.”

“Yeah, me too,” Wallace sighs, gently swinging their hands. “I didn’t have too many actual friends—not that a lot of people were terrible to me or anything, they were just, like, not interested. So if you meet up years later, even greeting each other is going to be friendlier than you ever were with each other back in high school. And you don’t have anything to talk about.”

“Mm. I can definitely imagine wanting to avoid that kind of thing.”

“Yeah...once, though, I did have to, like, hide under my desk for a while back in my old office in A. Because somebody I’d actually known had come in to meet with their social worker.”

“You actually did hide under your desk?” Kip asks. “Did they use to beat you up or something?”

“No, no, it wasn’t that—it’s just that a lot of people are kinda—they might feel like going and dealing with social work stuff is kind of embarrassing? Or undignifying? Or at least like people might judge them. And I didn’t want to make them feel uncomfortable if they noticed me there. So my reflex or whatever was just to hide.”

“Well...” Kip holds back a laugh, fighting with a smile instead. “That was thoughtful, then. How long did you stay down there?”

“Only about twenty minutes. I still got a little paperwork done. Jerry let me know when it was safe again.”

Kip’s restrained laugh bursts out of him then. As if in response, the rain picks up, thudding louder against the umbrellas. 

“How come you didn’t have more friends in school, Wallace?” he asks. “An outgoing guy like you, acting on impulse all the time—people love that. And everybody here was in love with you after, like, four minutes.”

Wallace laughs lightly.

“Well, I dunno. I guess I wasn’t as outgoing and everything back before college. That’s kind of something I started trying out more. And I always had a fair amount of drive for things, but I kind of kept it out of sight, I guess. But I figured out how to put that energy out in the open and sort of—channel it into people? Or, use it in more social ways, I guess,” he laughs.

Kip holds his hand just a little tighter.

“It was successful, then,” he tells Wallace. “You have a lot of—of broad appeal.”

“Oh, I hope so.” Wallace laughs again. “Thanks.”

Kip blushes.

Suddenly Wallace turns to cross in front of him and Kip nearly stumbles in the effort to avoid running into him.

“Oh, I’m sorry—“ Wallace says quickly.

“Sorry—“

“It’s just—it’s this way, this is our street—“

“Er—right—sorry, I wasn’t paying attention...”

Blushing harder, Kip turns to the right to walk alongside Wallace. His hand feels almost cold from the absence of Wallace’s—which was pulled away as Wallace reached over to put a steadying hand on Kip’s back. And now he’s flustered and additionally distracted by thoughts on how to casually reinitiate the hold. But they’re only a few minutes away from the building, anyway. And why on earth is he flustered, anyhow? A momentary fumble for words, a little stumble of the feet?

He silently and slowly cycles through a few deep breaths to try to resettle his calm. Wallace has gotten to feel him up a little, and Kip has lightly indulged an apparent kink for him—there’s no way Wallace can be anything but wholly pleased to share his presence right now.

“...So what are your plans for when you’re back home?” Wallace asks.

“Huh?” Kip asks automatically. “I mean, uh, I think just I’ll take—I think just maybe taking a shower, and then I dunno...I might go to spend the night at Pascal’s. I like sleeping beside somebody better than alone.”

“Oh, yeah? Are you big on cuddling and everything?”

Kip pauses.

“Yeah,” he answers simply.

“Ooh.” Wallace affects a melodramatically intrigued tone and loops his arm around Kip’s back, putting his hand on Kip’s waist with a little squeeze. “I like it, too.”

Kip presses his lips together to hold off a grin; it escapes only a little.

“What was that guy’s name, by the way? Pre-K Disaster Guy’s name, I mean.”

“Why?” Kip asks. “You think you might know him?”

“No, I’m just wondering.”

“Okay, well, his name’s Kyle.”

“Oh, Kip and Kyle, then... That’s cool you met him again.”

“Yeah, it made me pretty happy. He seemed like a cool guy in pretty much the same way he had back when we were four.”

Wallace rubs his hand up and down Kip’s side, a coyly subtle movement with enough pressure from his fingertips that it almost tickles. Kip’s grin breaks away from his restraint; he ducks his head a little to conceal this.

“What’s your favorite lying-down cuddling position?” Wallace asks. “I like spooning pretty well.”

“So do I.”

“Do you like to be in front or behind better?”

“Mm...I like both. But I guess I like being in front a little more often. But I like being used as a pillow too, actually.”

“Hm? Like have someone put their head on you?”

“Yeah. Like on my chest or stomach. I like that.”

“Huh,” Wallace breathes thoughtfully.

“What? Is that weird or something?”

“Nuh-uh. I’m just...logging in the information.”

“You are?” Kip looks over at him. “Do you have a mental chart about me?”

“Not really. But I can lose track of details in conversations by getting distracted by something else, and it makes me forget things. So sometimes I like to take a second and really sort of press something down into my memory.”

“Oh. Do you want to remember to use me as a pillow eventually?”

“Well—“ Wallace laughs. “I wouldn’t mind trying it out, no. But I’d want to remember it anyways. It’s a really cute detail about you.”

“Is it?”

“From my personal perspective, yeah. I really like that I just learned that about you.”

Kip is blushing gently. He can’t think of a response, and he’d just trip over his grammar and fracture into sentence fragments if he tried to improvise one.

“I like when someone stands on my feet,” Wallace says.

“What?”

“It’s just weirdly comfortable.”

“What are you even talking about?” Kip laughs. “Do you get off on that or something?”

“No—it’s just nice for some reason. Like having someone play with your hair or scratch your back.”

“I could get off on THAT stuff, though,” Kip says. “Depending on who it was and how they did it.”

“I feel like you could say that about practically anything.”

“Hm. Yeah.”

Wallace giggles quietly. Kip can feel Wallace’s umbrella sliding against his own. The rain is still pouring down hard, drumming against the taut webbing.

“Thanks for taking me out, by the way,” Kip murmurs. Only another minute or so and they’ll be back at the building. “I liked this. All of it.”

“Me too,” Wallace says. “I’m glad I didn’t just bore you too much. I’m not—I don’t think I’m too fascinating a person sometimes, but I KNOW my job is definitely pretty boring.”

“It would probably be more interesting if you could always make out with people at your desk,” Kip says. “But I’m glad I got to see the inside of your office, even if that’s all we’d done. Plus, who thinks you’re boring? People love being around you.”

“Heh—well, I know people like having me around to chat with and maybe hang around sometimes and stuff, but I don’t always, like, have as much success when it comes to a more sorta personal level. I know I’m lucky enough to have a kind of immediate appeal sometimes, but that’s only surface-level stuff, y’know?”

“Hm. Well...the really good stuff about you comes to the surface too, by the way. Even in casual situations. I think if you’re tuned in to those sorts of traits, you can pick up on them right away.”

“That sounds like you’re holding back from saying something more specific...” Wallace’s tone is jokingly suspicious. “What are you thinking of?”

Kip has to laugh for how accurately Wallace has read him.

“Oh, just...I don’t want to sound too corny, but I think you had me falling in love with you a little as soon as I met you,” he sighs. “Not all at once, and not RIGHT when I met you, of course. But sometimes I can sort of retroactively see myself falling for someone in little bits and pieces at a time. Before I got too scared of you, I sort of...well, you showed me you could be really thoughtful and attentive, and caring, and generous. And I love that. And of course you have such a warm demeanor that I had to appreciate that, too. But then I got scared. And when I’m scared for people I love, that overrides everything else. So.”

“I know it does,” Wallace says softly. His hand curls a little closer against Kip’s waist. “I know that’s one of the reasons I couldn’t help but love you, too.”

Kip’s blush glows—he hadn’t expected Wallace to compliment him that way. He exhales slowly, suddenly conscious of how Wallace must be able to feel his breathing via the side of his stomach.

“...Did you ever try to talk yourself out of it?” he asks. “Feeling like this about me?”

“Well...”

“It’s okay if you did. I’m just curious. I mean, I tried to see if I could stop crushing on you.”

“You did?”

“Of course—“ Kip breathes a laugh. “I was scared it would mean I didn’t really love Pascal. And then I was scared that he wouldn’t be able to love me as much anymore if he knew I felt like this. And then, well, I thought I had to get over it because you didn’t feel the same way about me. So I’ve given it a shot, yes.”

“Right...” Wallace says slowly. “Well, I think I’ve sort of tried to...to see if I could break it. Just testing it out in my head and stuff. Because it was—it was just a surprise to hear that you felt like that about me. And I was already with Ben. I needed to—I needed to really know what it was. And that meant needing to know what it wasn’t, too. So I tried to see if I could just kinda wave it away. Or if it felt like the sort of thing that was just—just infatuation or whatever. Something that might burn really bright but go out really fast. I didn’t want to do that to him or to me or to you.”

“Yeah,” Kip says quietly. “...It’s strange to think I really surprised you by telling you I liked you. I thought I was being obvious. I’m always too obvious when I really wanna hide how I feel.”

“Were you trying to show me?”

“No. But you kept—I kept getting all flustered around you. I’d get all clumsy and silly and stuff sometimes, or tongue-tied and embarrassed and everything.”

Wallace slows his pace suddenly, so that Kip walks right out of his half-embrace. He looks back; Wallace is staring at him, lips parted, eyes wide.

“You were flustered?” He almost whispers it. “Over ME?”

“Of course,” Kip says, a bit bemused. “I had a crush, didn’t I? You made me nervous. Butterflies, and all that stuff.”

Wallace lights up. His smile blooms and reaches his whole face and his cheeks tinge pink.

“Butterflies?” he repeats again—louder and more incredulous this time. “That you got from ME?”

Kip is getting a little flustered from Wallace’s excitement, actually, and disguises it with a laugh.

“You make it sound like they’re contagious.”

But Wallace just continues to stare at Kip in wonderstruck delight. His eyes seem to carry their own luminosity—like however many sources of light are ever around him, his eyes will seem to reflect twice as many. Even their shade of brown seems to suggest golden undertones. Kip isn’t quite ready to describe the color with words like “honey.” Even if it WOULD evoke the rich, warm, layered, lovely, quietly glowing appearance.

“I flustered you...” Wallace says, almost to himself. His flush has only steadily grown—his smile is actually soft, which impacts Kip even more. If it seemed like Wallace was laughing about it, Kip could laugh it off, too. But this is something else. “That’s completely incredible.”

Kip shrugs vaguely. 

“Wow...” Wallace really does seem a bit awed.

After a moment spent just staring at Kip, he seems to recall that they were walking to the building. Kip laughs—a little self-consciously, but not unpleasantly so—and he gives Wallace’s wrist a squeeze, then releases it.

“Would you have liked it even if you’d noticed?” Kip asks him. “I mean, wouldn’t you have to be freaked out or nervous or something?”

“Well...I guess so. At least partly. But part of me would’ve liked it.”

Kip shakes his head and decides not to try imagining what it’d’ve been like if he’d noticed Wallace liking him back.

They both settle into quiet as they near the front door of their building.

“I’ve for my keys here,” Kip murmurs, drawing them out of his pocket. 

“I—okay.”

They manage to maneuver themselves and their umbrellas inside. Kip tries to shake his off outside the door without merely getting it wetter; Wallace patiently waits up for him during this effort.

“I guess it sucks I took us out on a rainy evening,” Wallace says.

“Not really. I don’t mind rain—even when I’m outside. It made me a little cold earlier this afternoon, though. The clouds did.”

“Oh, yeah...” Wallace murmurs.

“I don’t ever mind a chance to warm up a bit, really,” Kip laughs. And then, in case it seems he’s trying to come on to Wallace, he adds: “It’s only on really intense summer days that I feel hot. Like, heat advisory kinds of days.” 

“What’s your comfortable temperature?”

“Um...probably close to a hundred degrees.”

“Oh, wow.”

“Yeah. I usually have to kind of look for ways to reheat myself. Or just layer up a bit and try to ignore it.”

“You should go take that hot shower, then,” Wallace says. “I might do the same, even.”

“What about a hot bath? Wouldn’t that be cozier?” Kip rocks back on one foot, trying not to look stiff and awkward now that they’re just standing in the lobby.

“God...it would be,” Wallace says seriously. “Damn. That sounds great, actually.”

“Yeah,” Kip laughs. “Should I walk you to your door?”

Wallace seems to refocus on him, and smiles as he does.

“You don’t need to, but I definitely wouldn’t say no.”

“Okay.”

It takes about ten seconds to walk over there.

“...I really have liked this, Wallace,” Kip says quietly. “You’ve been great. With all of it. Everything.”

Wallace seems to be flattered, smiling like he can’t quite help it.

“Well, maybe we should go out again soon?”

“Yeah, we should,” Kip agrees.

Wallace’s smile brightens.

“And I have, uh, this idea for something we could maybe do sometime,” Kip says, scratching his nose. “Or, I’ve been thinking about it, anyway.”

“What’s up?” Wallace tilts his head a degree. 

“Just...ah...” Kip laughs at his own rising nervousness. “Sort of a sleepover? I was thinking we could share a bed. Just to sleep together. Seriously just sleep together.”

Wallace doesn’t laugh at this—his eyebrows raise and his eyes widen and his lips part like it’s all brilliance.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Yes. We could do that. We could share a bed together. I’d like to do that—if you would. Yeah.”

Kip is relieved that Wallace doesn’t consider this ridiculous. And pleased by his immediate enthusiasm.

“Alright. Yeah. I’d like to do that too,” he tells Wallace. “So—let’s do that, and let’s keep seeing each other.”

“Yes,” Wallace says firmly. “Definitely.”

He takes Kip’s hand.

“Thank you for coming out with me,” he says, gently squeezing his fingers. “Thank you for—for earlier again, too, when you let me talk to you about things, and...” His voice has quieter, his tone more intense. “...Thank you so much, for so many reasons, going so far back. Of course.”

“You don’t have to thank me for everything ever,” Kip murmurs, face warm. He takes hold of Wallace’s free hand. “I liked this. You were really good to me. Thank you, too.”

Wallace looks back at him for half a second, and then leans in and kisses the side of his mouth. Kip quickly turns his head to catch it—he presses one, two quick kisses to Wallace’s lips, and a third that’s just a moment longer, an ounce harder.

“Have a nice rainy night,” Kip murmurs in his ear. “And I’ll talk to you again soon.” He kisses his cheekbone, breathing in the smell of his hair—there’s a faint aroma of the kinds of soaps that promise they’re scented with evergreen forests.

Wallace giggles quietly at the whispers and the kiss.

“Thanks—I’ll text you goodnight,” he says.

Kip bites his bottom lip and has to smile.

“Okay. Awesome.”

“Thanks for walking me to my door, too...”

“Oh—right, get in there so I’ll have done it properly,” Kip tells him, stepping back. “I have to make sure you’ve made it inside your apartment.”

“Okay, uh...” Wallace fumbles with the lock for a moment before pushing the door open in demonstration. “There it is. And here—“ He steps through the threshold. “You’ve officially gotten me home. Thank you.”

Kip gives him a nod, half holding back his smile. 

“Goodnight,” he says.

Wallace beams.

“Goodnight, Kip.”

Kip makes himself start heading towards the stairwell, but he lets his eyes remain fixed on Wallace even as he’s turning away—until the last possible moment, when he has to let his head turn to follow his body, and needs his vision to be focused more on the path he’s walking. 

After hearing the quiet click of a door closing, Kip lets himself bubble over a bit more. Faster strides, clutching the umbrella, fidgeting with his sweater.

He bounds up the stairs and into the apartment. It’s dark and empty and he needs to be in his room, where the manageable space and the guaranteed solitude will allow him to prolong this state of being in his own little world. Where he’s still in the mindset from his date with Wallace, and processing it is still a too-soon tumbling rush and he needs to just kick off his shoes and hang up his umbrella and sprawl across his bed.

So that’s what he does. He lies on his stomach, head to one side, glasses put safely aside on the nightstand, eyes closed. After a few seconds spent counting off deep breaths, Kip looks over and turns on the string of lights draped around the border of his corkboard.

His mind skips effortlessly around completely different points of the evening, ricocheting from each to a half dozen more, until he shakes his head out and then buries his face in his pillow and focuses on the overall issue—that it had been good. No disasters. He’d liked it. Wallace liked it. They were both completely ready for it to continue.

And really, that’s all that was needed here. To simply get the first date out of the way. From Kip’s perspective, at least, the concept of the first date had been something of a test—a trial run of this relationship during which everything could fall apart or stagnate, and success was simply not to fail. There was pressure and nerves and self-consciousness to take on, and now that each date is only another date, he can breathe easier.

And his decision to kiss Wallace—to kiss him the way he had, nakedly sexual, wanting, indulgent—soothes his anxiety, too. They no longer have to worry about when they might get to That Step, what it will take to get there, whether they should wait or if the waiting has made it weird or et cetera et cetera et cetera— 

This morning he’d woken up feeling oppressively bad, and now he’s got so many pleasant things to think about at once that all he can do is lie down and let it wash over him—and the day isn’t even through.

He lies there for a couple minutes more before pulling out his phone and finally opening Pascal’s text. Part of him frets that he’s been ignoring some important request, or otherwise left Pascal stranded when he desperately needed Kip. But even before he starts reading the message, he tells himself he knows that Pascal would’ve texted him more than once if that was at all true. Sure enough, it’s an easygoing little paragraph that tells Kip work was alright, and he’s feeling pretty good too, and he hopes things go well with Wallace, and that it might feel a little cool to him outside, and to text whenever he’s done to let him know things are all okay.

“im glad you’re ok,” he writes back. “im ok too. things were good with wallace + i didnt get too cold. thankyou for telling me it was cool out. its been raining forever. if you can do a call we could talk all about the details of eberything abt today. but i was also thinking about coming over for the night. if either of those work for you? if not i’ll send a longer text”

He puts the phone on his pillow, where he’ll be able to hear if it vibrates with a reply. And with the comforting knowledge that he’s responded to Pascal, Kip closes his eyes again.

His mind inevitably gravitates around the memories of being touched by Wallace. It had seemed to flow so naturally at the time, but now he’s surprised that he hadn’t been more surprised by the unfamiliarity of Wallace’s body. 

The distinctions are sharpened upon recall. Wallace is so much slimmer and narrower than Pascal—Pascal’s girth is so impressive that Kip can only just link his hands against Pascal’s back when hugging him. His chest is miles deep, and his abs and waist hold it up with the sturdiness of a stone column, and his whole torso really earns the synonymous title of “trunk.” Whereas the only tree-related word Wallace could bring to mind is perhaps “willowy”—the man definitely seems a bit on the lean and lanky side, especially when you get your arms around him and know you could practically bring your hands back around to his front and you feel the waves of his ribs meld against yours like the meet of gearteeth. 

It’s not bad—it’s just so different from usual that even processing the memory of it is a bit disorienting.

And then there’s HIS embrace—his skinny arms, not nearly as thick or as soft or as strong as Pascal’s, adorned with brushstrokes of almost-brown hair that fade into his biceps and down the backs of his hands. Which are also new. So many fingers to touch him with. Faint freckles near his wrists. Fainter hairs along the knuckles. His wide grip. Wider than that of Kip’s smaller, colder hands.

His chest is flatter than Pascal’s, less wide. His shoulders aren’t as wide either. His neck is thinner and longer. He’s half a head shorter than Pascal, half a head taller than Kip. His short, straight hair doesn’t have to be pushed back from his face or onto his shoulder. It’s going to feel different to touch, to run his hands through. His whole body is so much closer to Kip’s size and shape. Condensed and lean and even a little bony. 

His kiss—that’s easily the contact that Kip remembers best. His skin is smooth against Kip’s—there’s no scruff along his jaw or neck—Kip wonders how Wallace would look with facial hair like Pascal’s. His lips are thinner, but not exactly thin—soft and warm all the same. The way he kisses uses a bit more jaw and seems to pull away more than it pushes—but it’s an inviting pull, a taking and a beckoning, not simply a withdrawal. And he likes to move his head up a quarter of an inch as he pulls. Then dip it down as he comes in again.

Focusing on the details of his kisses just leads to Kip replaying them at length. He opens his mouth a little and touches his own top lip, brushing his thumb along its slight arch, feeling the drag against its soft, yielding surface. Then he reaches down and behind himself and slides his hand over his own butt, cupping it, squeezing it gently.

As with anything and everything else, simulating it himself isn’t nearly as good as the real experience. But it spurs on and saturates his memories. It had been so good the way Wallace had spread his hands, squeezed slowly but hard, and pulled him in the way that his kisses pulled—gathering him up, drawing him in, like he wants Kip closer.

Kip inhales and sighs and stretches his legs out and thinks of Wallace holding him from behind, sliding his hand up his chest, kissing along the side of his neck. His crotch against Kip’s ass. The building energy electrifying their touch, warming Kip’s body, pounding his heart—

Kip has his toes dug into the blankets and is lightly grinding against his mattress when his phone vibrates. He keeps grinding as he reads the reply: “Come over!!!”

“ok <3 im gonna take a shower rl quick and then ill be omw”

“I’m looking forward to you” and then “But i’m also lying down for just a min but tbh i’m also kindof tired already so if i happen to fall asleep just wake me up ok”

“ok brb”

—

Once the shower is warm, Kip steps onto the bathmat and takes his dick in his hand. He turns to let the stream of water hit the back of his neck and starts pumping himself. He braces himself with his free hand against the tiles—after a couple of minutes he sinks to his knees, pumps harder, cups himself, and orgasms.

It’s a lovely way to refocus himself. He washes up quickly, blowdries his hair for half a minute, and redresses in the same sweater and jeans from his date. He goes back to his room and puts on his shoes, gets his wallet, phone, keys, umbrella. 

It’s still raining when he walks outside, but a gentle shower once more. There’s a lingering echo of sunlight, a dim sapphire glow permeating the eastern half of the clouds. A breeze shifts around every now and then, cool against his neck and cold in his still-damp hair. He’s glad to get inside Pascal’s building, and springs lightly up the stairs.

Pascal’s apartment is dim and quiet and there’s no greeting, so Kip closes the door with care and stands in the little hallway for a few seconds, listening for any sound of movement. He hangs up his umbrella and steps out of his shoes and pads into the living room. Softly, warm lamplight fills the space—Kip half-expects to see Pascal napping on the couch. But there’s only a basket of laundry in the armchair.

Kip goes to the bedroom. Pascal is laid out across the width of the mattress, arms lying on his chest, phone on one of the pillows. Kip walks over and sets the phone silently on the nightstand, then listens for a moment to Pascal’s breathing—quiet and slow.

Kip goes to the kitchen, stealthily avoiding the creaking floorboard in the living room, and quietly as he can washes up the dishes set beside the sink. He goes and gets the laundry and sneaks around the bedroom, putting all the clothes away in their proper drawers. And then he puts the empty basket down by the dresser and gets up onto the bed beside Pascal.

He runs the backs of his fingers down the hair on the side of Pascal’s hair, then leans down and kisses his temple.

“Pasc,” he says.

“Mm?”

“Hey. I’m here.”

Pascal inhales slowly and shifts and opens his eyes. He blinks up at Kip.

“Oh...I did fall asleep, huh.”

“Yeah. Wanna get in bed?”

Pascal reaches for his phone—Kip retrieves it from the nightstand and gives it to him.

“Man, it’s barely ten o’clock...” Pascal runs his arm down his face. “I can’t go to bed now...”

“Sure, if you’re tired,” Kip laughs. “I can rub your back. And I wouldn’t mind going ahead and getting in bed, either.”

“You don’t have to go to bed already just because I’M tired,” Pascal says, sitting up.

Kip smiles at him.

“I know. But I’d really be okay with it. Relaxing for the rest of the night sounds nice.”

“Are you okay?”

“Uh-huh. What about you?”

“I’m good,” Pascal answers. “I just had a lot to do at the shop today. Running around the whole time. Wore me out a little.”

“Aw,” Kip breathes. He takes the end of Pascal’s arm and kisses it, then runs his hand along its length. “Lemme give you a backrub. And you can lie your head on my chest, if you want. It’d be nice.”

“Well...” Pascal brushes his hair across his forehead. “I can’t really say no to a backrub, ever.”

Kip beams.

“But I should go ahead and brush my teeth and everything, in case I do pass out again,” Pascal continues.

“Alright, go ahead and take care of everything,” Kip says, lying back on the bed. “I’ll be here.”

“Good.” Pascal smiles and leans in, rolling his weight across his hips and hugging a knee, and kisses him. “Give me just a minute.”

Kip gazes up at the ceiling until Pascal returns.

“D’you open the shop tomorrow?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” Pascal pulls off his shirt and drops it into the laundry basket. “By the way, magic is real. My clothes put themselves away.”

“No shit?”

“Mm.” Pascal bends down and kisses Kip, putting an arm to his chest. Kip wishes he’d already taken off his own shirt. “Thank you,” he murmurs against his lips.

“You’re welcome,” Kip whispers. “Lie down.”

“Okay—lemme just get into pajama pants—“

Kip watches him strip and step into a light pair of grey pants. Pascal turns and climbs up onto the bed, lowering himself to the mattress so soon that he has to slide forward to get the last foot of his height onto the bed. Kip crawls over and straddles his thighs and, after a slow breath, pushes his hands up along the length of Pascal’s back. He sets his nails against Pascal’s skin and drags them all the way down to his waistband. Pascal sighs softly and closes his eyes.

“Everything went good with Wallace?” he murmurs.

“Mmhm. He took me to this little diner he likes to go to for lunch. It was near where he works. We went there afterwards.”

“Where he works?”

“Yeah, the office he’s in now. It was closed, but he had a key. It’s pretty much just an office, but I wanted to see.”

“Mmm...” Pascal arches his back a little up into Kip’s touch. “Was it nice?”

“The office? Or, like, the date in general?”

“Both.”

“Well...I liked the date better,” Kip laughs. “He was nice to me. As he always is to everyone, but, well, still. He seemed to actually want to be there, dating me...and I was definitely not being, like, the sexiest and most intriguing person in the world.”

Pascal huffs a laugh.

“We just, like, ate and talked. He recommended this soup for me because he remembers I like hot foods, and it was good. We talked about a bunch of stuff about ourselves and each other, and about you, and Ben, and stuff from when he first moved here, and first kisses, and old boyfriends, and then I asked him to tell me about his job, and that took about half an hour. And then we walked over to the place and he gave me a tour. And then, uh, we made out for a little while.”

Pascal laughs harder than before—his back twitches beneath Kip’s hands.

“Really? In his office?”

“Yeah. Well, it wasn’t like he has his own personal corner office. He has this desk over against the wall. But we kissed for a bit, and the making out part was sort of my fault. I wanted to see if it was something we could do. But he seemed to be into it.”

“God, I don’t see how anybody could NOT be,” Pascal sighs, nuzzling his head and shoulders into his pillow. “You’re so hot that it’s just...” He opens his eyes and vaguely lifts one arm, then lets it fall back to the bed with a quiet thump.

“Thanks,” Kip says. He leans his weight over, pressing his hands into the small of Pascal’s back. “I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one here, though, getting to give you a backrub.”

Pascal smiles and reaches back, stroking his arm along Kip’s leg.

“Was he good to you?” Pascal murmurs, closing his eyes again. “When you were making out?”

“Like...are you asking if he was good at it, or if he was treating me decently?” Kip asks.

Pascal is quiet for a moment as Kip sweeps his fingertips around the inner edges of his shoulderblades.

“Mm...the second one,” he answers, voice slowed and softened. “I always thought that people give a lot of tells when they’re kissing you. Especially when they’re turned on and not really paying as much attention or being as careful about everything. Like...usually you can pick up on some vibes if somebody doesn’t care about you at all. Or if they’re not paying attention at all to how you wanna be treated.”

“...He wasn’t bad,” Kip says. “Not bad at kissing, and he didn’t treat me bad, either. He followed along with how I kissed. He gave me the lead with everything, you know? I mean, he kissed me first—but he asked, and I let him know he could, and...I wanted him to be the one to start a kiss. But after that—I was the one who started kissing with tongue and teeth and everything. He followed along with that too. And he was—he was nice, even while kissing. He—well, you know how it is when someone kisses you like they really want to, but like they also really care about you enjoying it just as much—that’s how it was. And I think he was sort of nervous about...overstepping, or whatever.”

He slips his hands to the tops of Pascal’s shoulders and starts a slow, rolling knead. Pascal’s lips part as he sighs.

“It turns out Wallace has a thing for being bitten,” Kip continues quietly. “Not like most people don’t like it, but he seems more into it than usual. Or just that it gets to him more intensely, really. I kind of messed around with that a bit. And I let him touch my ass,” he says with a laugh. “It was a little strange being felt up with hands...”

“Oh, wow,” Pascal breathes. “Did you, like...”

“We didn’t have sex,” Kip answers. “Things did get a little heavy once or twice, and I thought about it, but I decided I don’t want to yet. I mean, I DO want to, just...I didn’t want to do it there. And afterwards I told him I wanna spend a night in the same bed; I wanna do that first, just sleep together—actually sleep together. But I did grind on him a tiny bit back there. And he was pretty good at—well, there was this moment he was holding me from behind and kissing my neck, and I was really tempted. But we didn’t do anything yet—I didn’t even feel his dick through his pants, or anything.”

“Oh my god,” Pascal murmurs, smiling softly. “I think you could get me hard just telling me about what you did with him, and you didn’t feel his dick?”

“We were sort of being...restrained about the whole thing, even if it doesn’t sound like it,” Kip laughs. “I think we were both right on the verge of getting hard enough to feel through jeans, but...neither of us was gonna make that move yet. Not like I wasn’t okay with the chance of feeling his cock up against my ass, but that didn’t happen.”

Pascal sighs again and shifts in a subtle but telltale restless way against the mattress.

“What do you like about me having sex with somebody else?” Kip asks, a flirtatiously teasing note to his voice.

“...I like you having sex,” Pascal answers. “I...I like you being turned on. And I like imagining what it would be like to get to watch you having sex. And I like thinking about you having sex with more than one person, because you like it so much too.”

Kip blushes and his massaging slows a little as he listens. 

“...You really get to me,” Pascal laughs softly. “It’d be really hot to watch somebody feel you up and turn you on and everything.”

Kip closes his eyes a moment and leans further over Pascal.

“...Would you actually like to watch me having sex, do you think?” he asks. “Or is it just good imagining it?”

It’s several seconds before Pascal answers.

“I dunno,” he says quietly. “I think I’d like it for real. But maybe it’d be weird actually being in the same place and we’d be nervous...I dunno.”

“Yeah,” Kip sighs. He thinks about his dreams about sex with Wallace and Pascal, his waking fantasizing. “It’s hard to say, all just in theory.”

He leans in and kisses the nape of Pascal’s neck, then stays there, half-lying across his broad back.

“...I’ve imagined watching you have sex,” he murmurs against Pascal’s skin.

“Mm?”

“I mean, I bet if, like, I got to sort of watch from outside myself when you and me are fucking—I bet I’d really like that. But I’ve thought about...like...what it’d be like to watch you fuck Wallace...” he whispers.

“Really?” Pascal’s voice is low and sleepy.

“Y-yeah. I woke up from this dream and I was all turned on and thinking about—about having sex with both of you. I thought about all sorts of different stuff while I was jerking off.”

He feels Pascal shift against the bed again—pressing his hips down, just barely rubbing against the sheets.

“...I should just watch you jerk off sometime,” Pascal murmurs. “That time you sent me that video—it practically killed me. And that time I was in the bathroom and you were just on the other side of the wall and we were listening to each other...”

Kip lies down fully against Pascal, head against his spine, just below the base of his neck. 

“That was pretty hot,” he says. “I’d be glad to let you watch me masturbate, babe. I think about it sometimes. It’s been a while.”

Kip feels Pascal’s quiet laughter.

“Thanks,” Pascal says. And then he yawns, pushing his face against his pillow to stifle it.

“...You wanna put your head on my chest?” Kip asks, trailing a fingertip down his shoulder.

Pascal inhales deeply.

“I don’t wanna fall asleep on you...” he murmurs.

“It’s okay,” Kip says quietly. “Even if I’m awake for a little while, it’d be nice to get to lie there with you like that. And if it turns out I have to get up, I’ll just get up.”

There’s a pause.

“Alright,” Pascal says.

Kip stands up and strips off his clothes, folding them loosely and setting them on a stack on the dresser. He slips underneath the blankets, stretches, and reaches his arms out to Pascal.

“Come here,” he whispers.

Pascal rubs his closed eyes, sniffs, and then crawls over to Kip. He lowers himself in a slow, controlled collapse, burying his face in Kip’s chest with a soft groan. 

Kip closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Pascal. 

“I told Wallace I like being used as a pillow like this,” he whispers to Pascal. “Since you were asking what stuff Wallace said he likes about me...he said he thinks that’s cute. And he said that one of the reasons he loves me is because when I’m afraid for people I love, it supersedes everything else. Which, I dunno—I think that’s pretty common, but still. It’s what he told me.”

Pascal hums and slides an arm up Kip’s side.

“You’re sweet,” he mumbles against Kip’s chest. “And there’s...endless reasons to love you. Whether it’s about stuff other people might have or not.”

Kip giggles breathlessly.

“Pascal...” he murmurs, dropping his head back against the pillow. “Oh, I love you...”

Pascal presses his lips to Kip’s sternum.

“Kip,” he whispers.

For the next half hour, Kip pets Pascal’s hair with lazy, gentle caresses, resting his other arm across Pascal’s back. His boyfriend’s weight and warmth are better than a dozen layers of blankets. He can smell the lilacs in the corner and Pascal’s soap. Only occasionally does Kip tune in to the soft sound of rain atop Pascal’s slow breathing.

Kip’s thoughts meander, returning often to the peacefulness of the present moment. A few times he takes advantage of his confidence in his contentment and thinks about his family. He thinks about Eno laughing as Yumi puts a hand on a fifteen year-old Kip’s shoulder and calls him “little ptarmigan.” About sitting on the landing in the stairwell with Pascal, talking quietly while they waited for Kent to finish his phonecall.

Kip’s phone hums. 

He needs a minute to decide to open his eyes. He reaches over and manages to grab his phone, first making sure the brightness of the display is turned all the way down. Then he reads the message.

Wallace: “It’s been a great rainy day :) Heading to bed and thinking about you”

Kip smiles softly.

He types back one-handed.

“im in bed too. goodnight and i hope you sleep better tonight”

He yawns and sets the phone on the nightstand, then brings his arm back over to cradle Pascal’s head against his chest.

“Oh, Pascal,” he breathes.

For just right now, everything feels okay. Even maybe almost safe. And he’ll gladly bask in this moment as long as it lasts, with Wallace’s words in his head, and Pascal’s heartbeat meeting his own.


End file.
